Part V - Torment

Posted on Fri Jan 31st, 2014 @ 1:01pm by Lieutenant Commander Horatio Hawke

Episode: Trauma
Location: Pike City Streets
Timeline: 12 November 2390

The streets of Pike City bustled with foot traffic intermixed with traffic carts. At a busy time, it could sometimes be difficult to navigate through the more densely populated areas. Traffic flows meant that you could easily find yourself in an unfamiliar area if you weren’t paying attention.

Horatio Hawke wasn’t paying attention.

His mind was a dervish of painful memories and swirling sadness. The pain he felt in the pit of his stomach was overwhelming and he struggled to breath. It was like a weight crushing him from the inside.

You couldn’t save her!

He didn’t know where he was going, he was just walking. He bumped into people and uttered meek apologies as he recovered. He thought about going to the Brew House and getting drunk, but he found that held no attraction for him. He thought about going back to his apartment and sleeping, which sounded like a better idea, but even that seemed thoroughly unappealing.

Her blood is on your hands!

He gritted his teeth as he walked, feeling his heart thump in his chest. A dark cloud followed him and his senses were numb. It felt like the walls of the city, the buildings, the shops, the bars, the apartments and the people were all crushing in on him.

It should have been YOU!

He needed to get out of here. He needed to escape. But how? How could he escape this growing insanity within him? That quack Toma was rubbish; no help. He was on his own now.

He couldn’t think of anything else. The crash. The alarms on his console, Zera’s scream as they impacted. The silence. The shattered shuttle around them and the searing pain of the console pinning him down, crushing his legs. Zera in the seat next to him. Silent, still, the blood. She wasn’t his Zera anymore.

Adrenaline pumped through his body, it had been for some time now, and he felt exhausted and energised at the same time. His eyes darted here and there, seeing threats, dangers, Zera!

He didn’t know what to do! Make it stop! End this! He raged against it, but it wouldn’t work. Couldn't work!

It should have been YOU!

It should have been. He was the one flying, he was the one who got her killed. He should have paid for it, not her. Why her and not him?

He walked past a shopfront. It was closed and he realised that it was dark and now starting to rain. He had no idea how long he had been walking. He thought minutes, but the sun was up when he left Toma’s office. It must have been hours. His legs ached, but it was nothing next to the pain he felt in his soul.

He caught his reflection in the glass panel of the shopfront. Look at you! He stared back at himself and was filled with disgust. You’re walking around while she’s long dead. What gives you the right?

I couldn’t save her!

You should have saved her!

What am I supposed to do about it now?

And suddenly, he wondered. He held his hands out, looking down at them as they caught light drops of rain. They were clean, but he still saw the blood. He looked back at the shopfront, at his reflection staring back with bewildered eyes. He hated what he saw.

His heart raced, he could taste the adrenaline and his gut screamed in agony. His ears were ringing and his eyes clouded to everything but that damned reflection. What am I supposed to do?

He wondered no more. Gritting his teeth, breathing furiously, he rushed at the window and smashed his hand through the glass. It shattered around him, razor sharp pieces of plate glass slashing into his hand and forearm.

“Are you alright, buddy?” somebody was asking, but Horatio wasn’t listening.

He stood back from the shattered window and looked down at his hand. Pieces of glass were sticking out of it and it was dripping with blood. Zera’s blood. No, his own blood. His other hand was clean.

He grew vaguely aware of a crowd gathering around him, people were talking, shouting. He didn’t know if they were talking to him or somebody else. He kept staring at his hand; at the blood and the glass.

Somebody had their arm around him; they’d put a coat on him and were walking him away from the shopfront. He didn’t know who the person was and couldn’t pull his eyes away from his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

"It's okay, buddy," the stranger said. "We'll get you some help."

He wasn’t apologising to the kind stranger or even the unknown shopkeeper whose window he had just smashed.

You couldn’t save her!