An Author's Struggle - What Lies Ahead

Ch 16 - Darkness

A tremor rocked through the chair, one he felt even with the anesthesia in full effect. 

He couldn’t see or feel much of anything, but the scrappy ringing in his ears surely meant something had exploded. 

He tried to open his mouth and ask, but choked on dust and ash instead. 

His vision black, his restricted touch dulled to the extreme and his ear drums blown, he found himself deprived of all his senses. 

Panic ensued.

His breathing grew labored and his lungs moved with force, but it did little to alleviate the mounting stress. 

The dust in the room made it hard to breathe, but he had no option but to fill his lungs with it if he wanted to live. 

Time passed at a crawling pace, but eventually he felt his senses return to him. He felt a thick layer of dust caked on his face like cement, no doubt mixed in with his sweat.

He moved a thumb at first, and then his whole hand, but the shackles would not come undone.

“HELP ME!” 

“Some—“ choking amidst his hoarse pleas, he nevertheless continued to shout in despair.

His hearing was still impaired, but somewhat functional enough to hear the fire alarm blaring in the background. Police and fire department sirens in the distance were making their arrival known as well.

He was safe. Or so he comforted himself, sufficiently conscious to end his worthless pangs of panic. It would all be over soon…

As the anesthesia wore off, however, that waiting time he readied himself for became too long to bear. His retina burned, and he once more screamed, this time in agony.

Like worms burrowing beneath his eyelids, an unbearable itch shuffled all throughout his eyes. He tried to squint, to close them, but it was all in vain. 

With their passing, it was as if they left traces of lava that eviscerated his nerves directly. The pain was so acute and intense that for a moment he thought they would explode. Frankly, he would have preferred if they did. At least, he wouldn’t feel them any longer.

“There’s a survivor here!”

A startled voice, and then he felt something lift from his chest. Whether there was actually something obstructing his breathing or if it was placebo relief, he didn’t know.

A cacophony of voices surrounded him, and before long he was weightless. Lifted on a stroller, he snapped in and out of consciousness as they pumped him with drugs. A drone airlifted him to the hospital within the hour, but he was no longer self-aware by then.

- —    ✎    — -

“We just want to ask him a few questions to help with the investigation…”

“The patient has been unconscious for three days. He needs more rest, we can’t just—“

“Aren’t his eyes open? Look.”

“Detective, you can’t!”

A small scuffle ensued, and the nurse found herself helpless in preventing the cop from barging in. At least, that’s how Murphy interpreted it now that he couldn’t see any of it.

He heard the footsteps drawing closer to his bed, and imagined a solemn deputy sitting on his bedside chair. 

“Mr. Murphy. I’m with the interpol task force 202. I’m here to ask you a few questions.” 

The man flashed his badge out of habit, then coughed in light embarrassment when he realized Murphy was blind. Seeing no reaction out of the man, he fired off his first question.

“What do you know about the Physis Nomos group?”

Mulling over his sudden sight impairment, Murphy originally paid no heed to the policeman or his introduction. Having his vision stripped, he was far more concerned about that. 

When he heard the “Physis Nomos” group, however, his crystalline eyes flashed with palpable anger.

“Are those bastards responsible for this too?” he asked, clutching the bedsheets in fury.

“Too?” the detective countered, catching on to the insinuation.

“My friend died… Elysee Palace bombing.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that… and yes, they claimed responsibility for this too.”

“… fuck.” He cursed weakly, unable to even muster a full stream of expletives.

Seeing Murphy tear up, and knowing he had run into a dead end, the detective didn’t bother with  follow-up questions.

“Don’t skip town, we might have further questions for you later. Rest well for now, mr. Murphy.”

Not deigning to respond, Murphy continued to simmer in rage, even as tears continued to stream past his cheeks. 

When he heard the door open, however, he mustered some control to ask what happened.

“It’s still unclear,” the detective answered readily, perhaps taking Murphy’s plight into account, “All we know is that an explosion occurred in the second lab room. The recordings were fried, and everyone but you died.”

‘No wonder they suspected me…’

“You were caught up between the machine and the chair. It saved you from the frag, but the rest weren’t so lucky.”

“Why…” Murphy cried to no one in particular, “Why would anyone do this?”

“They claimed NeuraBlink’s experiments would hasten the downfall of mankind, or some other nonsense. If we could actually make sense of their motivation, we wouldn’t be so hard pressed to find any leads…”

“Anyway,” the man continued and reached to close the door behind him, “I’d best leave you to your rest.”

Left to wallow in silence, Murphy returned his attention to the terror group. He boiled, but had no outlet for his wrath. He could do nothing then, and could do even less now that he was blind.

The truth was hard to swallow, try as he might to cope with its bitterness. He found himself constantly repeating to himself the fact that he might never see the light of day again…

‘What about my writing?’ 

Suddenly, the weight on his chest all but tripled. He felt a longing like never before to pen something down, and the inability was like a stake in his heart. 

Something he had taken for granted, a gift he squandered to chase for money and fame, was no longer available to him. 

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.

Murphy broke down in tears again.

For a man, he wept in this half a year more than he had in a lifetime. Alas, his heart-wrenching cries proved of little to no use. 

It didn’t bring Nella back; he would never see that redhead’s smile; and worst of all — he might never get to write another novel. 

« Sys—em: » Ne— aB — nk 1.0.02-beta is —tional.

The time is —.08—028; —:49. All fun— ons — line.

Amidst his tears, blueish text surfaced on his retina like a timely spell. The characters were stretched absurdly as if rendered through a mirror house, but they formed words nonetheless.

It took a while to calibrate, but he ultimately found an answer in the darkness.

« Hello, Murphy. It’—e, I am El—, your NeuraBlink virtual assistant. »

“What… can you hear me? It works!?”

« Vocal prompts are unnecessary. You can input directives with your thoughts. »

‘Whoa, that’s impressive… and it’s no longer a complete glitchy mess.’

« That is rud—. If you detected an error, please submit a ticket. »

‘Never mind, still glitchy as shit.’

Sitting up on his bed, Murphy playfully explored the capabilities of the AI. Despite still being unable to see, he at least found some company in the darkness. 

The AI he took to calling Blinkie was as bugged his eyes, however. The program seemed almost bipolar, going back and forth between a friendly and restricted mode. 

Sometimes, it would cut itself out in the middle of a sentence, much to his chagrin.

“Did I seriously pay 50 grands for this shit? Can I get a refund!?”