Disapproval

The first sensation that returned was the sense of brightness. Not vision, not really, just knowing there was light around her. Then came the aches. Her neck, her back, her elbows for some reason, and a pounding headache. Then she became aware of her body in a more precise way. She was slumped over on her desk in her room, the chair that was hardly more than a frame providing just as little support as the desk itself.

Pilar adjusted herself to sitting, her movements slow and purposeful in an attempt to not anger her stiff muscles any more than they already were. Still, pitiful gasps of pain spewed out. But she was upright. Only then did she open her eyes, her vision finally returned.

She chastised herself for falling asleep at her desk. She was getting too old to be doing things like that. The only reprieve she imagined would come from a scalding shower; and so, with another whimper, she pulled herself up using the desk as leverage.

As she shuffled toward the bathroom, her feet connected to the floor far more often than they were in motion, thoughts and memories flitted through her mind like the birds on the beach of Summer Day when breadcrumbs were sprinkled about. It took much longer than it should have for her to realize she didn’t recall falling asleep at her desk, or working at it at all for that matter. She didn’t recall coming back to her room. She didn’t recall completing the several tasks she had scheduled. She only recalled the lab. And Twyla. And…

“Twyla,” she breathed, her hand to her chest, clutching the fabric of her shirt. The incident in the hex wing came flooding back, and the sweet embrace of falling water was forgotten. She ignored her protesting muscles, too, as she snapped her fingers and bounded out the door.

The hallways seemed to blur as she ran at full speed toward the forbidden wing. When she reached the intersection where light was swallowed, she didn’t hesitate as she had yesterday.

A mistake.

No floor greeted her feet. The black void consumed her, the twinkling lights only pinpricks that did nothing to assist in her spatial awareness. She couldn’t locate the hallway she’d just abandoned only a moment ago. She couldn’t even tell which way was up. As she began to hyperventilate, the voice came.

“It’s not real, Pilar.”

She knew. If she were really in space, she wouldn’t be able to breathe. “How stupid do you think I am?” she spat, despite the terror still coursing through her.

“Always the bad guy,” it said, almost forlornly.

Her stomach dropped, and she came crashing down, landing in a folded pile of flesh and bone in the metal hallway adjacent to the void.

She barked a scream of frustration and pain, but didn’t dare enter the hex wing hall again. Instead, remained crumpled upon the floor for several minutes, undisturbed. Until the voice came again.

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“Do you think they killed her?”

“Shut. Up!” she said, pressing her hands over her ears.

“A waste, but I could see it happening. And it would have been your fault.”

Listening to the voice was worse than the pain, so she forced herself up. She could no longer run, but was able to limp through the hallways. Passersby gave her looks, but she never met their gaze as she made her way purposefully toward the lab.

Nicola was nowhere to be seen, though the several techs in there stared at Pilar with concern, asking questions she neither heard nor responded to.

She spoke over them all. “Where is she?”

A couple exchanged confused glances, but another spoke up. “Nicola’s in her office.”

Pilar stormed to the private room, ignoring a request to look over a data point from one of the techs. The eye scanner at the door identified her, announcing her presence. A muffled command to open came next, followed by the door sliding into its pocket to reveal the salt-and-pepper haired woman at her enormous mahogany desk.

She sucked her cheeks in, gesturing for the new arrival to take a seat.

Pilar remained standing.

With a slight sigh and shake of her head, Nicola massaged the bridge of her nose. “They said I shouldn’t expect you back for a few days.” She threw her hands up. “But of course you’re here mere hours later, before I’ve even decided what to do with you.”

“You spoke to the hexes?” Pilar asked, taking aggressive steps forward and bracing her hands on the desk.

“They requested I take you off Project Trims. It was easy enough to appease them, given you’re already technically off it. I just didn’t mention you were now leading Project…has it got a name yet?”

“Is Twyla okay?” Her voice came out cold as ice, yet raspy from the pain.

Nicola laughed. “Oh yes, that little stun trick doesn’t do much to hexes. I’m sure she’s up and about as we speak. Though they did mention she’d be confined to the hex wing for a bit. They seem to find her recreational time spent in,” she looked the other woman up and down, pressing her fingertips together, “less than beneficial ways.”

Relief washed over her, and yet the accused felt the sting of rejection. She finally pulled back a chair, dropping into it roughly. “What did I do!?”

“I don’t agree with them, mind you. I know things got a little,” she waffled her hand back and forth, “again after Florence, but–”

“Who?” Pilar interrupted, her mind racing at the injustice of being the target of the hexes’ disapproval.

The head P.I. blinked. “After you lost Florence. So soon after losing Rory.”

“Florence,” Pilar repeated, reminding herself. “Florence was my friend.”

“And a liability.”

“I know…” Nicola said, her brows furrowed in concern. A long silence stretched between them, only the sound of Pilar’s bouncing leg filling it. Finally, the older woman sighed. “But I think you’re a wonderful mentor to Twyla. I’m not sure why they’ve got their magically mutated panties in a bunch.”

“We were just going to have lunch,” Pilar said softly, her eyes unfocused.

Her mentor walked around the desk to crouch before her, gripping her shoulders. “You’re fine, Pilar. It’s not a big deal. They’re just being dramatic, everyone knows that. They’ll get over it and Twyla will be released from her confinement soon, I’m sure of it.” With another squeeze, she added, “Take today and tomorrow off to rest. Really, they said you’d be knocked out for at least forty-eight hours. It’s fine. I promise.”

Nicola pulled the younger woman to her feet, and Pilar let her.

“And Twyla is fine, you’re sure?”

“I promise,” she laughed, pushing Pilar toward the door.

Satisfied, Pilar agreed to the time off. Her body certainly needed it.

She’d only taken one step out of the office before the voice began its assault upon her peace of mind.

“She’s lying.”