Summary: In the cabin of the ship returning from Lazarus Island
Date: 10/28/2013
Related: The Lazarus Island logs
Elodie Sammel 

21 December, 3013 - Guest Cabin of a Hollolas ship on the way to Beacon

*Warning, this contains very disturbing imagery from the recent Lazarus Island Event*

It’s dark, the emergency lights barely give any glow for her to see by.
Where are the others?
They were just here, with their Awakened light.
Her voice echoes in the hallway, dying in the wind that whistles through shattered windows of the rooms around her. Even with the closed doors, the sound is still there, muffled but persistent.
No answer.
She continues on, listening, watching, studying the walls for indications that another cave in might be imminent.

The hallway opens into a larger room.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
She hears the steady sound, even over the wind and beating of her own heart.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
To her right, a grand piano tilts crazily from the section of ceiling that fell on top of it.
But the piano bench is intact.
She can use the legs as a weapon.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sound is persistent as she unscrews them, and then holds them in front of her as she continues on.
Drip. Drip. Drip.

There it is, the shadowy ‘X’ hanging in front of her. The dripping is coming from there.
She doesn’t want to approach.
The little AI springs to life, the light of her program illuminating the suspended body.
“You have to go through that door,” the cheerful childlike projection tells her.
That door is at the other side of the body.
Drip. Drip. Drip.

She has nothing to cut the body down with, she lost her clutch purse when she fell through the floor.
She grits her teeth and tightens her jaw as she approaches.
She doesn’t want to look as she walks under, but she can’t help it.
The legs are encased in dark blue pants, which almost hides the fact that they are soaked in blood.
There’s something wrong.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
She stops.
She backs up one step.
Drip. Drip. Drip.

She looks up.
The torso is bare, masculine from what she can see of what is left of it.
The insides are hanging out, the stomach cavity cut for the purpose of pulling out the intestines and internal organs.
One arm is missing the skin, the bulging bicep bared so every sinew can be seen.
She backs up another step.
This isn’t right.
Drip. Drip. Drip.

“You better hurry,” Hollee says.
“They’re coming for you.”

Something is wrong.
Elodie looks up, and she sees the face.
Sammel’s eyes are wide in terror, his mouth stretched in the agony of pain as his skin was peeled away..
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The piano stool legs fall to the floor and she starts screaming.
She’s still screaming when they drag her away.

Strong hands are gripping her shoulders, gently shaking her awake.

Elodie’s eyes open looking into Sammel’s blue-grey ones, filled with worry and concern as they look down at her, his voice urging her to wake up.
It takes her a few heartbeats to realize those eyes are alive, to push away the darkened room, the hologuide and the steady dripping.
When they finally recede, she looks around frantically.

She’s in the bed in the cabin they’ve been given, Sammel is alive, and laying with her.
The steady wind is the sound of the ocean wind around the ship.
Whimpering, she clutches at his shoulders, pulling him to her.
“Shhhh,” Sammel soothes her, his lips warm on her temple, her forehead, the top of her head as he cradles her. “It’s all right, my love. I’m here. You’re safe.” He repeats the words in no particular order, holding her close as she cries, rubbing her back and occasionally kissing her until she falls into fitful sleep once more.

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