"Hello! Michael"
Michael stirred from his slumber, groggily rubbing his eyes. As he blinked them open, he was met with a stark contrast to the familiar beige walls of Ryuuki's room. The surroundings had transformed into an endless expanse of white. It was evident that he was no longer in Ryuuki's room.
A voice echoed through the infinite white, one that Michael recognized all too well.
"Do you know where you are, Michael?" the voice inquired.
Fed up with the usual cryptic dialogue, Michael snapped, "Look, I already know the routine. I ask if it's heaven, and then you launch into a philosophical monologue, blah-blah-blah! We've been through this countless times, and I'm tired of this game. Just get to the point!"
"Look. It's not my fault that your alarm clock is always interrupting!" The man said with both his hands up.
Michael shook his head "But it's definitely your fault for saying the whole thing every- every fucking time"
"But it's necessary. How else do I make an entrance? Do you know how hard it is to glow this brightly everytime?" The man said with a slightly irritating tone.
"THEN DON'T FUCKING DO IT!" Michael screamed.
The man sighed"who would have known that the next holder would be this ill mannered?" he muttered disappointingly.
"Holder? Holder of what?" Michael asked,calmly this time.
"So you don't even know?" The man mused. The man still glowed brightly, but Michael could tell he was grinning.
"Yes. I don't know." Michael replied, desperately trying to control his temper.
"This would be a long story, I'll suggest you sit" the man pointed at a chair that seemed to materialize beside Michael.
The man watched patiently as Michael probed the chair "don't worry, the chair would not harm you in any way"
"How can I so sure of that?" Michael asked, finally sitting in the chair.
The man laughed "Well you are sitting already aren't you? And besides, the dead can do no harm to the living, except those that live permit it"
Michael shifted nervously in the chair "So you are dead?"
The man smirked "Isn't it obvious boy? Or have you seen a living person appear in your dreams and look amazing at the same time?"
"No." Michael curtly said.
"So let's get started. Many years ago, even before any-" Aloud sound rang all around Michael and the man, a sound they both knew, a sound they both learnt to hate too.
The man bit his lip, visibly annoyed. "Could you please turn the alarm off next time?" he said irritatingly.
"I try to, but my roommate keeps turning it back on," Michael complained, as the white of the room gradually faded to a deep black, together with the man. He was waking up.
"You literally have god-like powers, boy, do something about it before next time," the man waved as he walked away into the black.
"But I can't Blink!" Michael screamed, but the man had already entered the black.
"I didn't know it troubled you this much, though," a voice said.
Michael slowly opened his eyes to see Ryuuki standing over him. "Bro, what the hell? I thought we agreed on the alarm thing!" Michael groggily said, a bit aggressively.
Ryuuki frowned. "Yes, but I still left it on because we had to wake up early; we are going to the RMA with Beckett today, remember?"
"Oh, that."
"Yes, that," Ryuuki stepped away from Michael, picking a black jacket. "Hurry up, Beckett would leave us if we waste his time."
"Oh yeah," Michael said absentmindedly.
"You good?" Ryuuki asked.
"Yeah, I just have some stuff to handle," Michael waved him off. "Just turn the alarm off from now on, okay?" Michael added.
"Sure. Are you okay, Michael?" Ryuuki asked.
Michael frowned. "Yeah, I'm good, why?" Michael asked.
"Nothing. You've just been acting strange, like you have a lot on your mind or something. Is it because you can't blink?"
Michael shifted awkwardly at Ryuuki's question. He thought if he could just talk to Ryuuki about the dream. "Don't worry, Ryuuki, I'm okay," Michael said with a reassuring smile. "I'll tell them after I'm sure of everything that's happening," he thought.
Ryuuki scoffed in disapproval. "Okay, if you say so, man. Hurry up, though... we have to be at the RMA early," Ryuuki waved, leaving the room.
Michael cupped his head in his hands with a sigh. The dreams of the strange man had been getting more frequent over the past few weeks, and it had always ended with the alarm clock cutting their discussion short. Ryuuki always had one excuse or the other—sometimes it was because he wanted to be early for training with Delai, sometimes it was because he had to do some work early, sometimes he had no reason and simply shrugged Michael off. It was safe to say Ryuuki was a terrible roommate.
Michael had pleaded with Vivian to get him a different room from the myriad of rooms in the creed, but Ritchie advised against it. Apparently, a Blink had once blinked in his sleep, so they needed Ryuuki to watch Michael closely, so they don't have to "go on a fruitless search again," as Delai put it. Michael didn't like the sound of that. Also, the group picked Ryuuki over Beckett for a roommate for reasons they tried hard not to disclose. Michael personally preferred Beckett. Besides Ryuuki and Delai, Michael was closest to him. They shared the same views on many things—their tastes in music, food, clothes, and occasionally even their views of others, including Ryuuki. However, Michael would still prefer to train with Delai than with Beckett, even though he was terrified of Delai in combat. The fact that nobody, not even Delai, agreed to spar Beckett was eerie, and Michael didn't want to find out why.
BANG-BANG-BANG!!! the bathroom door rang, pulling Michael out of his reverie. "Bro, hurry up, Beckett has to be at the RMA by this evening," Ryuuki yelled behind the door.
"Yeah, I know. I'll be out in a few," Michael called out, his voice laced with weariness.
s"Just be faster, please," Ryuuki's voice seemed to fade away, carrying an undertone of concern.
"Yes, sure!"
Michael sighed as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Mental turmoil had become his unwelcome companion in recent weeks. Was it the strange dreams that visited him each night? Or the persistent inability to blink? Perhaps it was the relentless ache for his family or the gnawing worry for Naomi, whose whereabouts remained unknown. The questions echoed in his mind, but he shook his head to dispel the unsettling thoughts. Hope was all he had, and he clung to it tenaciously.
"I-is she even ali-" Michael's hands met his cheeks in a sharp, self-imposed slap, snapping him out of the morose contemplation. He'd resolved not to entertain such thoughts.
"Hey, Michael!" Ryuuki's voice penetrated the bathroom door. "You know you don't have to go with us; it's okay if you're not feeling okay."
"I'm fine, Ryuuki," Michael declared as he emerged, towel-drying his hair.
Ryuuki stood awkwardly, concern etched on his face, witnessing Michael's hurried attire change. "You know, Mi-" Ryuuki began.
"Let's get going; we don't want to keep Beckett waiting," Michael rushed past him, his clothes haphazardly worn. Ryuuki's eyes lingered on Michael's retreating figure, a silent understanding of unspoken troubles.
Michael felt a pang of guilt for not sharing his dreams with Ryuuki, his closest friend in the creed. Attempting to open up several times, something within him had barred the revelation. It was as if an invisible force restrained him. He heard Ryuuki sigh audibly. "Wait up, man! You don't get to make me look late after I waited so long for you!" Ryuuki's voice echoed down the hallway.
"Finnne!" Michael strained, his response a mix of compliance and impatience.
The elevator ride was quiet, the unsaid words hanging heavy in the air. Save for Ryuuki helping Michael adjust his mask, silence reigned. As the elevator doors opened to the car park, Ryuuki remained still, massaging his neck with a discomfort that signaled impending words.
"Uhmm... Michael?"
"Yeah?"
"Look, I don't know why you're working so hard to avoid me. I don't know if it's about the alarm thing, but I'm sorry about that." Ryuuki's stance conveyed an awkward vulnerability, his hand on his neck seeming to force his head down.
"It's okay, man. I'm not mad about that." Michael's response carried reassurance, though Ryuuki's visible relief hinted at a deeper concern.
Ryuuki sighed, as if a weight had lifted. "So what then?"
Michael realized the weight of Ryuuki's worry and the walls he'd constructed. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you about it now; I have to deal with it myself," Michael spoke with a kindness that sought to soften the unshared burden.
"Hmmmm, I understand. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, yeah?" Ryuuki replied, attempting to lighten the mood with a touch of humor. But the worry lingered in his eyes, a stark departure from the carefree Ryuuki Michael had always known.
"Yeahhhh."
"Just, uhmm, Michael?" Ryuuki called out again as Michael made his exit.
"Yeah?"
"Vivian used to tell me something; she said no man is an- what was the word again?" Ryuuki rubbed his head, struggling to recall. "Shit, I can't remember," he muttered under his breath.
Michael rolled his eyes, suppressing a laugh. "Island?"
"Right, yes, an Island. No man is an Island, Michael; you can't do it alone, for long. Please let me or any of the others know if there is ever a way I can help too."
"Thank you, Ryuuki."
"No problemo."
"Sorry to intrude on your little therapy session," Beckett's sudden appearance beside Michael elicited a shocked shriek from him. "Vivian said you should stop doing that!" Michael exclaimed.
Beckett chuckled, his laughter echoing through the room. "I'm sure she did," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Without missing a beat, he flung a bag toward Michael, who caught it rather ungracefully. The bag had a certain weight to it, piquing Michael's curiosity. "What's this for?" he asked, peering into the contents of the bag.
"It's why I'm letting you tag along," Beckett said, a sly smirk playing on his lips.
Michael's reaction was immediate. "No, not this again, for heaven's sake!" he exclaimed, a mix of exasperation and disbelief in his voice.
****
It had been a year since Gabrielle last spoke to him—or at least, that's how it felt, like time was dragging on endlessly. He wasn't officially her boyfriend, but in her mind and among her friends, she liked to think of him that way.
Their story began years before the strict rules of the RMA took over their lives. It all started on a cold night in the back alleys of south Minerva. Gabrielle had just left a party her mom told her to avoid, but the fear of disappointing her friends outweighed her mother's warnings. She initially planned to take the main road home, but worried her mom might see her from the bakery there, so she opted for the back alleys.
Aware of the inherent danger concealed within those alleyways after nightfall, Gabrielle treaded cautiously—a hesitant dance in the echoing silence. Arriving at a daunting intersection, uncertainty paralyzed her. A stranger to the labyrinth that was the alleyways, she retrieved her phone, a device that would unwittingly mark her third regrettable decision. The soft glow illuminating her face became an inadvertent beacon, drawing attention to herself.
Her map directed her left, but just as she prepared to navigate the chosen path, a faint red glow materialized, casting an eerie light at its end. "I wonder why a pretty little thing like you is walking around here at night," a voice echoed from the shadows.
A gasp of fear escaped Gabrielle's lips, her entire being frozen in terror. She staggered backward, a dance of retreat born from the instinctive dread that now consumed her. The world seemed to tighten its grip, amplifying the pulse of fear coursing through her veins.
As the voice continued, now sneering and revealing the man's sinister form, Gabrielle felt a shiver of vulnerability. "Didn't your mother tell you there were bad men over here?" he taunted, his presence casting a sinister shadow over her once seemingly safe journey.
Her desperate attempt to flee was met with an unyielding force as two hands seized her arms, their grip strong and unrelenting. A frightened whimper escaped her trembling lips as she turned, only to be paralyzed with terror when the cold, pointed tip of a knife pressed against her back.
"There, there, calm down, love. It's not like we're going to hurt you; we just need some company," a raspy voice chimed in from behind, the scent of booze enveloping her like a suffocating cloud.
"P-please, don't hurt me. I just w-wanted to get home on time. Please, I beg you, Don—"
"Eeeehhyyy!" The man with the cigarette soothed her with an unsettling calmness. "We won't hurt you; we just want to be friends with you. Don't you want to be friends?" he smirked, lifting her chin to meet his face, now dangerously close. The air hung heavy with the acrid taste of fear, and her world shrank to the hair's breadth that separated her from his unsettling gaze.
"I'm officially screwed," she thought, a sinking realization that etched despair into every corner of her being. The harsh truth pressed upon her as she envisioned the horrors that people like them inflicted on people like her—a grotesque script played out countless times on the nightly news. In those very alleyways, lifeless bodies, gutted and discarded, painted a grim picture.
The weight of her impending fate became a crushing burden, not just for herself but for the woman who had become her anchor—her mother. A year had slipped away since her father and elder brother succumbed to a relentless disease outbreak. In that time, her mother transformed from a protector into a solitary figure, clinging desperately to the last remnants of family- herself. Her mother had become overbearing and overprotective, controlling.
As Gabrielle faced the terror in those dimly lit alleys, her mother's overbearing nature melted into a poignant realization. In that moment, she understood that the sheltering cocoon woven by her mother was also her only sanctuary.
Not a religious soul, she had scoffed at the idea of church and prayer, a ritual abandoned by her mother after the tragedy. Yet, in the desperation of that moment, a silent plea echoed in her heart. "I promise I will be a better daughter to both you and my mom, if you get me out of here, please," she whispered, through her tears.
"Shhhh, don't cry, love," the man with the knife cooed, his words draped in an unsettling tenderness as he gently wiped away her tears. The air was thick with a mixture of fear and vulnerability, each whispered reassurance intensifying the ominous mood.
A sudden interjection shattered the tension, a new voice injecting an unexpected dynamic into the chilling scene. "I don't think she wants to be friends with your lot," it declared, a glimmer of resistance echoing through the shadows.
"Who is there!" The man with the cigarette bellowed, his frantic movements revealing the escalation of the threat as he brandished his gun.
"I'm over here!" teased the voice from an elusive direction, a playful taunt that further unsettled the assailants.
Wary and agitated, the other man shoved Gabrielle away, keeping his knife in hand and gripping a gun in the other. The atmosphere crackled with tension as the voice chimed in from yet another direction. "It seems you guys have a lot to learn about making friends; it's no wonder you don't have so many," it teased, the sarcasm hanging heavy in the air. "You don't shove friends away, man," the voice proclaimed, now ominously positioned directly behind Gabrielle, casting an eerie shadow over the notion of companionship in the midst of peril.
In the midst of this unsettling encounter, a warm hand landed gently on Gabrielle's shoulder. "And you. You shouldn't have gone through here; take this as a lesson," the mysterious voice whispered soothingly behind her neck. The proximity of his presence sent shivers down her spine, and she could feel his breath lightly grazing her nape, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Slowly, she nodded in response to his cautionary words.
"Good, now watch, but don't learn," a boy confidently strolled past her, heading towards her assailant. He stood tall, wrapped in a subtle cloak of mystery. Jet-black hair framed a striking face adorned with a sparse beard, and rolled-up sleeves hinted at a well-defined muscularity. As he passed, Gabrielle felt an involuntary attraction, drawn to his magnetic presence, a captivating force that heightened the eerie intensity of the unfolding situation.
"Okay guys, I promised my friends that I would stop messing people up too badly, so I will give you guys a choice. Turn around and walk away, or stay here and I will make confetti out of you," the boy stated casually, securing his sleeves with a confident ease. The air shifted as his words hung in the tension, and Gabrielle found herself not only captivated by his physical presence but also intrigued by the unexpected blend of confidence and a playful threat.
"Haha ahahaha ahhhahahaa," the man with the cigarette erupted into laughter. "Oh sorry! We're so scared!!!" he added, still engulfed in mirth. Soon, more voices joined in, a cacophony of laughter that surrounded them. The realization of being encircled brought a new, chilling flavor of terror to Gabrielle. Reluctantly turning around, she discovered they were everywhere—the sounds of laughter echoing from every direction. The whole time, they had been surrounded. Glancing at her savior, he maintained a confident and proud demeanor.
"Look, you seem like a smart guy; all these people don't have to die needlessly. Just walk away, man, and I promise I won't hurt you."
The group responded with laughter. "I think we should crack open his head too, just for the fun of it," a woman in the group sneered.
"Psst. I know I tried to negotiate, I did my best," Gabrielle heard her savior mutter to himself. "Very well then," the boy secured his sleeves once more before dashing towards the group.
What followed remained a blur for Gabrielle, a memory she attempted to bury with the help of a psychologist. The hypnosis was meant to erase the gruesome details, but some things were hard to forget. The police, unable to comprehend how a human being could reduce a group of armed people to such tiny pieces, classified the case as an animal attack the next day.
Later that evening, Gabrielle awoke in her room, facing the familiar patterns. She was now changed into her pajamas, and a sense of disorientation lingered. "The boy couldn't have changed my clothes?" she thought. Convinced it was a dream, she scanned the room, only to find him suddenly standing beside the window, arms crossed, an air of pride about him.
"Jesus!" she screamed.
"Relax," he said soothingly.
"How dare you change my clothes!" she screamed, attempting to cover herself with the sheets, despite already wearing clothes.
The boy stood frozen, a puzzled expression on his face. "You almost died, and that's what you're worried about?" he scoffed, stifling a laugh.
"Shut up," Gabrielle shot back.
"Relax," he said calmly. "We don't wanna wake mummy up." Gabrielle grew quiet with guilt.
"What happened to my clothes? They were fine!" she whispered.
"Well, first of all, you don't need to whisper, just talk with a low volume. And no, your clothes were not okay, and I have a feeling that they weren't originally red," he said, now sitting with a bad posture on her chair.
"But my dress was whi-" she started, but the memories flooded in. Bile rose up her throat, and she felt her stomach contents rise up her chest. She swiftly grabbed the bin next to her bed and vomited into it.
"There, there, let it all out," the boy said, now holding back her hair. "If it makes you feel better, I didn't change your clothes, a 'female' friend of mine did," he said, emphasizing that his friend was a girl.
"Get away from me!" she screamed, pushing him back.
"Whoa, okay," he stepped away backward, with his hands
"You're a monster!" she screamed, pointing accusingly at him. "How did you do that to those people?"
"It's none of your business, lady," he replied, indifferent to her words, as though accustomed to such accusations. "I was expecting some thank-yous after rescuing you from those guys, bringing you home, and ensuring your little secret didn't reach your mom's ears, but I guess not." He turned to leave through her window.
"Wait, I am sorry," she called after him.
"For what?" he turned with a grin.
"You saved my life. That could have been me in that alley, but you didn't let that happen. Thank you, very much."
"That's more like it, uhm-"
"Gabrielle."
"Yes, Gabrielle, that's more like it," he teased.
Gabrielle rolled her eyes at him. "Why are you pretending like you already didn't know my name, man? You obviously knew it because you had to have checked my purse to get my address."
"I didn't look at your ID; I just checked where your map was directing you to."
"Oh."
"Yes, oh."
"So where is my dress?"
"I burnt it."
"Oh my God, no! It was my mom's own; I borrowed it!" Gabrielle wailed.
"A small sacrifice to pay for salvation, my friend. It was too—"
"Red?" Gabrielle replied, annoyed.
"Yes, red. And besides, I wouldn't want anyone to think what happened in the alley was your doing. They'll lock you under the ground for life, lolll," he said, jokingly.
Gabrielle sighed at his nonchalantness. "I guess I had better replace it before my mom finds out."
"Yup."
The two of them sat quietly for the next hour, with occasional jokes from the boy and sneers from Gabrielle. She found him annoying, too full of himself, and generally unlikable. And she was right about that. However, as they spent more time together — him helping her with her project for the RMA entrance, driving her to school with her mom, staying by her side when her mom got sick, and even after her mom passed away — Gabrielle's feelings began to change. He hadn't changed; he was still annoying, selfish, full of himself, but Gabrielle didn't care anymore. Perhaps that's what falling in love does to a person.
As the boy turned to leap out of her window, she called after him, "Dude! Are you really going to jump? We are like 6 stories up!"
"How did you think I got you up here?" he smirked.
"Oh, wow—"
"And my name is not dude; it's Beckett," he added.
"Okay, goodnight Beckett," she smiled.
"It's more like good morning, Gabrielle. It's past 13," he teased before jumping out the window.
"Oh, you—"
Thanks for reading till now!
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