Watchers of the Night

by Matthew Keith

Chapter 8

  As it turned out they didn’t have far to go. Paul’s temporary quarters were located in a row of rooms on a second-floor hallway that ran alongside the commons room. It was in one of those rooms that Paul would spend his first night.

  “We purposely have not yet made a permanent room available to you,” Dr. Abrams explained apologetically. “These rooms are available for visitors and short term patients. I hope you will be comfortable. There is still a great deal for you and I to discuss before we bring you into the Sanctum, which is where our residents sleep. I know this probably seems a bit over the top and you’ll probably find yourself extremely bored this evening, but for your own safety I am going to shut and lock your door—for tonight only, I promise you.”

  Were they locking him in for his safety, or theirs? The open door policy clearly only applied to people they trusted. Looking into the room Paul said, “With all due respect, Dr. Abrams, this is a very small area to spend an entire night just staring at the wall.”

  Looking truly apologetic and slightly distraught, Dr. Abrams looked at Natasha as if for moral support. “Paul, if I felt comfortable that there was no danger in allowing you to wander the facility, I wouldn’t hesitate. But circumstances being what they are—and I assure you that you will understand everything tomorrow—I just can’t take any chances.”

  Looking down at his watch, Dr. Abrams said, “You have only a few minutes before you will be unconscious. Please, allow us to take our leave so that you can make yourself comfortable. You may hear sounds outside your door during the night, but do not be alarmed. I am posting a Sentinel there as a precaution. Again, I promise that by tomorrow most of this will make sense and you will understand my actions this evening.”

  Paul considered pressing the issue, but relented. So he would spend the night bored. It was a small thing. How much more boring could it be than sitting unnoticed on that godforsaken bench back home?

  “Alright, Dr. Abrams. I appreciate all the care you’re taking for my safety. I look forward to another conversation tomorrow.”

  “I will see you soon,” replied Abrams with a slight bow of his head.

  “Paul,” said Natasha in her cultured voice, “it was a pleasure to have finally met you.”

  After they had gone and shut the door behind them, Paul dug his cell phone out of his pocket. Surprisingly, he had a couple of bars.

  He dialed Stephanie’s number, but only got her voice mail. “Hey, Steph. It’s me. I’m sorry about leaving like I did today. I have a lot to tell you. So much has happened already, stuff you’ll probably never believe. Anyway, you’re my one and only phone call tonight. It’s about to get dark here, so you know what that means. I’ll try you again tomorrow.”

  Frustrated, he lay down on the bed, fluffing the pillows in effort to make himself comfortable. Dr. Abrams had definitely been right about one thing—Paul was getting very tired. Pulling the thin covers up to his chin, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be taken away into the dream, sinking down, down, down until he reached the bottom. Alone.

  And then he opened his eyes and sat up.

  Did it really only take a few seconds to transition into the dream? He’d always assumed it did, because that was how it felt. But he’d never checked a clock to see if it was seconds, minutes or longer.

  Shrugging mentally, he stored the questions away for the next day when he would be surrounded by people who could give him the answers.

  He took a good look around the room for the first time. There was a small desk against the wall, a clock above it, and a television hung high in the corner to the left of the door. A small armoire was next to the desk.

  Muttering, he chastised himself for not paying more attention to his minimal surroundings before slipping into sleep. He could have at least left the television on.

  Frustrated, he flounced into the desk chair and decided to pass the time by trying to recall everything Dr. Abrams had said to him. Muttering, he focusing on what he thought were the most important things.

  “Sanctum. Guarded door. Uncomfortable having me wander freely in Astralis. Natasha…”

  Paul realized he was speaking gibberish, talking to himself, and saying words in no particular order. He probably sounded a little crazy, but he doubted there was anyone listening, so it really didn’t matter. Or was there? Dr. Abrams had said something about having a guard posted.

  “Hello?” he called out. “Can anybody hear me?”

  Standing up and going to the door, he spoke louder. “Hey! Anybody out there?”

  Trying to stand as still as possible, Paul listened as hard as he could. He thought he heard a slight rustle, but couldn’t be sure. One thing was certain: nobody answered. It was probably the door guard. What was it that Abrams had called it? A Sentinel? Most likely all he’d heard was the Sentinel shifting from one foot to another. Or, he’d imagined it out of a desire to feel like someone was paying attention.

  He wondered what Stephanie and Steven were doing tonight. He could guess fairly easily—Stephanie would be doing homework in her room with every available piece of electronics that could make noise turned on full blast, and Steven… the safe bet was that he was either playing basketball at the community center or looking for someone to buy him beer, or both. Probably both.

  It was hard to believe that just this morning he’d been in Radcliff with no idea that he’d be whisked away in a jet helicopter to a place that was more of a mountain fortress than a clinic. It already felt like he was imagining someone else’s life when he thought about his home and his school. And it hadn’t even been a full day yet.

  Circumstances being what they are, thought Paul. That’s what Abrams had said. What circumstances? Was Abrams afraid that Paul could be hurt if he wandered Astralis alone at night or was it the other way around? Was Abrams actually worried that Paul could do some damage? If that was Dr. Abrams’ concern, then how? As a matter of fact, in either case how could he be worried? It wasn’t like Paul could be hurt while he was Walking and it certainly wasn’t like he could hurt anyone else. Could he?

  Maybe it wasn’t physical harm that Abrams was concerned about. Maybe it was simply a matter of trust. That would make sense, but what could Paul possibly see or hear that would make Abrams feel uncomfortable? And why wouldn’t Abrams have just said so? Paul was new here. No one really knew him yet. It would be perfectly reasonable if they didn’t trust him. More questions for Paul to file away…

  Natasha. Now there was someone to wonder about. Abrams had made it such a point to convey her importance, it had seemed like he was trying to tell Paul something of great gravity. If Paul had been asked to guess who the second-in-command was at Astralis, he would have guessed Dittrich, and that could very well be the case. But Abrams sure seemed like he wanted Paul to understand that Natasha was the go-to in the event that Abrams was absent. Why? Why would Abrams mention it on their first meeting? More and more questions.

  Just then there was a quiet knock at the door and a voice called out.

  “Please step back from the door. Dr. Abrams is coming in.”