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Then he's in your head. You don't know when he started doing this; you can't remember. Probably years ago. You don't know when you started liking it. That's not the word, but you can't remember the right one. It's not that it's pleasurable having him in there, or fun, but there's a certain kind of... of comfort, you guess, in it, in knowing that you're being so thoroughly known. And you don't feel misused after— maybe you used to, but you don't now. He's not egregious about it. He doesn't go around knocking stuff over and leaving a mess, not like that Manager. Even before he was nice, he was brusque about it, but rarely malicious. Maybe he liked feeling efficient. You like him being efficient, so you're not complaining.
Maybe he can hear you thinking this. You're still not sure how it works, exactly. If he is hearing it, he's not showing any sign: he went straight to picking away at whatever he's doing. Unhooking, you think. There's a definite feeling of unhooking. Also, coldness. Also, numbness. Okay, you can see what he meant. It does feel a little bit like you're dying, especially when you try to open your eyes but can't.
«Almost there, primrose.»
Especially when you try to wriggle your fingers, but can't. Especially when you try to wriggle your nose, but can't. Especially when you can't feel anything but a claustrophobic airlessness. You may be laying on the ground. If there's a crossbow bolt in your forehead, you can't feel it.
«You don't want to. That's a sign that it's complete.»
«You are effectively severed from the body. It is no longer yours.»
Whose? And you don't feel severed. You feel the opposite of severed.
«Nobody's. It's dead.»
«And you're still inside of it. Physically. The next step is removing yourself. This ought to be trivial, as you're minimally corporeal.»
«I recommend identifying 'up,' then attempting to move in that direction.»
That admittedly doesn't sound difficult. If Richard can handle not being real, can't you?
«I didn't say 'not real,' Charlie. I said 'minimally corporeal.'»
Whatever. Same thing. Though you can't sense much, you visualize your standing position, visualize how Everard must've fallen (face-up, right?), and extrapolate from there. It's like wading through mud, at least at first, but like mud it sucks at you then releases suddenly. You're free!
You still can't see anything, though. Well, kind of. Not really. You don't seem to have eyes.
«You've emerged raw. You have yet to form the skin we discussed. I recommend you—»
You will, but he needs to hold on. You said you could kind of see, and you can: you can fuzzily make out strings, like you can with your bad eye, and atop them an even fuzzier impression of shape and color. You can only piece together what you're seeing because you've seen it before recently— it's Ellery in the bottom of the pit. Oh, crud. Ellery. Is looking at Everard Kurz's vacant very dead body. If he looked at you, could he see you?
(4/5)
