Day 32 / 06:18
There is no one and nothing. The space around Noah is clear and blue. He’s deep in crystal blue, shining and clean. He inhales and fills his lungs and heart with blue, his eyes, his ears, his open mouth. He breathes it in until every vein in his body runs blue.
When he wakes up, he doesn’t try for his pulse. He doesn’t scan his room.
He breathes in and out. He feels inside himself for blue; it’s still there. Cool, calm.
He sits up. He has to start. Let fingers find their way to his pulse, check and check again, but for a moment he sits on the end of his bed, bathed in blue.
There’s the clank of Amber’s cleaning trolley, the smell of antiseptic following her. Morné’s deodorant, sweet in the corridor.
He touches his finger to his pulse again. Slow, steady, regular. He can do his check now and then go to his cupboard and take out his Tuesday t-shirt, jeans, a clean pair of blue socks.
A quick check of the clock. He’s running to time.
Another quick check.
How could he have missed it?
His organiser has been moved. It’s balancing on the edge of his desk. If he moves too suddenly, it will topple to the floor and spill pencils and pens, his eraser, Post-its. And then they will all have to be gathered up and put back exactly where they belong. He will lose minutes. And more minutes, because …
He checks his pulse and it’s galloping. His breath is coming out in short bursts, his hands are cold. Where to begin? Where to start? He stands up, creeps across the room. Slowly, slowly, he reaches for it, slides it gently back to the solid, secure space of the desk.
Last night, while he was dreaming, someone was in his room.
Noah had been floating in a sea of blue. Blue above and blue below. Blue of sea, blue of sky. Blue to hold the fishes. Blue to hold the birds. Blue had allowed him to sleep, deep and cool and untroubled. He’d dropped his defences against the Dark, and in that time, someone came into his room. A prowling shadow had found its way to the desk and slid an object to its very edge.