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He thought he heard the sound of footsteps, he thought someone had entered his room.
" I was just dreaming..."
"I was dreaming about you again..."
"Or rather, what's left of you..."
"With memories"
How many times have I witnessed the same scene over and over again?
"It's getting harder and harder for me to reach you..."
"I don't want to dream about you anymore..."
Once again, I run desperately toward you, trying to reach you. Only in my dreams do I manage to raise my voice enough for you to hear, hoping my words will reach you. You smile at me, only you know how, playing on my weakness.
" But there's something about your words and the way you speak that makes me feel worth running back to you... once again, your words comfort me, they give me enough strength to keep going, but at the same time... they hurt me."
" You are cruel..."
But soon everything fades, loses its color, becomes distorted until I can no longer recognize you. And the worst part is having to watch your reflection shatter before me, finally waking up with my mind in the same mess.
" I want to hug you and for you to hug me one last time."
"I have to let you go... I know, I always knew."
"I'm very scared. I'm scared that you'll hate me.
I'm afraid you'll push me away. All I ever wanted was to be with you and for us both to be free. But I gave up on that dream a long time ago. You hate me, and I can't do anything to change that. I wish I had the strength to hate you too.
You always had to take responsibility for me. You took care of me so many times... just like our mother. Even if you now call her the woman who only raised us and gave us names out of boredom, she'll still be our mother.
I still remember how happy we were as children, running through the wheat fields under the warm rays of the sun. How our dark hair gave us away, standing out among the wheat fields as we tried to hide from our mother. I had to hold your hand to feel like I could go further. And even though I was always much slower at running than you, you held my hand even when I burst into tears, and you wiped my tears away.
I remember when we would sneak into the kitchen to eat something sweet, making sure no one caught us. Or that time we ended up covered in mud after a rainstorm. I caught a cold that time and couldn't see you. I felt sad, and because of that alone, I tried hard to feel better soon. Also when we competed to pick flowers for our mother. You were always the one with the ideas, and I followed your every idea.
Our lives were simple and carefree. You could say they were boring and monotonous, but they were ours. I feel pathetic still yearning for those peaceful days that were cut short.
"I was happy..."
But how true are those memories? I've replayed them so many times, tugging at them like the string of a music box in my mind, that it seems as if its music is distorted, or like a wilted flower... I've even come to think that I was the one who created them to feel better about myself. Over time, I'd forgotten the sound of your voice, even my own. I'd forgotten what our faces looked like until recently, when I remembered them again.
He hears footsteps again, getting closer. The Man opens his eyes, dazed and confused. He struggles to see in the darkness. Under what seems like a veil of shadows, he makes out a silhouette at the foot of his bed. It doesn't come closer. Soon, it begins to take the shape of a man he recognizes very well.
"Neah... Have you come back for me?"
A melancholic smile slips across the trembling lips of the man who lay so fragile, his eyes crystallize although he cannot shed tears, he reaches out his hand so as to catch nothing but the air that escapes between his fingers.
Was he still dreaming, then? Perhaps his eyes were deceiving him and his mind was playing a cruel trick, but right in front of him stood his hated and beloved brother, Neah D. Campbell. Yet he didn't hear a voice coming from Neah's silhouette. His brother had never been a talker... but if anything alarmed him almost instantly, it was his silence. Yet Neah was there, having come to see him.
The memory of events
It was as if gears were pressing against his head and tearing at his fragile sanity even further.
"You're... dead! I killed you!"
"Why?... Neah, tell me why."
It was then that he remembered the bitter taste of betrayal, the night his brother tried to kill him, how his brother was now a stranger and had become his enemy, seeking to kill him. The closeness that had once existed dwindled to nothing; everything crumbled before him. All those years seemed so far away, but now, with his presence, they seemed closer than ever.
She shouldn't feel anything but hatred for him, she knows. Her feelings should have dissipated. However, it was he who felt guilty about what happened, not Neah. Living under a promise from the past, she's already lost her mind and doesn't think he can continue waiting for him.
"I've been waiting for you for a long time..."
But his feelings once again triumphed over his reasoning.
There was only silence in response. His brother's silhouette didn't come any closer to him. In fact, it seemed as though those words had made him back away. He couldn't blame him. After all, he was here to end his life. He promised he would visit him and kill him. This wasn't a warm reunion; the last one hadn't been, why should this one be? He was here just as he had promised, yet he forced a smile for Neah, one last smile just for him.
But suddenly, his head spun, an indescribable pain that made him writhe in agony between the sheets. Tears finally flowed as a natural response to the overwhelming pain. He felt the fragility of his being being devoured, desperately.
He tries hard to stay calm even though he knew it was only a matter of time before his memory returned. He soon notices how his brother doesn't seem to know what to do and seeing his silhouette, he seems as agitated as he is. He watches as he approaches the door. Neah seemed to be running away before his eyes again, but was he really running away? He gathers all his strength to call him once more; the sound of his voice is more of a plea than one seeking to impose an order.
"Please don't go!"
The silhouette stops upon hearing the desperation in the man's voice. It doesn't take an expert to realize that his conscience and sanity seem to be hanging by a thread.
The silhouette turns its head toward the man who was speaking and acting deliriously.
"The world is such a hot mess," but even though it tries to sit up in bed, the constant pain doesn't allow it to do much more.
The silhouette of his brother is now so close to him that he could touch him if he reached out far enough, but he won't, afraid of only trapping air between his hands again.
"Hey! Don't get up!"
Mana nods silently, noticing a hint of nervousness in Neah's voice. "Hang in there, it'll get better!"
Despite the dizziness and tiredness, senses that brother's voice is different, but it's been thirty-five years since last heard his voice. If that's what it must be... he feels like he's losing himself. He doesn't want to lose the little he's recovered from his shattered identity. He's scared, too scared. His breathing is irregular, almost artificial. His head feels like it's about to explode, and his body can't stop shaking.
"My hand..."
His voice sounds raspy in his throat.
"Huh!?"
"Could you... hold... my hand?"
He said, trying to hide the pained expression on his face so as not to worry his brother.
"..."
There was no response, only silence.
"...if you don't want to do it...that's fine."
He even expected to hear the same words he'd once heard from Neah, saying that they were no longer children enough to hold hands. But this wasn't about age, nor did it have anything to do with it. Just feeling someone's warmth would calm his troubled conscience. For a moment, he thought his brother would be reluctant to grant his request or hear a negative response.
But his brother's silhouette approached him, hesitantly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Is this okay?"
The hand that envelops his is warm, yes... Neah's hand was as comforting as it had been back then although now it felt different... perhaps that was the feeling after not holding his hand for so long and things changed so much between them. Neah was alive the feel of his hand on his confirmed it, too real to be a dream, last time Neah's hands had become so cold after his death, but before in the city Neah's hands were...
He feels his head throbbing, he can't think clearly, he wishes he could stop thinking and just be calm, he squeezes the hand wrapped around him and looks at Neah's silhouette.
"Stay...by my side a little longer..."
He feels a squeeze from Neah in response.
"I've done some regrettable things to you."
Although he can't see his expression, he can sense his brother's confusion as he makes out his silhouette leaning back.
"Please forgive me...for always letting you carry my burden on your shoulders."
He wants to make the most of his time with Neah, words he's kept to himself for thirty-five years of finally being free.
"Huh? Ah...I should rest, though...I'm not sure sleeping so much is good."
He's not sure if what he hears in Neah's voice is concern or discomfort. He won't say more, but he has one last request.
"You could keep holding my hand until I fell asleep..."
"I promise I won't ask you for anything else..."
"I'll stay with you."
"Thank you."
Mana smiles, but this time isn't forcing a smile. He's not sure if this is a dream, if just woken up, or if that silhouette is actually Neah, but he feels the weight of the burden that tormented him has become lighter.
That silhouette was such a beautiful lie.
....
"I think you're delirious, Count."
"Those... are the things you should be saying to the Fourteenth, not to me."
Tyki watches the earl, now sleeping peacefully. The anguished expression has vanished, albeit temporarily. He can't help but wonder how conscious the earl was during their exchange, since he would hardly call it a conversation. He lets go of the older man's hand and heads once more to the door of the room. Tyki smiles bitterly, probably not even realizing it was him from the beginning. Although he had managed to calm the earl down on his own without Winsely's help, he couldn't help but feel bad about himself.
It was certainly painful to be searched for like a ghost from the past.