Pitching Into The Abyss (2)

That night, I had a nightmare. I could see Ashley running away in her guild outfit. She's being chased by a swarm of insect monsters. I couldn't make out their forms exactly as they were dyed in black shadows. It was as if darkness itself had risen to take her life. I try to reach out for her, but the darkness has already caught me. It constricts my limbs, preventing me from aiding her. Further ahead, I can see the kids. They're just walking away slowly. I attempt to call out to them, but the darkness covers my mouth. I can't do anything no matter how much I struggle. I'm helpless. An endless swarm of nothing nips at her heels. She turns and opens her mouth to scream.

"Nick!" I shoot up, covered in sweat. Light blinds me as I try to identify the voice. "Are you okay, sweety?"

I blink away the tears blurring my vision and see Carroll's face come into focus. Frantically looking around, I find myself lying in bed with the suns shining in through the window. Carroll sees me panicking and closes the curtains to darken the room.

"I don't know." I can recall the feeling of helplessness from my dream, but I don't remember what happened.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Carroll sits on the right side of my bed with her left knee crossing over her right so she can face my direction. She gently pulls me close and lays my head on her bosom. I wrap my arms around her and fall into her warmth. My shaking hands start to settle.

[It's been so many years since I've had a mother to comfort me like this, so many years.]

This isn't the first time she has comforted me like this, but it's definitely the most motherly moment we've shared together. My mother died when I was very young so having a surrogate mother, even though I know her very well from the kid's memories, means a lot. We sit in silence for a few minutes until I calm down.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Carroll asks.

"I don't remember what happened. All I know is that I was completely helpless."

"Well, you're not. I see you getting stronger every day. You can handle whatever comes your way."

"Thanks, mom." I can feel myself smiling slightly from her encouragement.

"Now, are you hungry, dear?" I nod my head while still in her arms. "Then I'll go get you something to eat; you just stay in bed for now.

"Okay." I lie back down and pull the covers up to my face. A chill runs down my back caused by all the sweat I've built up overnight.

[What was that dream about? Why am I so afraid?]

As I regain my composure, I'm struck by the searing pain coming from my inflamed muscles. I stretch out the stiffness while remaining covered. Carroll comes through the door as I finish.

"Here's some biscuits and soup. I also brought you some tea I brewed this morning. Let me know if you want anymore."

"Okay. Thanks, mom."

She leaves the room and blows me a kiss before closing the door. I turn to the tray of biscuits and eat them in no particular order. I'm so out of it that I hardly even taste them. Once I'm done eating, I wash it down with the tea.

[I still need to meet with the kids and see how they're doing.]

By now, the vague remnants of the dream have started to fade. I get dressed and head downstairs.

"Goodbye, mom. Thanks for the snacks!"

"Of course, dear. You have a nice day." I walk out the door feeling much better despite my aching muscles. They complain all the way to the gate, where I find the kids lying on the ground. I chuckle and join them by splaying out on the soft grass.

"How are you two feeling?" My question is only met with soft, agonized moans. "I figured as much. How about we get started with our workout?"

Again, my words are met with pained moans, but they sound more desperate this time. I help the two of them up, and we do a prolonged session of stretching to loosen up our tender muscles. To prevent any injuries, I make sure we start lightly.

[This is just like football. Watching the freshman players suffer after their first workout always cracked me up.]

I peruse these pleasant memories and convince the kids to do some laps. We skip the other exercises and focus on jogging. As I start, I decide to look at my status and see a new title called "Friend of the Fairies." I turn and ask the kids if they got a new title, and it seems they have the same one as me. When I check the description, it just says, "One who is considered to be a friend by a leader of the fairies." It doesn't come with any perks or bonuses, but it feels good to have either way. We continue our routine and our beleaguered states draw some laughs from the peanut gallery; even Sampson cracks a couple of jokes at our expense.

"Did you kids lose a fight yesterday? It looks like you got too rowdy at the bar."

"Ha, ha, ha. Good one, Sampson. You look like you lost a fight to your mother, and she made you be a guard."

"Woah! Low blow there." Sampson raises his hands and calls off the back and forth as the other guards erupt in laughter. I sit down with my back to the palisade and hand out the spoils from yesterday.

"I sold our goods under the table, so the price wasn't as good. Sorry if you were expecting more." The kids graciously accept their share without complaint. I was worried they might think I lied and took a larger share for myself, but that seems to be an unwarranted concern.

"That's fine. By the way, did you find out why the guild was closed?" Josh's question sends a chill down my spine.

[Ashley! I need to check on her right now.]

"I've got to go." I leave abruptly and head for the guild.

"Nick?"

"Are you alright?"

I ignore both of their questions and make a break for the Adventurer's guild. The crowd has dissipated since yesterday so I rush through the door. I sprint past Catherine, the bunny-eared receptionist, and head to the main desk by the right wall. I don't see Ashley at the semi-circular counter. She's not at the bar either.

"Niccolo!" I hear my name and turn to see Shelly weaving her way between the tables.

"Where's Ashley?" I suddenly become aware of how panicked I am by my voice's tone. She slows her pace after hearing my question. A quizzical expression rests on her face as she approaches.

"Didn't you hear?" That question breaks me, and I freeze. The world is crumbling around me, leaving only her mournful face. I hear her words as if I'm saying them myself.

"Ashley is dead." The reality I hoped would never exist springs out before me. I crash onto the seat behind me as her truth falls into my mind. It's unbelievable that the words I'd been hiding from myself for the last two days would fall from someone else's mouth. She keeps talking, but her words fade into nothing as she presses herself against me. I can barely feel her tight embrace as I run the phrase through my head.

[Ashley is dead. Is dead. Dead.]

It sounds the same as the words used to tell me of my mother's death. The sounds are hollow but force their way through me nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, Nick."

"I should have done something. This is my fault."

"She wouldn't let anyone come with her. She said she had to do this on her own. She made us agree to let her go home alone. There's nothing we could do. This isn't your fault."

"Who did it?" I ask, desperately hoping for a demon to blame. Desperately hoping for an outlet to unleash the vortex of hate and despair swirling around inside me."

"We don't even have a name. The house was empty when the guards arrived, and it was purchased in her name. No one ever saw her walking around with anyone either." I sink into the stillness of death. Shelly keeps talking, but I can't hear anything she's saying. I feel like I want to cry, but something is holding me back.

[This is exactly what it felt like when my mother died. There was no culprit. There was no one I could blame but myself. I remember this feeling very clearly. But this is the first time the kid has experienced this kind of loss. Welcome to the club, buddy.]

"Thanks for telling me," I interrupt Shelly and turn to leave.

"Um, no problem. Are you going to be okay?"

"I don't know." I leave and head back home. The cold morning air digs into my skin. I just want to lay in bed forever. The overwhelming guilt and sense of loss press down on my small shoulders.

"Welcome home, dear!" Carroll calls out to me. I don't respond and just continue on my way to my room. My room feels empty as I burrow into my blankets. I can taste bile in my mouth from rising nausea.

[I'm so stupid. I should have walked her home. I should have made her accept my help. I should have done more; anything. I knew what her situation was and did nothing.]

I'd always thought it was best for people to make their own decisions but now I'm not sure. Is this really what she wanted?

I cover my head with my pillow and repeatedly run the past few days through my mind. I'm so depressed at this point that I don't move for several hours. As the light that bleeds through my pillow begins to dim, I hear a knock at the door.

'Knock, knock.'

"Nick? Sweety? Do you want dinner?" I don't respond. It doesn't feel like I even deserve to eat. She opens the door to my room and continues her one-sided conversation. "Well, I'm going to leave a tray of food out for you. Feel free to have as much as you want."

Carroll's gentle voice washes over me. I hear her quiet footsteps walk around my bed to my nightstand and head back out the door. I'm glad she decided not to engage with me. I can hear Vincent questioning her decision through the door.

"Aren't you going to ask him what's wrong?"

"He needs to be left alone right now."

"Nothing is going to change if he just stays cooped up in his room."

"He needs time to heal, Vincent! Time heals all wounds. He'll talk to us when he's ready."

Carroll's words pull a smile out of me, much to my own chagrin.

[I'm glad she understands.]

I feel a little better and now notice the complaints coming from my empty stomach. A sharp pain emanates from my abdomen. I sit up in my bed and look at the tray. All the biscuits are arranged in a heart shape, and a warm bowl of stew sits in the middle. My favorite tea is set off to one side. The tears I've been holding back all day finally break through the emotional dam and stream down my face. I sob into the bowl of stew as I eat it. The warm dish disappears quickly, and I move on to the biscuits. I don't even taste anything because I'm eating so fast. After I clear the tray, I fall back in bed, completely stuffed. Just as the Itis begins to take me I have a thought.

[Did I always deal with my emotions by eating? I need to keep an eye on this behavior, or I'm going to get fat again.]

I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.