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Tethered to the island, even in death, and afraid to venture to far for fear that he might be more susceptible than usual the shadows and things that went bump of the night, Shiloh kept close to the buildings, to what he knew and to those he’d left behind.

The comfort of having them near didn’t make it any less mind numbing however. Nor did it change the fact that he had seen things, things that he was sure shouldn’t be here, things that he couldn’t understand. If anything, having crossed to the other side only fueled his innate curiosity, and he searched the halls for the foggy figures and, when his search turned up nothing, instead drifted towards Caelius’ office, thinking of all the lights, and a bright blue one in particular.

Who was she?

He didn't know why he was surprised to see her, after all, he'd been the one looking for her, but he looked into the room with a certain timidness, standing in the doorway. He did note, with relief, that the Death lead was no where to be seen.

"Hello," he answered, returning a small smile even though he had no clue how to address her. He ventured to take a step inside the room, a step closer to her. He couldn't help it, he was curious. "I'm afraid you seem to know me but I... I don't know who you are."

Or what she was, but he assumed that would be impolite to ask.

"Is there a reason you should?" he asked in return, tilting his head a little as he watched her stand, picking up on of the objects. It was a pendent, glowing fiery and orange but as her fingers closed over it, they doused its glow and the object that was placed back on the desk was devoid of the light it had just given off a moment ago. He hadn't really taken much stock of the glowing items, other than that they were glowing, but the orange had stirred something in him, reminded him of a presence he was sorely lacking in his head, of a little chained trinket missing from his hand.

"A journey? What do you mean? Who are you?"

Then, after a pause, after a moment's consideration,

"Where would we go?"

“I want to go back.”

She’d pulled him across a world unlike any other, across the pale smooth marble and bubbling pools of water around it, past verdant hills that set a picturesque backdrop. She’d pulled him until they reached a door and then she’d opened it and he looked at her, hesitantly tugging her hand as he took a step backward. Paradise, was what it seemed like but it could only seem and not be because Shiloh knew he couldn’t actually be here, he knew that his body lay in a pod back on the island, he knew that this couldn’t be real.

“Can’t you take me back? Can’t you help me?”

He looked at her, his face pleading, his questions asking for more than simply returning to Deus.

Perhaps it was because his childhood didn’t hold a whole lot of fond memories that this one in particular had stood out, or perhaps it was because afterward Abby had taken it to heart, reminding him whenever he was sad or upset that there was nothing wrong with him, he was just in the wrong pond. Whatever it was, it was one of his most treasured memories, one of the first times he had felt like someone understood him, and loved him unconditionally.

And as the walls around him filled with it’s backdrop, he knew immediately what was to come, as eager to hear his sister’s story as he had been back then.


“Shy, what about if I read you a story, will that help, hm?”

He was just a little kid, burrowed anxiously underneath the heavy duvet of his sister’s bed. It had been a trying day, one that would serve for a reminder for many days afterward that he was lacking as a human being, that whatever stuff he was made of was just not up to snuff. And as on all days like this particular one, when the nightmare of child abuse was real, he was certain the nightmares that lurked in the shadows at night were just as real, dredging up old memories of eyes lurking in the darkness, of the scrape of claws against a window pane the minutes the lights turned off.

His sister, whether she believed him or not, never gave any indication that she didn’t and it was a familiar routine. Tucked into bed, he’d get scared and, not wanting to alert their parents, he’d tiptoe from his room to hers, where she’d be sitting at her desk doing homework or curled up with a book on her bed. That was how he’d found her this time, reading as he quietly let himself into her room and she gave him a knowing look, but one of infinite patience as she scooted over to make room for him under the covers.

“Which one?” he asked, daring to peek his head out from beneath the blankets. Sometimes, when it was daylight, she’d ask him about what he’d seen but at night she kept her questions to herself, focusing instead on distracting him, on figuring out a way to coax the smile back into his little cheeks.

“You might have read it in school, but it’s called ‘The Ugly Duckling’. Have you heard it?”

“Uh,” he paused, thinking. Shiloh wasn’t much for reading, even at that age, and paying attention while the teacher read at school had never been easy. “I don’t think so…”

Abby laughed, shaking her head a little.

“You’re a goof,” she said, ruffling his blonde hair. “You need to pay attention more, or you’ll get into trouble. But even if you’ve heard it, I’m going to tell you again.”

She got up from the bed, and shut off the big light, switching on instead the little lamp beside her bed as she crawled back in beside him. Shiloh watched her with eagerness and awe, his sister always had the best stories, and she seemed to make them come alive, whisking him away from their house, their town, to a world without nightmares and things that went bump in the night.

“It was lovely summer weather in the country…”

She regaled to him the story of the poor duckling, who everyone picked on simply because he was different, and how unfair it was that they did so, and that he had to endure it for so long. And the little duckling, not so little anymore, was about to give up, surrendering himself to the swans, until he looked down and saw his reflection and he wasn’t ugly at all, he had grown into a beautiful swan. Shiloh had asked her to explain how it happened, and he smiled as she told him, his head sleepy on the pillow. He’d dozed off by the time she finished the last couple paragraphs, and it was her turn to smile as she picked him up, carefully and quietly carrying him back to his own bed.

“You’re that duckling Shiloh,” she said softly, as she tucked him into bed. “Mom and Dad don’t understand you, people don’t understand you because they expect you to be a duck, when you’re really a swan.”

She smoothed her hand over his hair, and moved towards the door, watching him for a moment as he slept, his face peaceful, her voice having lulled him into dreams without nightmares, to a place where he wasn’t hurt or afraid.

“I know it’s hard now, Shy, but someday you’ll get out of here. You’ll find where you fit in, and everything will be better, I just know it.”

When he woke, it was no longer the room he’d first entered, and most certainly not the room he’d just left, the marble cold against his backside. She was next to him, her fingers twining lightly through his hair and the feeling was altogether uncanny, the slight tug on his head strange when until this point he could feel nothing, and nothing could feel him, interaction coming to a total standstill.

At least it had, until now.

She asked him a question, her voice seemingly gently but her fingers had become anything but and they jerked him out of the cold reverie she wove. Of course he was tired, Deus made everyone tired. He was pretty sure he was allowed to be tired, after dying. But tired made him long for a warm bed, and a soft pillow, he didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to stay here where it was cold and hard and her hands pulled incessantly at his hair.

He had nothing to compare the feeling to, of slowly sinking, of drowning without air or water but drowning all the same, something pulling him down, down and he struggled against her, struggled to get up.

“What, what are you doing? I don’t want to rest here, let me go!”

Shiloh tugged against the cold fingers that curled around his arm, their grip tighter than it should have been, holding him back from escape. Not that he could escape anyway, with the reach of her fingers extending beyond his arm and into his mind, she picked at his memories, lighting them up then taking them away, the blank spaces she left behind dark and empty, as though there had never been light in them, as if the memories had never existed.

He didn’t like the feeling, didn’t like someone invading his privacy so succinctly, she took only what she wanted, and left the rest all behind. Then another door appeared, something else she wanted and she pulled him towards it. Shiloh struggled against her grasp.

“This isn’t where I want to go,” he protested, “Take me back to Deus, I don’t have any more stories for you!”

But even as he said so, memories flitted out from the small crevices of the door, and Shiloh knew what person the memories held behind that the door, glimpsing clearly one of the few memories he had with Ian, the laughter as he showed him what had happened to his shirt, all covered with blue stains that were impossible to scrub off, no matter how hard Shiloh tried. Ian had questioned Shiloh’s idea of what ‘good news’ meant, and then the memory flickered out, just as Shiloh was promising he’d replace the shirt. Real Shiloh, meanwhile, not his memory self, was desperately trying to writhe his way out of her hold on him, already feeling her plucking at the edges of the door. He closed his eyes, as if he could somehow stop the memories that would come, but it felt like he was swimming against the current, like he was powerless to stop it.

“No,” he cried weakly.