Page 45 of A Touch Of Death

Walking further brings me nothing more than darkness and even more nothingness. There's no light, but I can see well enough. I can see the endless expanse of empty space that surrounds me.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" My voice bounces back to me, once again echoing until it fades entirely.

I'm not sure how long I walk, searching for someone or something to guide me through the black void. It seems I walk for hours, though I don't grow tired, which has me realising I don't really feel much of anything other than the slow thumps of my heart in my chest. My heart is going at a pace I know is far too slow for any living being to be able to survive, but it's the only thing that I recognise in this place. The fullness of my belly after the food Ezra cooked is gone, and the headache that was beginning to build from trying to understand that damn paragraph in the book has disappeared. Everything inside me, other than my heart, has grown numb. The only thing I can seem to feel at all is the cold air that's wafting the mist in a creepy dance that I want no part in.

I check my emotions and realise they've dulled somewhat too. All the negative feelings I'd had before my hand touched the book are evaporating until all that's left is an unnatural calm that seeps through my body. If I think on certain positive emotions, I feel a flare before it's dulled, and I'm back to being calm. It's a strange feeling, but I find myself unafraid as I walk further through the fog. In fact, it’s almost as though the misty substance begins to call to me, drawing me further and further into the nothingness that lays before me.

More time passes, and I'm no closer to figuring out why I'm here or how I got here. "Anyone here? Hello?"

Nothing.

This time, not even an echo.

I pause when I don't hear my voice talking back to me. A spike of fear flares to life before it evaporates. With a chilling calm, I watch the mist swirl around me until it draws nearer. My entire lower half is barely visible through the fog, but panic doesn't come to me. There's an odd acceptance tickling my brain, though I haven't the faintest idea what that could be.

That is until I'm sucked under the fog before I can take a breath.

The mist suddenly grows thicker, and thicker still, until it begins to press down on my body heavily. It feels like a living entity that's suddenly crushing me where I've been yanked under. My breaths turn shallow and ragged while I struggle uselessly against the fog. But why am I struggling? I should just accept this. Ineedto accept this.

I shake my head, and another spike of fear takes hold of me before it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared. What am I even thinking? Why the hell would I accept this creepy fog crushing me until it feels like there's an anvil pushing down on my lungs?

Just as the thought enters my brain, a faint whisper of a voice seeps into my mind. I can't make out what the voice is saying through my struggles, but I know it's soft and soothing. The more I struggle against the mist, the louder the voice grows in my head, until I can finally make out the whispered words. "Novia, calm down. Calm down. You need to relax and stop struggling, honey. That's it. Don't fight it."

The fight slowly leaves me as the stranger speaks into my mind. The voice is feminine and comforting, holding the faintest familiarity that surprises me. Where have I heard that voice before? And how does it know my name?

"Just relax. I'll help you understand everything," the voice whispers, sending a flood of warmth to my chest.

My body relaxes completely, and the heavy weight of the mist morphs into something else. My lungs are no longer struggling to take a breath, but the air catches in my chest when I inhale just as the mist surrounds my face. Slowly, I feel a small amount of the mist filter through my ears into my body with a feather-like touch, and I involuntarily shiver at the sensation it causes.

In a matter of seconds, my vision becomes blurry, and my ears begin to ring with a high octave that has me cringing. What remains of the mist retreats from my form with slow movements that remind me of an octopus Dahlia and I once saw when she snuck me to the beach early one morning.

As my eyesight begins to focus again, and the ringing in my ears begin to dull, the mist moves around until it floats all in one place five feet in front of me. With clear eyesight, I watch as the mist grows thicker again until it's in the shape of a large rectangle. It would pass as a movie theatre screen if the edges weren't wafting around like tendrils of smoke.

I watch silently as the darkness grows impossibly darker and the something within the mist flickers. It's like a dim light that stutters before a faint picture begins to appear as though a vintage projector is beginning to play an old movie.

The woman's soft voice enters my head again as I stare at the makeshift screen and says, "Pay attention to all you see next, Novia."

My eyebrows draw down in confusion, but the woman's voice fades, and the next thing I know, the picture in the mist begins to move. In the picture, there's a woman with light blonde hair that resembles mine. She has deep green eyes, a warm smile, and a face that I recognise so strongly. Mainly because mine shares a lot of the same features: high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, pointed chin, and a small nose.

"Mom?" I breathlessly ask the nothingness. I get no response, not that I expected one. I stare into the mist while my eyes tear and my heart beats faster as I see my mother’s face for the first time in years. Happiness and grief overtake me, the once stifling calm disappearing the moment I recognise my mom’s face. The battle to withhold my tears was over before it began, wet tracks left behind on my cheeks after every drop falls.

I startle when static sounds in my head before sound filters in. The sound follows the screen, and I fall into whatever it is I'm supposed to be watching.

Mom walks hastily towards Dad with a rounded belly, smoothing her hand lovingly over the protruding bump. "Francis, she's moving! Come feel her little feet kicking."

Dad rushes towards her, almost knocking over the chair he's been sitting in. He kneels in front of Mom, places his large hands over her belly, and waits. The moment he feels the baby move, his face lights up. His eyes crinkle in the corner, and his smile is so wide his teeth flashes in the daylight that streams through the kitchen.

Mom is grinning down at Dad, a look of adoration of her face for the man she married and the baby she carries. "The little mite is restless today. She's been moving since I opened my eyes this morning, but this is the most she's wriggled around in there."

"Our little girl just wants to meet her mama, papa, and big sister. Not long now, love. She'll be with us before you know it." Dad leans closer to the belly that I realise is carrying an unborn me and drops a sweet kiss onto the place where my foot kicks.

With a smile so soft, Mom says, "Four weeks. Four long weeks until Dahlia has a baby sister to spoil."

"The time will go by quicker than you know it." Dad rises from the floor and pulls Mom into an embrace that I'd be embarrassed to witness had my life been different. "For now, we have four weeks to finish the nursery, think of a name for our little lady, and get you comfortable until the time comes to pop that little nugget out."

Mom's head tips back with her laughter, her bump jiggling with the force of it. She's beautiful, glowing with her pregnancy and radiating happiness. "If this little one is going to be anything like Dahlia, I'll need all the relaxation I can get before she arrives. Do you know what I caught madam doing earlier? I found her sitting in our closet trying to plant flowers in our shoes. Said she was trying to make them look prettier."

Dad does his best not to outright laugh, but his lips twitch, and he's forced to bite down the smile that tries to break through. Mom shakes her head at him and lifts her hands to squeeze his cheeks together until his mouth puckers like a fish. She drops a kiss on his lips while they chuckle before letting him go. "I'm going to go rest for the remainder of Dahlia's nap. I'll be up and ready to help with dinner."

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