Chapter XLV
The Letter
Adria utilized shortcuts that took her back to her side of Dictaduria in a short time. She was proud of her mastery of the routes around Negativus, which had made her both efficient and quick. Memories of her last day played in her mind in retrospective. She was exhausted in ways she hadn't anticipated, adrenaline surging through every fiber of her being, trembling. It was unbelievable that she was alive after that night. Unexpected moments unfolded on their own while she pondered their implications.
By the time she approached her block, it was around 7:30 a.m. The morning was still young, and she was ready to rest on her inflatable mattress. It promised her a good rest and a chance to slow down. However, she couldn't do so before speaking with Bitlan. She had been mad at him over something that now seemed irrelevant. She had hoped to bring an alter as a peace offering, and her failure made it harder to accept how wrong she had been to get angry at him.
Listening to Pink Floyd through her earbuds, Adria walked the roads that led her home.
The training with Bitlan had proved helpful, and her successful encounter against the umbras was the result of their sessions. She didn't need a merkabah for protection; she was grateful to Zanda for taking Gorbat's. The borocane, graviless boots, and as many crystapheres as were available in Spheneus would suffice for her survival.
A bartender, instructed by Markus and Bostan, had provided her with a necessary supply of crystapheres, enhancers, and healing supplies just before she left Lux de Noctis. It was comforting to know the level of commitment they had.
The cliff next to her street reminded Adria of the landslide. She hoped they wouldn't suffer the same fate as their neighbors before being relocated.
Her block was cracking more each day. The paint of the RT3X19-47 code continued to fade. Melted derritals covered the upper right corner, effectively keeping out the cold.
Adria contemplated what she would say to Bitlan. How would she apologize? It was early; he was still asleep. Cooking breakfast for him seemed like a good idea – he certainly loved a good bunch of fluffy pancakes. She remembered there was imported milk and flour she could use. There was a plan.
She activated the door, which got stuck once again. "Piece of furka!" Adria had to pull and shake for it to open; the lights inside were off, including the fire. She decided to get breakfast ready before Bitlan woke up.
Two long skylights illuminated the living room and kitchen. It was dusty, igniting a burning desire in her to clean. From the kitchen, she fetched a rag and dusted off surfaces. This action spurred her into full-on cleaning mode, so she grabbed a broom and swept the entire block except for the bedrooms.
Bitlan had tidied up Adria’s room, which made her feel even worse; she had left a mess.
She turned the heat on, trying to be quiet to let him sleep. Her grandad did not typically wake up late, but she suspected he might that day, especially if he had stayed up late waiting for her, which he had a tendency to do when she left at night.
In less than an hour, Adria had their home spotless. The pancakes were ready; the block smelled like vanilla thanks to a concentrate that flavored them. He had taught her that recipe. It was his favorite.
The table was set, yet Bitlan was nowhere to be seen. She had thought the scent of spices would lure him out, but that plan seemed to have failed. He disliked being woken up, but she despised cold breakfast even more. Adria walked to his room, parallel to the living room, and knocked on the door cautiously.
"Bit, breakfast is ready!" she called at the door and waited.
Silence followed. She knocked harder, aiming to wake him. "Come on; you wouldn't want to eat cold pancakes, right?"
Still, only silence responded.
They respected each other's privacy, and closed doors meant just that, except for extraordinary circumstances. Adria went in, resolved to get Bitlan out of bed, serve him breakfast, and apologize for the previous day's argument before sharing everything that had happened since she left the night before.
But her granddad was not there.
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A small skylight illuminated the tidy room, pristine as ever. His belongings were arranged around with care and precision. The shower was dry; Bitlan hadn't used it. How strange.
There was a letter on top of his desk. Shaking with nerves, she picked it up and read.
The Sentinel Board Official Notice
Date: Thursday, December Twenty-First
Year: Twelve Thousand Five Hundred and Eighty-Six H.E. Location: Dictaduria, Sectum. Block RT3X19-47
Time: 4:26 a.m.
Subject: Notification of Vitals Termination – Bitlan Ancaris
May this written notification serve as a formal declaration that on the above-stated date and time, it was recorded that the vitals of the extarri, Bitlan Ancaris, ceased to transmit activity from his vitality implant.
Following this detection, the SENTINEL BOARD authorized a reconnaissance party to proceed to the last known residence of MR. BITLAN ANCARIS, located at block RT3X19/47. It is a violation of Dictadurian law to tamper with or disable such implants. In accordance with President Copernus’ directives, standard protocol involves apprehension and, if necessary, reactivation or replacement of the receptor, with potential legal repercussions for the violator.
Upon entry, after several attempts and receiving no response, the team forcibly entered the premises and discovered MR. ANCARIS deceased in HIS BEDROOM. As per standard procedures, his body was transported to the nearest medical facility, HEALTH CASTRO M.D., equipped with a morgue, for further examination.
An autopsy is scheduled for FRIDAY, DECEMBER TWENTY-SECOND, AT 6:00 P.M. Please be advised that the remains will be retained by government authorities for a period of seven days following the autopsy. If the body is not claimed within this timeframe, it will be incinerated and the ashes dispersed in the designated area, known as the dead forest.
This notice is issued in the interest of public record and in accordance with legal requirements.
Signed by:
Hacter Illens,
Duty Officer, The Sentinel Board
Long live President Copernus.
The thin paper became covered with her tears. The ink blurred as Adria finished reading, distorting the words. Her body felt like it was sweating, except she was dry; goosebumps spread from her neck to all her extremities.
Bitlan was dead.
It made no sense. She had seen him the night before, healthy. How could this be possible? There must be a mistake. What happened?
Her mind turned into a vortex of uncontrollable thoughts. The first time they met in Imperia, the endless talks and laughs in Negativus, their training; Adria couldn’t believe he was gone. Bitlan would not have given up like that. He would have fought. Something about all this felt wrong.
The smell of vanilla reminded her of the time she had just spent outside his room, cleaning and cooking breakfast. She stepped out of his bedroom and entered her own; a similar skylight illuminated it.
An overwhelming need to shower invaded her. Adria felt sweaty, heavy, and breathless. A sharp pain in her gut made her wish it all were a bad dream.
She knelt next to the air mattress and cried. Her legs felt weak. Why is this happening? Did the umbras murdered him? Was it natural?
A thousand thoughts spun in her head, but one remained constant: Adria had to see him with her own eyes, or she wouldn’t believe it.
That idea brought her stability. The dictadurian stood and walked across the room. She stripped and headed towards the washing cubicle; there was dry blood all over her body. The scar from the branch was healing well, but it made her relive the pain of that near-death experience.
Adria got nauseous before stepping in; about to vomit, she hurled herself into the rectangular toilet parallel to the bath station, metallic and cold. It was a digested panini waterfall.
A few minutes later, with an empty stomach, she was back on her feet, washed her mouth, and stepped into the station. She spent the next minutes cleaning herself, trying to disconnect from her thoughts. Once done, the woman stepped out dry and clean, walked to the hanger, and dressed in a dark gray long sleeve, the least dirty overall, her green coat, and the recharged boots.
She returned to Bitlan’s room, took the letter, folded it, and placed it inside her coat. Adria stepped out in a rush, went to the kitchen, and threw the vanilla pancakes into the trash, tears menacing to come out.
When everything was packed, she couldn’t bear to stay any longer. She left.
Sunlight, though obscured by pollution, shone above.
The dictadurian paced away, trying to recall the location of Castro Health, M.D.
****
That's it for Chapter XLV!
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