Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
“What is it?” I ask.
“You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
He points at the dead body across the room. “You woke up screaming about him. Said he was going to kill you.”
I digest this. A vague flash of memory echoes in my head, like a slip of a dream. “Oh. I must have had one of my night terrors. Sorry about that.”
“Night terrors? What’s that?” He takes a step toward me, interested. “You know I don’t dream, so you’re going to have to tell me more.”
Fiddling with the frayed hem of the blanket, I try not to feel embarrassed. “It’s something I’ve dealt with all my life. Sometimes my brain doesn’t recognize the difference between being asleep and awake. If I have a nightmare, I can wake myself up with screaming, but I’m not really awake. It’s like my mind is still asleep. I don’t remember it when I wake up.” I smooth my hair back from my forehead. “It happens sometimes when my sleep schedule is messed up, or I’m stressed.”
His brows shoot up with disbelief. “What could you possibly be stressed about?”
“You’re kidding, right? We just killed a man.”
Kalos doesn’t even blink. “He was going to die anyhow. That’s what mortals do.”
He’s not getting it. I can’t believe we’re even having to argue about this. “Yes, but we were responsible. We deliberately caused his death.”
The god doesn’t seem bothered by me pointing this out. “So now you’re a martyr in addition to someone who spouts platitudes full of sunshine. I see.”
“I’m not a martyr,” I huff, offended. I push the blankets back and swing my feet over the edge of the bed, and then don’t step down, because the floor is still wet and mucky. I cross my legs instead.
“Yet you blame yourself for something inevitable,” Kalos points out.
“We did it. We literally killed him. Wasn’t inevitable.”
“I seem to recall me being the one that did it, and you’re taking credit for it. Should I be offended?” He tilts his head, regarding me.
I sputter in outrage. “That’s not what I meant—”
Oblivious to the filthy floor, Kalos moves to the side of the bed and leans over me. “Listen, my sunshine-belching martyr, bad things are going to happen on this journey. People are going to die. You shouldn’t care unless the people dying are us.”
“That’s the problem,” I point out, keeping a smile on my face despite the annoyance I feel. “You never care, Kalos. That’s why you’re down here.”
He throws his arms wide. “So I should care about everyone? Cuddle them all and reassure them that the god of disease loves them very much?”
I scowl. “You’re being frustrating.”
The god waves an idle hand at me. “And like I said, you’re being a martyr.”
After that, I give up on arguing with him. I get dressed while on the bed and go through the items in my pack, trying to determine how much we have left and if it’ll get us where we need to go, or if we need to rob the dead man blind. Kalos is silent through all of this, and it makes me suspicious.
I glance up over at him, noting he’s seated by the cold fireplace, staring at the wall. “You’re quiet. Don’t you want to call me a martyr a few more times before we head out?”
No answer.
Okay, that’s…weird. I put my beat-up sandals on and move over to him, watching his posture. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. It’s like he’s not mentally there at all.
“Kalos?” I ask and wave a hand in front of his staring face.
Nothing. Nothing at all. No response. Not even a blink.
Is this his Apathy catching up with him? Was he too active, and now this is some sort of Apathy-hangover? Poor guy. I brush a lock of hair off his brow and settle his hands on his legs, moving him like I would a mannequin. When there’s still no response, I move back to the bed and settle in.
However long this takes, I guess we’re here for the interim.
Kalos returns to himself sometime after dark. One moment he’s a zombie, the next he’s getting to his feet and peering out the window, as if half the day hasn’t passed.
I jump to my feet, too. “Hey! Are you all right, Kalos? What happened?”
He scowls at me, his expression one of pure disdain. “What do you think happened?”
Okay, he clearly is not in the mood to talk about it. I put a hand up, backing off. I can take a hint. “I can pack and be ready to go in a few minutes, if you’re capable of heading out.”
“I’m clearly more ready than you are,” he replies, tone withering.
Fun times. We head out an hour or so later, in the dead of night. Kalos isn’t talking, and all is eerily quiet. I look over my shoulder the entire time, half expecting someone to turn on a light or for a door to open. For someone to call out that we’ve been caught sneaking away. Yet all remains silent.