Chapter 77: Inner Voice, Part 4

Sam opened his eyes. Another nightmare, but this one left him more irritated than scared, and the sensation lingered beyond the seconds it took for the dream to fade from his mind, like a mirage in the desert. The nightmare about drowning was normal. All living beings feared drowning, the pressure, the pain of oxygen deprivation. When you were under pressure, they said you were drowning, so it was a superficial metaphor but one he could understand why his subconscious had used.

But this, something that wasn't a nightmare, but a memory from the past, that he didn't understand and he had renounced that Sam. It had nothing to do with him, he was a weak human, without influence, without money, without power. Now he was Sam Wright, the devil's son, the antichrist, desired by both heaven and hell.

The ignoble end of that sack of shit was absolutely irrelevant. The only thing of value it had left him was the lesson he had learned: not to be carried away by passing feelings even once, not to extend a hand to anyone. Yes, he had learned that well and had proven it again and again in this world, being cruel and ruthless, being the monster he was supposed to be and he had enjoyed it because he truly was one, damn it. Until that night when he had almost killed himself to protect a replaceable toy, he had learned the lesson, yes, but had still screwed up again, relapsed. Not out of kindness, not out of such nonsense, but the result was the same, his life had almost ended in ruins.

Christina and Violet were still asleep, breathing peacefully, their chests of such different sizes as the difference they had in age, rising and falling slowly against their nightgowns. They were both very appetizing, that was something better to focus on than that stupid nightmare that wasn't even real. Yes, it belonged to a very different world, so it was the same as if it had never happened. He preferred to think about it that way: this was his true existence, his role, his life. It wasn't that he had reincarnated taking the place of the real Sam, it was that there had been a mistake, he should have been born in this world so suitable for him from the beginning. That was the resolution he had reached, that was his answer.

He had more or less rested during the night despite everything, since he was able to get out of bed alone and go to the bathroom to take care of his needs, pee, shit, wash his face, slowly and carefully, but what counted was that he did it on his own. Sam looked at himself in the mirror; for a moment the appearance he had had before dying flickered in the glass, but it was just an optical illusion.

He clenched his fists as if wanting to smash it to pieces, erase any trace of that image, but that would be childish stupidity. That optical illusion had disappeared and he saw himself as he was: a young man with his whole life ahead of him, the power and luxuries to enjoy it and a few obstacles. Before this year was over, he would destroy the horsemen of the apocalypse, Satan and stop heaven too if necessary.

He was willing to sacrifice a year of his life, but no more. He would resolve everything quickly and spend the rest of his existence being worshipped and doing whatever the hell he wanted. It was a dream any human could agree with, it was the most natural thing in the world. The only difference between normal people was that they lost ambition very quickly, admired the fortunate from below, but kept crawling on the ground, living vicariously through gossip magazines, movies, interviews and other shit, dreaming about what they could do if they had been so fortunate, but not willing to put in the work. He was different, he was a tireless beast, yes, tireless.

Sam emerged from the bathroom, with a slightly unsteady step, weak, but he emerged. He felt things were clearer now. He should have seen them clearly from the beginning, but better late than never. Sam slid back into bed between his sisters, he didn't wake them, though that hadn't been his intention.

Physically he was better. Mentally he felt he still hadn't had enough of lying in bed, breathing deeply and staring at the ceiling while trying to think about nothing at all. Which, of course, didn't work. It never did. When you tried to think about anything else, it only meant you had nothing concrete to think about, no real alternative. The mind was an impatient whore, so it would always return to what could occupy it, even if it only hurt itself in the process.

Sam thought about stopping the nonsense and waking Christina and Violet, but before he could do it, they woke up on their own as if they had sensed it. Nonsense, of course, but that's what crossed his mind.

"What's wrong?" Christina asked with half-closed eyes, passing an arm across his chest, drawing him closer to herself. They looked like lovers. Well, what was he saying? They were lovers.

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"You haven't slept well."

"I've slept enough time, but haven't rested much. One nightmare after another. Sorry for waking you. And you too, Violet, though you don't seem very awake yet."

Violet growled something that sounded like "go to hell," turning over, stretching, rubbing her eyes. She wasn't much of an early riser. That or she had barely gotten any sleep. Christina laughed softly, though she still didn't fully open her eyes.

"Really? What's wrong? I notice your breathing is a bit agitated. You seem worried."

"I have many reasons to be worried, but what worries me now is nonsense, nothing more than a dream."

"It's not nonsense. Sammy, dreams are reflections of subconscious fears and all those things, aren't they? They mean something," Christina closed her eyes tightly and then opened them with the same force. She seemed to be fighting to keep them from closing. "If you don't mind, I'm here you tell me and I'll listen. If you want to tell me, of course."

"Well, there's not much to tell," he lied. "I remember waking up in the middle of the night after dreaming I was drowning. Anyway, it's obvious why, so many things in so little time. The truth is yes, I'm drowning. And then, later, when I woke up a little while ago, I dreamed... I wouldn't even know how to tell you, some confused images, nonsense without a doubt, but still it left me with a strange feeling of unease. I've slept, but I haven't rested."

And only then did he realize he had already said that. But well, that supported his point, not the opposite.

"I should stop with the nonsense and focus on real problems, like the absolute shit that's coming our way. And I will, I just need a moment."

Impulsively, Sam kissed Christina on the forehead.

"But thanks for caring."

"That's what I'm here for. We're family."

Violet mumbled something that sounded more or less like "yes, that." Well, it was nice to interpret it that way, at least. Maybe she had just said "shut up already, I'm hungry, where's breakfast?" But in any case, she had a good point.

Sam got up. Christina leaned forward, ready to help him, but her hands didn't reach him. She relaxed a bit seeing that he could more or less move on his own. Sam opened his mouth and closed it. He had just realized that yesterday they hadn't answered about the servants. He had asked the question, yes, but then they had gotten distracted talking about Isabelle and he hadn't gotten the answer.

"Are there servants in the mansion?" he asked then. "Can we expect them to bring us breakfast in bed? Or should I make it and get it myself?"

Yes, he didn't seem the type, but he knew how to cook. He preferred to cook on his own than spend so much money dining out or on pre-cooked and canned food. That was all, he didn't enjoy it, it wasn't his hobby, not at all. But it was something he felt he had to do and that was enough. He thought he was pretty good, though he didn't pride himself on it either. It was just his cold and logical conclusion.

"Most of the servants aren't here. There are some, but no cook."

Sam nodded.

"Good, stay here. Anyway, Violet still isn't up for going anywhere."

Sam left the room laughing. After a while, well, maybe even half an hour, Sam returned to his room with a simple breakfast for the three of them in hand.

"Time to eat. I'm not exactly the best chef in the world, but I do what I can."

"I didn't know you could cook," said Christina.

"I'm a man of many talents. Well, mostly a few, but very specific ones."

"Yes, before he says it, yes, it's true."

"Violet. Aren't you going to wake up?" he grabbed her by a shoulder and shook her.

Violet growled and reluctantly sat up on the bed. She still didn't have her eyes very open, but at least she had shown signs of life and seemed willing to eat. Willing to cooperate.

"Let's have breakfast together."

"Good morning," repeated Violet. "Sorry, I barely slept at all. I've been tossing and turning all night."

"Yeah, I guess," said Sam. "I'm not surprised. Don't worry so much. And eat, come on. It's not poisoned."

They ate almost like they were a family. Sam felt somewhat proud seeing them enjoy his food. He had always known he was good, but he had never had the opportunity to cook for another person. So he had been left with doubt.

Once they finished... Sam decided to see how the repairs that were supposedly being worked on tirelessly day and night were progressing. Just going out into the hallway you could notice the noise and it was very light. There was no disturbance when trying to sleep and with the help of magic they were doing the work much faster than could be expected. All advantages.

It was good to take a look trying to calm down while seeing the fruits of their efforts. The wounds left by the ice, the burns and the broken pieces had destroyed this family just like the house. It wasn't surprising to find it in such a state. But that wasn't the point. The point was simply that he needed a distraction. He had nothing to do except sit and wait for Michael to call him. There was no way to track the other sisters on his own and if there was something like a special weapon that could hurt and kill Lucifer, he didn't know about it. He doubted it would be in any human book that any person could access. In short, all he could do was wait with his arms crossed. One of the things he hated most in the world. He desperately needed a distraction and walking among the ruins created by his hands while they were being fixed... Well, it wasn't what he would prefer to be doing but it wasn't bad either.

Inner Voice, Part 4: END