ERIK
During transit to Mars
The smell of rain was always the first thing that surfaced from the depths of my memory. I'd learned to recognize it as the start of the nightmare, yet I was still unable to stop the descent into that dark place.
I was back in that damn graveyard, the wet earth sticking to my boots, the tactical gear heavy on my shoulders.
Callie was standing under the weeping willow tree, its long branches shivering in the wind.
I didn't want to move, but my feet started anyway, dragging me forward as soon as she took a few steps closer to the first tombstones.
"Run," I said under my breath. "Please, run."
As if this time she would somehow manage to escape. As if the real memory would take pity on me and rise up to show me the truth. A truth that didn't involve the dreadful image of her lifeless body.
I braced myself for the inevitable as the nightmare flashed ahead to the moment my hand tightened around her throat. She was on top of me, her back to my chest, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath my fingers.
The surge of her power hit my barriers, a chaotic wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. I pulled her down more forcefully, trying to break her connection.
A scream reverberated through my skull and the nightmare flashed again. She was staggering away from me, her shoes sinking into the ground.
I raised the gun and took aim.
She turned around to face me, her push into my mind a desperate plea, but my body kept moving with a will of its own.
I squeezed the trigger.
A single sharp crack echoed through the clearing, silencing the wind. Her head snapped back, body falling limp against the earth.
I woke up with a jolt, heart hammering.
I stayed still for a moment, my muscles tight like I was still in the fight. Staring into the dim blue emergency lights of the Resolution, I waited for the phantom smell of rain to dissipate, for the gunshot to stop echoing in my ears.
My fingers curled into the sheets as I took a deep breath and turned my head to the nightstand. The small bottle of sedatives sat there, mocking me. I had taken the maximum dose, the blackout pills the doctors promised would provide dreamless rest. They were a lie. Everything was a fucking lie.
The nightmare kept coming back despite my best efforts to get rid of it, crawling through the cracks of my defenses with a stubborn insistence that defied all medication. The fact that Callie was three decks away, in stasis, perfectly alive, did nothing to stop the torture.
I sat up, dragging my hands through my hair. There was no point in trying to fall back asleep, so I pulled on my pants and grabbed a shirt to make my way to the observation deck.
At 03:00 ship-time, the corridors were empty, the lighting dimmed. I relaxed my steps, shifting them away from the damn predatory stride the Project had burned into my muscle memory.
In the observation deck, the universe opened up. The brilliant stars were a familiar comfort. Starlight spilled across the window, painting the darkness with constellations I knew by heart, whispering ancient stories.
I sat on the couch, the leather groaning softly as I settled into its embrace. I closed my eyes, centering my breathing, pulling air deep into my lungs and releasing it slowly.
"Work," I told myself. "Direct. Sell the dream." The sequence of words was old, worn smooth by repetition, a tool to sharpen my focus when my mind threatened to unravel.
I began to construct a projection, a new movie for the Vanguard's next Premiere Night. Isak wanted Paradise. He wanted a world where the air was sweet, where the sun never set on human potential, where the despair of Earth was nothing but a faded memory.
I visualized the colors first. A valley with deep green grass and a sky the color of a summer's dawn. A river snaked through the valley, its water so clear I could see the rainbow-scaled fish darting between smooth stones.
Then came the sounds. The gentle murmur of the river, the distant call of a bird, the rustle of leaves in a cool breeze.
I poured my willpower into the illusion, weaving the threads of light and sound until I could feel the warmth of the sun that didn't exist.
A streak of charcoal gray slashed through my colorful sky.
I tried to pull it back, to smooth the thread, but the grass beneath my feet began to turn to mud.
The smell of rain was back.
"Not the graveyard," I growled, my fists clenching. "Stay in the valley."
But the projection buckled. A figure emerged from the haze. Callie. She was lying in the mud, her eyes vacant, the fatal shot blooming like a dark flower on her forehead.
"Fuck!" I stood up, shattering the illusion.
I left the observation deck, my feet carrying me to the stasis level as they'd done several times already.
The room was freezing. Rows of pods covered the walls, glowing with a soft white light. I walked past Nolan, past Letitia, past Astrid, until I reached Pod 22.
I pressed my palm against the glass.
Callie looked peaceful. Her dark hair was fanned out, her face pale but relaxed.
The first time I'd done this, I'd caught myself hoping that I could look into her eyes. So every time since, I'd forced the words out before I could sink into that feeling.
"I hate you," I whispered. "I'm going to break you the way you broke me," I continued with what was becoming a mantra.
I'd been building an elaborate speech in my mind, piece by piece, all those nights that I'd found myself in here.
I stayed for a long time, my hand never leaving the glass. I vented every ounce of my rage, every accusation, every bit of the pain she’d caused me.
I told her I would never forgive her.
I told myself I meant it.
But when I finally turned to leave, my fingers lingered on the spot where her hand was resting on the other side of the barrier.
Was I lying to myself? Was this a performance for an audience of one?
The feeling was so unsettling that I pulled my hand back like I got burned.
At the start of this, I'd thought the four month wait was too long. Now that it was coming close to an end, it seemed like not enough.
"Don't wake up yet," I murmured. "I'm not ready."
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"The Thought Director" is Book Two of "The Sellachart Chronicles", a series of standalone novels that follow humanity’s journey to the stars. New characters, new loves, new mysteries await along the path...
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