In the Shadow of the Mountain

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"Wow! A hot shower that I don't have to pay for at all!" Perry muttered to himself, reminiscing on the many truck-stop showers he had encountered in an effort to keep chaffing and infection to a minimum. So excited about the prospect of being actually genuinely clean and taking as long as he liked under the steamy streams that he barely took note of the contents of the bathroom at all... barely.

It was a magnificent house with an equally impressive bathroom. Even the SOAP gleamed with value to his beggar's eyes. It seemed almost a shame to wash with it. The mirror was squeaky clean, as was every surface in the room, obviously kept by the maids Ander doubtless had at least one of. Whatever he paid them was definitely enough, for their fastidiousness spoke of a man who liked his house tidy. It was a man's bathroom... a rich man's bathroom, but still... and thus less cluttered than he would have expected of a female host. The place smelled of cologne, 'male' body wash, lingering bleach, cleansers, shaving cream, toothpaste...

The shower went smoothly after Perry pulled his wandering eyes away from the otherwise stealable objects. For once, at least for the first time in quite a while, he was thankful of his detail oriented nature. Every splash of warmth felt like heaven and the sounds of water all around him washed away memories and imaginings and stole his attention completely. Eyes closed, he picture only the impacts of water on his dirty skin, making him clean once again.

But all too soon it was over. Sure he was clean, he smelled acceptable, and he had even changed his mind about not shaving, but as he looked in the mirror, all he saw was his every failure written onto his face.

"How the hell did YOU get there," he muttered quietly at his reflection. "You don't deserve all this."

Stepping into the next room, his gaze kept squarely on the floor to keep from getting absorbed in the details of the room. He made his way to the bed, toweling off as he went to give himself something to focus on. On the bed were some of Ander's clothes, on loan to replace Perry's smelly bum rags. Quickly he dressed in the over-softened medium blue teeshirt with an unrecognized media company logo, and a pair of khaki gym shorts, both made for someone much larger than Perry. Satisfied, that he was dressed and dry and no longer an affront to his new benefactor, Perry made his way down to the den where the others now stood, watching Ander as he worked his computer. He had thought he had heard Ander's voice on the way in... something about Harry, the mention of the name sending a shudder down Perry's spine with remembered sounds.

A servant offered him a drink and, after turning down on his request for something alcoholic, brought him a steaming mug of coffee. It was then that Perry noticed the air consternation surrounding his new... friends?.. coming particularly from Ander.

He glanced at the computer screen, not at all tech-savvy, but determined to get a look at the data.

He was stunned. He saw what looked like random garbage pop up time after time as Ander perused the contents. Vivid scenes, things remembered from some distant past clouded by drug use, flashed into Perry's memory. He had seen this before! The random numbers and letters had a specific pattern... a pattern that his detail-seeking mind could understand!

"I... I know this." He said aloud, pushing his way to the computer. "Here... we start here. This might take me some time to get right, but I know this code!"
 
Lydia sighed as she flopped into a chair, now clean as well, a comfortable track suit on. She'd retrieved some fruit from her truck, dried and fresh, and was currently tearing through some fruit jerky, hungry now after the ordeal. "Where did you get that drive?" she wondered, trying to figure out exactly how it impacted all of them. Otherwise, she was quiet, trying to sort through her memories of the day, going over every detail of what she'd seen. But she kept getting interrupted by those old, grey flashes of memory.

Lydia clapped her hands over her ears, trying to concentrate. This shouldn't be this hard! Why couldn't she think properly? Why were these dreams taunting her, now of all times? She jumped up from the chair, pacing. She needed to move, needed to run. Whenever she got agitated, she needed to blow off steam somehow. She looked around the room, hoping to spot a treadmill, and stationary bike, something that she could use. She do push-ups if she had to!

A board. A chalkboard. Was it a science class? It had formulae written all over it...

Lydia shook her head again, rubbing her face as she tried to think. A vague, sick feeling gnawed at the edges of her thoughts. Why should she be scared of a science class?
 
[DASH=white]
She had no idea why she agreed to pile into the truck but, of course, what she had just seen was not pretty at all. It was tainting her head and haunting her each and every second of that hour. Hajori looked over to the boy who was driving the truck, speaking for all of them when he claimed that they should stick together. Of course, she had no everlasting idea of what he was talking about, but she seemed just as disoriented as the rest of them. After that Harry kid...vanished...they were all on pins and needles, fearful of the same fate. Hajori kept her expression as clam as she could make it, though it was clear that she was kicking herself in the leg. If only she had stayed on the rooftop of her shop, she would not be going to some random boy's house in attempts to hide from some unknown danger.

Turns out, she had no room to retort and, before she could even introduce herself to everyone, she was sitting on the couch in the den of the one called Ander. Jori was peering through the pages of a book. not particularly looking at the words, but only seemingly doing something. Her hands started to grow fidgety, in need for something to grasp and keep her occupied. Everyone else was taking showers and making their way to different areas of the room. Jori was wet, yes, but her body felt no cleaner by the water than annoyed. The moment she stepped into the house, her very skin gathered around a warming blanket and she sighed in peace. She was the only one who seemed content with the temperature. Then again, she was not out there for as long as they all were, so she had no room to talk.

Flipping the page of the book, an excited voice sailed through the den, instantly grabbing her attention. Who could be excited after that ordeal? Her interest piqued as it always did and, setting the book down, she ran a finger through her long, damp strands of red hair and made her way over to the person on the computer.

"Exactly what are you trying to accomplish here?"she asked with a confused wrinkle in his excitement over a computer.
[/DASH]
 
The hot chocolate was soothing to her soul in more than one way. Not only was Annabel feeling a lot calmer now, she could feel her energy returning. Food had always been a good way to repair her soul after a strong or lengthy spell and she wondered if Mister Smith would be bothered much if she wandered away to make a good ol' smushed peanut butter and jam sandwich just like Mom used to make. Did he also have chocolate milk? Her stomach growled, demanding she make her ideas into reality and she took to chewing her bottom lip lightly as if she were nibbling on the corner of that sandwich.

She dazed out for a moment or two, catching just parts of conversation here and there. Something about a flash drive. Fate. The bum knew something that was being displayed on the computer screen. Annabel blinked, her eyes losing that glossy appearance that was strongly tied to a person staring at nothing in particular, and put her focus on said homeless man for just a moment. He looked cleaner, more human. Smelled a bunch better too. And had he shaved? Well, he wasn't so unappealing to look at now, which in turn made him a lot friendlier, or at least a bit more approachable.

And then someone next to her spoke, catching her attention, making her jump just a little and spill a few drops of hot chocolate on her bare leg. She quickly wiped the droplets away with a thumb, which she proceeded to lick clean, then crossed one leg over the other as she shifted in her seat to better face Mister Keyboard.

And somewhere, a maid was still holding a pair of pants and staring at an Annabel-less bathroom with a look of utter confusion.

Wiggling her toes, Annabel smiled at her tag team partner, fondly remembering their battle against the electricity monster for a moment before wondering how to reply to his question. "Better than Tiffany's first shower at summer camp," she said, taking a sip of her drink before continuing. "Tiff is a friend from my hometown, you see. And back when we were twelve, she ended up going to summer camp. The boys from the camp across the lake had snuck over to the girls' side and set up a buuuunch of pranks. She was the color of beef bouillon for three days!" A small gigglefit ensued before Annabel managed to settle again. "I remember reading her letter explaining it. At that time I was... I was..."

She frowned. What exactly had she been doing at that point in the summer? She tried to remember but it was like groping for the lightswitch in an uncomfortable dark. She knew exactly where the lightswitch was but impatience brought on by fear made it impossible to find.

"Oh! Silly me," she gasped, free hand lifting to her mouth, fingertips touching her lips a moment before she placed the hand on her chest. "Introductions come first, right? I'm Annabel Ishii." She extended the hand for shaking then, a bit of a grin on her lips. Making a new friend was always a wonderful feeling and she could definitely stand to feel happy after such a horrible experience.
 
Ander was turning to answer Lydia when he found himself shoved out of the way by the suddenly rather energetic Perry. He opened his mouth to object, but any objection was forestalled by the sudden realization that the man actually seemed to know what he was doing when it came to the code on the screen. In fact, he seemed to be making progress. Rather than interrupting him, Ander simply patted him on the shoulder before turning to resume his attention to Lydia and the others.

“The drive. Right. Well, this is going to sound really stupid, but a crazy man being chased by the police handed it to... to us. He said it was important, that I'd understand.” He glanced over his shoulder at the wall of code Perry was trying to sort out. “Obviously, he overestimated my abilities.” Ander narrowed his eyes at Lydia. She seemed at the same time hyper and zoned, and he was worried the stress might be getting to the girl. He closed the distance between them, resting his hand on her arm.

“Are you alright?” There was deep concern in the man's weary voice, and he hoped he appeared comforting instead of worried. His own worry was gnawing at him. Always before, his house had been at least a bit of a sanctuary, this room doubly so. But there was indeed a fear that whatever had gotten Harry would get them all, even here.
 
Lydia jumped when he touched her, immediately aware of her body again, as if she'd been shunted back into it from whatever planet she'd been on. "Oh! Uh, yeah, I'm fine..." she lied. "I was just, uh, trying to remember something. The, code or whatever, that he's looking at, reminded me of some class I took, I think, I don't know..." she said, starting to fade off again.

Shaking herself to focus again, she gave Ander a sheepish smile. "Sorry. I'm not usually this out of it. It's been a really weird day. I don't even think I know anybody's name here..." she realized, looking around the room at the small group. She felt like she needed to know these people, but at the same time, she was hesitant to. Would they disappear, too? Would they end up haunting her dreams? She felt like this group and her dreams were connected, somehow.

Lydia finally looked back to Ander. "You wouldn't happen to have a treadmill or anything around, would you? I just need to burn off some energy. I get a little antsy, otherwise..."
 
"Code," came Perry's curt answer to the question as he focused on the keyboard and the content of the screen. "Name's Perry." he responded to the second question, not looking up or slowing his work.

"maybe it's not YOUR abilities." Perry said to Ander's self-put-down, "not this time."

As he worked through the code, a flood of snippets invaded his memory.

"...ep the patient fo..." said a woman's voice who's face he couldn't picture.
"... subject rej..." said a disembodied man's voice, one with a gravelly timbre, likely from a lifetime of tobacco use
Visions of classrooms, doctors offices, formulae on chalkboards too complex for his then-young mind.

The silence was stark and noticeable as Perry suddenly stopped typing and grabbed his head.

"...for observation..." a young man's voice said, accompanied by remembrances of bright lights and white tile walls, the smell of bleach and a dozen jars of different objects.
"... give him a full medical..." said the gravel-voice again.

A hallway... he saw "13B7A" but how... was it on the wall? the clipboard the man was carrying? Why were there tall people in white coats?

Perry groaned as his normally detail-focused mind went into overdrive trying to pick out those subtle little things that tormented him so... while he had always found them a nuisance before, it seemed that here, without them, was a true torture. Drugs, in the past, had always taken the edge off, but now his brain was sober and struggling to pull information from a void that seemed far too much like memory.

His head snapped up as his mind seized onto one nugget of certainty. 13B7A! There it was in the code, plain as day.

"I'm ok," he said shortly, "But you guys should see what I've found."

Perry leaned aside to show off his findings to all.
 
If the nothing else, he was a decent listener. Giving a nice smile or a subtle head nod was easy for him to do, usually. Though, this time, it seems almost natural this time. He wasn't faking any interest, in this woman's story. Anyone could see when he giggled the same time she did. Good, clean fun was always worth having.

"Oh, right. Um--Nice to meet you, Annabel Ishii." he said grabbing her hand, gently, hoping he didn't butcher it too bad. "My name is Richard Kennedy." he added with a dimpled smirk

Yes, I made a connection.

He began to take notice of the gathering across the room. They seem to be conduct the investigation, or at least doing something that they should all be over there for. At first, his head turned slightly to look over to the revealed screen/code. Looking back, Rich realized that was still holding Annabel's hand. This caused a little redness to come to the surface. A sign of beckon encouraged her to follow his new short-term objective.

The cushions reshaped, as he stood.

"I don't know about you, but I am curious." he muttered to Annabel.

With that, a couple of steps brought him closer to the screen. The mental memory banks started to kick on. His blue eyes flickered with the sudden brain activity. He even shook his head a little. The memories got stronger the closer he got to the code.

Doctors............Classrooms...............Lights...............Hallways......

Rich shook his head before reaching the screen.

"What is this?" he asked the already gathered.
 
The computer had the contents of the drive open, still looking as enigmatic as ever. However, several phrases had been copied onto a text file and were equated with translations. Some of the translations were words, phrases, snippets of something. Others were unusual, making little sense. A few were simple strings of numbers and letters.

Patient.
Subject.
Class.
24DC5
Integration.
Team.
Soldier.
Observation.
Medication.
Further study is needed.
Talent in need of more aggressive control.


It looked as though either the bum had cracked part of the code or was on his way to doing so... or perhaps was just faking it. But soon, memories would start to flicker in the others, the codes and words bringing more snippets of memory. Tunnels that seemed to go deep into the Earth. Dead ends that somehow weren't very dead. Walls of black, then grey, then immaculate white and showers in rows of stalls. Strange, strong fans and the wearing of white clothing with odd numbers on the wrist cuffs. Numbers laid out the same as those on the translation list, though each person's was different. Classrooms with formulas and tactics and maps. The words “war games” and “Situation diffusion” and “P.Q.” and “integration techniques”. Cafeterias with incredibly healthy food, food with an odd tang to it. Doctor's offices and injections and tests and obstacle courses. Everyone's memories would vary somewhat. The problems in the memories would be solved differently, using their unique talents, talents that seemed so much stronger. And the memories were like something out of a dream, something that had been stolen, taken from them. From their younger selves.
 
"Nice to meet you," Annabel chimed, and if the handshake stung her injured hand, she wasn't showing even an ounce of discomfort on the surface. And when Richard rose to join the group, Annabel followed, brow wrinkling together at the bridge of her nose as her eyes scanned over the translated words.

None of this could possibly have been part of her life, right? But then she couldn't help but return to that memory of the summer camp story. Reading the letter, stretched out on her bed, giggling. Then black. No...

Flashes of images. A chalk board. A tag that read "9FS18". Blood mixing with water on a stark white tiled floor. A syringe filled with oddly colored fluid and a faceless person in a long white coat. A white room with a candle and a beautiful rabbit. A flame.

Just as quickly as it'd disappeared, the room was back but she couldn't tell if the people had returned with it because she was now staring wide-eyed at the floor. It took a moment before Annabel realized that she was clutching fistfuls of her own hair, that she was hunched over as if in pain, or maybe in defense. Her cheeks were wet from what she could only assume were tears.

These memories felt nothing like how they should have. It wasn't the same as recalling her high school graduation or the first time she'd ridden her bike. No, these memories were more like scenes from a movie, a documentary of someone else's life and her head just happened to be the wide screen television.

What was the right word to describe this feeling, Annabel wondered. Alien? Foreign? But the emotion from remembering was her own. The fear, the confusion... The guilt.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Annabel then pushed her hair back into a fresh bun and forced a small smile. "..." Even opening her mouth did little to help her think of something worth saying. So she brought her lips together again and slowly moved back to her seat, fiddling one of her bandages that had come loose. She tried for a good minute to fix it, then decided to just redo the wrapping, unwinding the material from what should have been some ugly burns.

But what she was now looking at was completely wrong. The burns were nothing more than fading pink patches, tender to the touch but otherwise mostly healed. Of course she was confused, but after so many things had happened in such a short time, she decided to just go with it and flopped down onto her side.

She thought about classic and popculture characters to whom she could compare herself. Was she like Frankenstein's monster? Assembled from spare parts, born in a laboratory. Or was she like Jean Claude Van Damme in that one movie her mother loved so much? Oh yes. Universal Soldier. Either way, remembering the burn of that injection was too real not to be just another creation of her imagination.
 
Ander paused as the others walked past him. He smiled down at Lydia, nodding.

“I have a treadmill in the next room, a trampoline out back, and a pool in the basement. Take your pic. Whichever you want is yours to use. Though I would suggest staying inside at the moment.” He smiled his most comforting smile at her, though it was difficult enough to function with the tension in the room. His wall was starting to crack from stress and he was having to devote about half of his attention just to keeping it up.

Sudden weeping caught his attention just as a wave of confusion battered its way through the wall he had been maintaining. He turned, moving to Annabel's side but doing nothing, attention snagged by the computer. Those words. That code.

He felt as though he were falling down a rabbit hole. Memories of tunnels, numbers being called, and instructions being issued assaulted him. The number “17EE17” on the wrist of his shirt. But all of these were secondary to the feelings that accompanied them. Fear, curiosity, excitement, satisfaction, disappointment, determination, the wretched ache of failure, and the sureness that the men and women in coats were afraid of the children surrounding him.

A memory, stronger than the others, pushed in. The children were in a playground, indoors but with such a high ceiling and bright lights that it almost seemed to be outside. However, the air was stale. He remembered the smell more than the blurry picture of the event. There were children playing, though something about the play seemed foreign. He couldn't figure out what, exactly. Then there were screams, so many screams, and a feeling of panic, tearing, ripping apart. One less child on the swings. Gone. Gone like Harry. Then there was a hand on his, tugging him away. White Coats ushering scared children back “inside” and the memory of music. Then nothing.

He'd stumbled back and sat down on the windowseat. It was too familiar. That missing person, gone. Gone just like Harry. Nothing left of him, not even the white uniform. And somehow, some way, Ander knew it was absolutely, undeniably real.
 
Lydia turned and looked when the guy at the computer...Perry, did he say his name was? She started reading the part of the code he'd cracked, her eyes drifting to the rest of it before a phrase jumped out and practically kicked her in the face. 19FM18.

She carefully backed away, shaking. She couldn't run from it. It was there, on her door, on her clothes. Lydia suddenly looked down as if she expected to see it again, looking around at the others as well. They knew. They could see right through her. She felt exposed.

That chalkboard, that formulae. Physics. It was physics. But why? Speed, movement, acceleration, forces...treadmills, lifting machines, running tracks. White coats as spectators. Liquids to drink. She was obedient, not thirsty. Except...except when she got angry...

"I think I'm going to be sick..." she whimpered, in her memory and now. Someone reaching to grab her arm... "DON'T TOUCH ME!" She was stuck, trying to get free, strapped down tight. A needle. Calm.

Lydia sank to the floor, all her energy suddenly drained from her.

"What did they do to us?" she whispered.
 
Before anyone had answered, Rich was already gone again. The memories were back and had forced their way into the brain. His eyelids flickered and the cranium started to try and shake it out of him. Now, Annabel could be heard. Turning slightly, he tried to reach out but there was no feet movemnt. They all were were turning into temporary mental institution patients.

SOLDIER MEDICATION TEAM 15FV17

These words, among others were now pushing onto his brain. The meaning escaped him a bit but they were slowly coming together. Shaky handed, Rich turned to feel some real pain. Not like a slap on the forehead, though. It was more like he laid out in a hot parking lot and an SUV tire parked on his head. The pain was a lot to have at once. Desperately, Rich tried to think of other things to keep from crying out. There was potential danger in that.

"15FV17,
15FV17, 15FV17, 15FV17, 15FV17, 15FV17..." he repeated this over and over.

Before he could react, another surge had hit him. Thankfully, he turned away, just in time, to vocally blast a globe and some books across the room. Rich stumbled and grabbed ahold of a chair, as the pain faded away. The first real thing he saw, was Annabel.

"What...in the blue hell...was that?!" he said wide eyed.

 
Oh god... Perry thought to himself as he heard the others reacting... reacting just the way he had a few minutes ago but worse... he heard them twitching, muttering, moaning.

Perry tried desperately to fix his eyes on the screen and just work through it... Focus...

focus

"Focus Perry! God damn you keep on task!" yelled a voice before a hand collided with his head. Again he was back in those white rooms... the classrooms. White suit, impossibly clean. So many expensive things around him. "Don't you know you'll get everyone killed if you don't focus on your work?!"

Back again at the computer, Perry struggled, he heard the sounds still, he felt the memories clawing at him, wanting to drag him back. He had unlocked so much... and now... would they be killed because of him?

20ED18

He was back again, sitting in his own past. Every word in the brief snippets of memory was clear to him. Every scent, every texture, every sound... they assaulted him, overwhelming but unavoidable. It was like staring into the sun with all five senses... and they just wouldn't let him stop!

Out in the playground. He was busy watching ants carry off their burdens, ignoring all the others. They were all so uninteresting. Other kids like him, same white suits, all way too clean, all with their own tiny, tiny flaws that caught Perry's attention as surely as a fishhook to the eye. Other kids were ugly, other people were ugly. Ants were so much better. A ball came by and a child ran past... someone now familiar...

"Ander?" Perry said aloud before the memories stole him back.

and then the scream. He looked up just in time to see one child... he hadn't ever bothered to remember names... but the one kid just... erupt. He came apart and flew away! Nothing was left save the ringing echos of the scream and the sounds he made... the sounds just like Harry... oh god had that happened to Harry too?!

Back at the screen Perry sank his head to the desk and groaned in sheer overwhelming horror. His imagination ran wild as images of Harry following the same disintegration as that kid...

"How many?" he heard in passing as he was ushered inside.
"That makes seven since the new year. We've got no way to stop it."

Perry wanted to scream, wanted to run from the horror... wanted to crawl into a drug induced hole and never ever come out...

"Focus God Damn you!! Do you want your teammates to die?!"

No... Perry didn't want anyone else to die like that...

and so he focused.
 
"Repeat..." the voice had commanded. "You need to know this, before you hurt someone."

So she'd repeated it, dully. More formulae. Physics formulae. How things moved, how forces acted on other forces. Speed, power, strength, force, time, acceleration... She could barely move or think beyond obeying, a forced calm holding her captive better than any straps could. She could break the straps anyway, unless she was practically bound head to toe. So they'd kept her sedated, compliant. The only escape she had was when they allowed it to wear off enough for her to run. When she ran, she was free.

She ran from everything. Memories, anger, formulae, fear, guilt. Had she done something? Had she hurt that boy? Had she been the cause of his disintegration? She could practically see forces acting on him, pulling him apart. She could see the formula in her mind. If she could get her hands inside him. The drugs had kept her from feeling fear, from feeling the revulsion. She stood and watched the whole thing. It wasn't as if the kid was dead. He'd simply disappeared. It wasn't until one of the instructors dragged her from the playground that she tore her eyes away from where he had been.


Now, years later, she huddled on the floor, trembling and crying. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to get angry...just let me run, please..." she begged nobody. Nobody who was there, anyway.
 
[DASH=white]
Hajori, in a sense was lost, and hating it.

She was hating how hot she was. She was always hot. All the time. It may have been the temperature in the room or it may have been something else, but she was burning up. Her body showed all signs of being steamed. She had palms that gathered giant pools of sweat that she tried desperatly to rub against her white pants, but there was no satisfaction and only tan streaks from the dirty that had gathered there while riding in the back ofLydia's truck. Hajori's eyes darted to the one named Lydia, then Perry, Ander, Rich, until they all turned into one giant blur. She could not make out the faces or anything that they were sayiong. Besides, everyone's thoughts were all scattered anyhow. She remembered hearing something about cold.

And then things burned up.

"It's hot in here..."she said aloud in more of a mumble than an open statement. She was fighting with herself whether to see if anyone heard her or not, but it didn't matter. Heart racing, blood boiling under her skin, swat gathering around her brow and catching onto strands of her red hair, Hajori took in the art of hyperventilation quick. The breaths were more suddle and calming more than dry heaves, but still, it was clearly there. Too much was going on. Too many codes and thoughts. All of those people.

"HELLO? ITS HOT IN HERE!"she shrieked, throwing her hands up in the air in anger at the fact that no one else was going through her fiery torture. Jori's body always spewed heat, she herself just wasn't aware. So, instead, she glared into the eyes of each of them, expecting compensation.
[/DASH]
 
It seemed everyone had succumbed to the pain of the code. Quite frankly, watching them, had tore him the hell up. Not literally, of course. However, his heart was being wrenched terribly. From the panic, to the crying, there was not a single thing to not be depressed by. Then it began to get really hot. That could not be good. When Hajori laid eyes on him, he was greatly worried...and a little scared for them all. That sort of heat would certainly be the beginning of something bad. The situation had to contained.

"Be right back." he muttered, before running off.

Throwing the towel down, Rich went to take the situation into his own hands. Sweating a little, he returned with the keyboard. It was set up quicker than ever before, possibly. Knuckles cracking, he began to hum. It was similar to the same hums that helped Annabel, previously. The soothing, baritone sound began to fill the room. It was a bit shaky, from the circumstantial urgency, but it still felt right. Taking on one last quiet breath, he began to try and pull everyone back.



Until the end, he had been truly lost in his own world. After the moment started to fade, Rich's eyes opened to see the results.

 
Perry's mind was ablaze. Halfway between panic and manic his fingers danced across the keyboard as surely as his eyes danced the screen. He hadn't even let himself blink for quite some time, the flashbacks reverberating through his mind, reminding him that his team would be killed if he failed.

And then...

a song. There was always a song back then. Something to set things back to normal, or get them to sleep... or even make them heal faster. Nonsense, his mind had always said when he thought about the concept of healing with music, but there it was. He didn't much care for the songs... but they certainly did their job.

Suddenly Perry was back. The song had lead him out of the past and rooted him firmly in the present. He could recall clearly everything that had happened, but now it felt like it had happened many years ago instead of happening right that second. Things were... well they weren't 'OK' by any stretch, but at least they weren't bad. He wouldn't kill anyone if he failed. Whatever happened to them all was done and overwith. Maybe now they could move on.

Maybe now they could find answers.

Eagerly, Perry returned to his work with renewed vigor and purpose. Purpose such as he hadn't felt since he was a child.
 
Annabel simply laid on her chosen spot on the couch, which just so happened to be all of it. She wanted to close her eyes, to try and sleep and hope that when she woke up this would all have been just a horrible dream. But she was afraid to sleep. What other memories would return to her? She doubted any of them would be something to smile about.

The others were still freaking out, still remembering things, but Annabel just couldn't wipe this one image from her mind. Even as she stared at her strangely healed hands, the image haunted her. Candle. Flame. Dead rabbit.

And then a new image. A boy and a very familiar girl in a dismal playground. The sound of other children nearby but outside of her vision. The boy was singing to the girl and as said girl began to shyly smile, Annabel could feel her own lips curving upward. She thought she heard a scream but it was so distant, like a dream she could barely remember.

Her hands again, with the new-skin pink patches. Slowly, she sat up, her attention turning to Richard once she realized he was singing again.

Again?

She was calm now, her memories brushed aside as his words filled her with warmth. Oh wait, it felt kind of hot in here, like a sauna.

As Richard's song ended, she felt more like herself again, her crazy, bubbly, some would call 'airheaded' self. She reached out to the table and took her hot chocolate, which was at best luke warm now, and yet still she drank it and rather enjoyed it. It tasted like happiness in liquid form. But boy, was it ever hot in here. Stuffy. Really stuffy. "I think... Once my clothes are dry, I want to maybe just go for a walk and clear my head," she voiced, fingers playing with the mug in her hands, feeling the smoothness of the surface, following the curves of the handle.
 
There was a certain calming effect that trickled slowly over Ander, bringing him back from the precipice of... what? Now that he was soothed by the song, just what had that been? It had seemed very real, very alive, very important, and he aimed to find out just what had caused it.

The thought of the child shredding and vanishing was almost too much to turn his mind away from, but the song caught and held his emotions, allowing him to examine the details of the memories without sinking into it. There had been another song, so similar, in the memory. There had been terror that just went away. He thought he could think of other times, but they were faint. None of them seemed sad, at least, not the sadness associated with seeing someone die. But it was possible that these sad times were just buried deeper. There was much to think about, but first he needed to tend to the others.

It was only then that he noticed the warmth, and a knock at the door to the den. He ignored the warmth for the moment, dashing to the door and dismissing the maid for the day before turning his attention to his guests. They needed him. But... at the moment, he wasn't sure how to help.
 
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