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nadiathesaintBy all rights, the fact that she finally told someone about some of her worries, her dreams should have gone away.
Alas, it looked as though this was not to be, as the combination of a still healing head injury, a history with the wackjob followers of a medieval Italian prophet, and her own fears continued to works its "magic" on her subconscious.
And so she dreamed.
It was the grey city again, with its low, dim, red sun casting an eerie light over the streets.
Streets that, this time, weren't deserted.
There were people everywhere, huddled in doorways, moaning on the sidewalks, darting in and out of visibility. When each one saw her, they told her their name. They told her about their families, and the horrible things that had happened to them as the strange illness they had had taken over. Their red eyes stared at her accusingly, and she'd back away, or sometimes run away, but she couldn't find any where to hide.
Then the people stopped being strangers. They were Blair and Molly, Xander and John, Marty, Angela, Lucas, Veronica, Piper, and Bridge. They were Pip and Pippi and Victor.
They were Walter.
Her friends didn't speak to her, just stalked her and stared with those eerie red eyes that matched the sun, surrounding her in the middle of one street. She begged them to stop, and a concrete angel fell from above and smashed on the asphault in front of her.
It wore Sydney's face.
Someone grabbed her and held her from behind. It was the kind-faced man, and his grip on her couldn't be broken.
"Siete lui, siete voi non?. Siete Rambaldi!"
"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you."
She spun, and saw Sophia in the crowd of her red-eyed friends. Sophia was as she had always been: stern but forgiving, strong, but somehow so fragile. She stepped out of the crowd and over Sydney's face to Nadia.
"You had to keep asking questions." Sophia reached up and ripped the St. Christopher medal from Nadia's throat. "Now you see where it has brought you?"
"Please," Nadia begged. "Sophia, please help me."
"That's not my name, child. But you've learned that already." Sophia brushed a hand gently against Nadia's cheek. "We are helping you."
And she plunged a needle into the side of Nadia's neck.
Nadia cried out and sat up, clutching her neck. The clock's red numbers reading 3:47 made her wince. She squeezed her eyes shut and cursed. Of course, she'd forgotten and gone to sleep in her own bed. She grabbed her blanket and stumbled out of her room and into the common room, where she curled up on a couch, and after about half an hour, finally managed to drift off to sleep again.
Walter set his fork down on his plate and cocked his head at Nadia.
"Du bist ein Ungeheuer," he said.
Nadia sat up. The clock over the TV read 5:47 am. She was seriously considering just banging her head on something and knocking herself out. She swallowed, swiped a hand across her eyes, and turned on the TV.
Maybe she could numb her brain with The Z-Cases.
Alas, it looked as though this was not to be, as the combination of a still healing head injury, a history with the wackjob followers of a medieval Italian prophet, and her own fears continued to works its "magic" on her subconscious.
And so she dreamed.
It was the grey city again, with its low, dim, red sun casting an eerie light over the streets.
Streets that, this time, weren't deserted.
There were people everywhere, huddled in doorways, moaning on the sidewalks, darting in and out of visibility. When each one saw her, they told her their name. They told her about their families, and the horrible things that had happened to them as the strange illness they had had taken over. Their red eyes stared at her accusingly, and she'd back away, or sometimes run away, but she couldn't find any where to hide.
Then the people stopped being strangers. They were Blair and Molly, Xander and John, Marty, Angela, Lucas, Veronica, Piper, and Bridge. They were Pip and Pippi and Victor.
They were Walter.
Her friends didn't speak to her, just stalked her and stared with those eerie red eyes that matched the sun, surrounding her in the middle of one street. She begged them to stop, and a concrete angel fell from above and smashed on the asphault in front of her.
It wore Sydney's face.
Someone grabbed her and held her from behind. It was the kind-faced man, and his grip on her couldn't be broken.
"Siete lui, siete voi non?. Siete Rambaldi!"
"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you."
She spun, and saw Sophia in the crowd of her red-eyed friends. Sophia was as she had always been: stern but forgiving, strong, but somehow so fragile. She stepped out of the crowd and over Sydney's face to Nadia.
"You had to keep asking questions." Sophia reached up and ripped the St. Christopher medal from Nadia's throat. "Now you see where it has brought you?"
"Please," Nadia begged. "Sophia, please help me."
"That's not my name, child. But you've learned that already." Sophia brushed a hand gently against Nadia's cheek. "We are helping you."
And she plunged a needle into the side of Nadia's neck.
Nadia cried out and sat up, clutching her neck. The clock's red numbers reading 3:47 made her wince. She squeezed her eyes shut and cursed. Of course, she'd forgotten and gone to sleep in her own bed. She grabbed her blanket and stumbled out of her room and into the common room, where she curled up on a couch, and after about half an hour, finally managed to drift off to sleep again.
Walter set his fork down on his plate and cocked his head at Nadia.
"Du bist ein Ungeheuer," he said.
Nadia sat up. The clock over the TV read 5:47 am. She was seriously considering just banging her head on something and knocking herself out. She swallowed, swiped a hand across her eyes, and turned on the TV.
Maybe she could numb her brain with The Z-Cases.
