Just as she was about to make contact, as the image was solidifying into a three-dimensional actuality, as opposed to a twinkling, two-dimensional representation—
Something flashed overhead.
Jerking her head up, she looked to the sky. It was not blue and red any longer. In fact, all the colors were gone from the plane of existence, nothing but grays and blacks and gloom above and all around her.
When she glanced back at the table, the book was real.
And it was demanding that she—
* * *
Rahvyn woke up in a rush, and she put her hand to the center of her chest to hold in her thundering heart. Glancing about at her environs, she saw only the healing room she had been given, the one where the angel with the blond-and-black hair had come to see her, and where the Brothers had cloistered around outside in the hall to speak of what she had done to Nate.
Dearest Virgin Scribe. She still had regrets, fearing that she had saved him only to create another set of problems for her friend.
Perhaps death would have been kinder to him, even as it shattered those who loved him.
And as for the dream just the now? She did not know what that had been about, why that book had come to find her, what it had wanted from her.
Struck by a restlessness that suffused her with twitches, she was compelled into some kind of action, any kind. Slipping her feet out from under the blanket that covered her, she padded over to the bathroom. After a series of refreshments, which included a toothbrushing courtesy of supplies that were set upon the counter, she returned unto the larger space.
Whereupon she looked at the door out.
Driven unto motion, she stepped through into the corridor. And then she walked along the long, white, unadorned hall. Her senses were such that the walls of the clinic, as well as its various underground floors, disappeared, everything becoming transparent and revealing the dramas that were playing out around her: She could see them all, the males and females within the facility, whether they were patients or healers or people who were with machines or computers. She knew their stories instantaneously, drowning in their secrets as they received treatment, rendered treatment, recorded treatment, waited for treatment.
This transparency had happened before, and as the input swamped her, she attempted to put up her psychic boundaries to shut it out. Something about that dream had disturbed her fundamentally, however, and she struggled to marshal defenses so that she could form her own and separate purpose, the segregation necessary for her to—
“Are you all right?”
At the sound of the female voice, Rahvyn snapped out of her tailspin. A nurse in uniform was standing before her, eyes of brown looking concerned, a caring hand reaching forward. She recognized who it was. This was the one who had been checking in from time to time, who had been so nice. And in response to the present inquiry, Rahvyn took a steadying breath—and for a split second, entertained the option of telling the female that in fact, no, she was not all right. She was submerged in the lives of other people.
And wondering why she did not save the ones who were dying.
Just as she had Nate.
Rahvyn remained silent, however. She knew the kind of aid she sought was outside the scope of care offered by the female. By anyone.
“I am rather hungry,” she said roughly, such that she could justify her presence outside of her room. “Is there a kitchen herein, perhaps?”
“Oh, yes.” Relief marked the nurse’s pleasant face. “If you’d like, you can go back to your room and I’ll have someone bring you whatever you want?”
The idea of being cooped up made sweat bead along Rahvyn’s forehead. “I’d prefer to sort it myself? If that is possible.”
“Well, there is a cafeteria.” Directions were provided. “Just follow the signs, then. It is not fully open, but there are choices for you there.”
“Thank you very much indeed.”
There was a little more conversation that Rahvyn did not attempt to follow, and as they stepped apart, she realized she had retained nothing of the instructions for the location. The last statement proved enough, however.
She followed the signs.
After going around many turns and down a couple of straightaways, she caught the scent of food. It was not of the First Meal variety, however—and that, coupled with her sense that daylight had indeed arrived aboveground, informed her that it was not yet dark again.
She could not leave.
A set of double doors soon presented themselves, and proved a portal into a broad space fronted by stainless-steel countering and many glass-fronted units. Therein the equipment was an endless supply of available sustenance, as well as a long stretch of serving buffets, all of which were shut down, likely due to the hour. Walking over to a display of fruit, she took a tray and helped herself to an orange. An apple. A cookie wrapped in cellophane. A bottle of water. A premade sandwich—