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The sky looked empty when he looked up.
Strange, there weren't any clouds to obscure the stars, so the darkness was unnerving. In the distance, he heard shrill laughter, which turned into a rumble that shook the ground.
He stole them. Ford was sure of it. Somehow, the bastard stole the stars from the sky–
He woke up, startled.
Ever since Bill's death, the man's nightmares took on a peculiar structure
he couldn't see him or speak to him, but his presence was undeniably there.
Was this another one of his tricks? Was Bill actually still out there, waiting for the scientist to lower his guard, so he could tourment him again?
His heartrate wasn't returning to normal. Shit, was he having a panic attack?
Ford looked around nervously, trying to count the number of brown objects he sees, but it was so dark he could hardly make out anything.
He wiped his sweat-soaked brow, and tried to remember how to calm down from his panic attacks. What is it that the councelor said? Count every breath? No, hold his breath for 5 seconds, something like that?
None of it was working. It never did. He tried to focus, to remember anything...
Fingers. Little tiny fingers. Comfortably cool against the searing heat in his body, pressed where nothing should be touching him.
He remembered the calming circular movements, how they'd tease his gyri open, sneaking into his sulci, like transistors in an electric circuit. Slowing down the firing of his neurons, forcing him to focus on steadying his breath.
By the time he opens his eyes, he finds his chest feeling sore, but his heart isnt trying to jump out of it.
He hadn't even noticed he closed his eyes. Hadn't noticed the name sitting comfortably on the tip of his tongue.
He goes to grab a glass of water.