The BLTS Archive - Before Sleep
by jemisard (jemisard@internode.on.net)

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In the dead of night, that's when I hear him.

I tell myself that I'm going mad. I tell myself that it's the whisper
of the ventilation or the sound of a ship settling into dock.

Sometimes when the lights are low, low enough that even he wouldn't
silently complain, I fancy other things.

The rustle of his tunic as he walks, but only when he wants to be
heard. The soft tap of his shoes against the floor.

If I close my eyes and try to ignore it, it gets even stronger.

At first it's the noise, but once my eyes are closed, I start to sense
other things. Normally, it's the scent of tea from my living room, and
I don't know why that should be, because he never drank tea here.

Sometimes, I can smell kanar. Those are the bad nights, when I know I
will not sleep.

Next, I can feel a breeze through my room, like a person moving. The
smells grow stronger as the breeze passes by and one of three things
will happen.

Sometimes, the breeze fades away, and the scent disappears, and
finally the sounds will retreat to silence and the tiniest hum of
engines.

Sometimes, I can feel him here. He had a strong presence; you knew
when he was watching you. I can feel that sometimes, a melancholic
weight against my neck, oppressive and heavy.

The bad times are when she is here.

They've been growing less frequent. There's a distance growing between
us, maybe it's because of this insanity that is claiming me. I always
feared I would go this way, plagued by things that no one else seemed
to comprehend.

Now, I wonder if what my companions saw was not the truth after all,
and I simply deluded myself that it wasn't.

The first time she stayed over was the worst of all. The breeze blew
in; I was half asleep, she was cuddled in my arms. I stirred as I felt
it across my neck, rolling enough to peer about the darkened room.

I almost heard the startled gasp as she was revealed to the room,
wrapped in my sheets.

Then, the temperature dropped.

I felt it. Like life support had shut down, only faster. I could
breathe, but my skin grew cold, and it was far colder than anything
that he would have ever enjoyed.

She shivered and cuddled down further, drawing closer to me.

I would have maybe thought nothing of it. Even when the temperature
started to increase and it was almost uncomfortably warm and she
kicked me until I shifted away again, I did not think too much on it.

Not until I heard the crash from the other room.

We were both shocked fully awake by it. I got up, drawing on my robe
and motioned her to stay there. I crept out and turned on the lights.

For a fleeting second, I saw something. Dark and shadowed, and then it
was gone in the harsh lights.

Only the broken photo remained.

It was the beginning of the end for me. She can't believe what I get
from these visitations, that it really is him visiting me, haunting
me, and not just the 'product of an overly guilty conscience and a
hyper active, enhanced mind'.

She doesn't stay anymore. I couldn't bear the feeling in the suite
when she did. I go there sometimes for the night, but when I come back
there's always the lingering smell of kanar and the photo is always
broken again.

I've replaced the frame three times, then gave up and just put it
away. She didn't like that, but how could I tell her that he keeps
breaking it because he hates the sight of her?

Now, I keep the lights low. I leave my bedroom door open. I can feel
his gaze as I go to sleep, and sometimes when I wake.

It should scare me. But it doesn't. No one else can see it, which
scares me more. But I like the idea that I was the only thing he
regretted leaving behind.

Sometimes I hate him for what he did. But most of the time I just
leave my bedroom door open and whisper to him at night when I can't
sleep.

I wish I had done as much before his death.

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The End