AWAKE prt 2- Visitors

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**ROSE**

Tears trickled down Rose's cheeks. She kissed Crane again, tasting the salt of her own tears on his lips but no other change.

"My life isn't worth yours. It never was. Please, how do I undo this?"

She sobbed until her throat was raw and the cold of the lab had numbed her bare flesh. She walked to a table near the doorway. A sundress, covered in flowers, a pair of white sandals, a cardigan and her makeup bag had been arranged across the surface. She dressed, not touching the bag. In fact, a flush crept up her cheeks on seeing it there.

Every day, Crane had done her makeup for her. She knew this not because she had felt his touch but because, on occasion, he'd talked about it. Like the time her favorite lipstick color was discontinued, and he'd sounded on the verge of tears telling her.

A series of lights over the lab door lit as she approached. When the final one went green the sealed lab door opened soundlessly to reveal a basement room, containing a few pieces of artwork from their previous home and a washer-dryer unit. In the doorway her head spun, and a heavy weariness descended. Her body informed her that though she had been sleeping for what must have been years, it was exhausted. A few wobbly steps toward the stairs left her barely able to stand.

This was no place to collapse. Not with Crane in the other room. So she turned, gathered her strength and stumbled to the doorway. A burst of energy hit her at the threshold, and she paused, gripping the door frame.

Maybe she could make it to Crane. That way if he woke, he would not be alone. But as she entered the room, her strength returned. With growing horror, she stared at the blue goo and the dangling cords. The shots he'd given her must keep her connected to the machine. Even without the bath and wires, she was still feeding off Crane.

"I can't leave this room." The door slid automatically shut behind her as she stumbled into the room.

Instead of going to Crane, Rose moved over to the machine. There was a large flashing display with rhythmically altering numbers. A timer. Rose closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to the side of her head.

Had Crane said something about this? He couldn't have intended her to remain in here forever, so it stood to reason the process wasn't complete. Could the numbers indicate the time left until her changes finalized? Rose sighed, despite escaping the heavy fatigue she'd experienced outside the lab, she was still tired. Answers were more likely to come after a proper rest.

She returned to Crane and knelt on the linoleum floor. With her head rested on his chest she drifted off into a light fitful sleep. Dreams haunted her, featuring scattered memories—twisted and torn. Memories of working the beauty pageant circuit, the cold judging stares, her mother's vocal disappointment when she lost mixed with ones of Crane's fingers massaging her shoulders as she curled against him to watch TV.

A crash from upstairs startled Rose from the whirling dreams, so unlike the emptiness of her coma. Rose trembled and clutched at Crane's hand. What sounded like hundreds of men trouped above her head. The thudding footfalls hit, and in the stillness resounded like the steps of giants.

After shaking the remaining veil of sleep from her mind, Rose forced her exhausted muscled over to the light switch and flipped it off, leaving her in a darkness that flickered with neon flashes from the machine. A low wattage row of lights turned on, painting a pathway through the chamber.

"Is this place hidden?" She dashed down the pathway until she came even with Crane. She struggled to remember what the lab door had looked like from the outside. She was reasonably sure the door was camouflaged on the basement side, but still her stomach clenched with nerves.

Muffled voices filtered through the walls. Why were people in the house? It didn't make sense.

In the faint light, Rose caught her reflection on the mirrored surface of the control panel. The face there ripped a gasp from her throat. She hadn't expected the healthy, youthful face of her beauty queen days. But the skinny wraith she saw shocked her—how could she have lost so much weight? She'd never been so dreadfully thin. Mascara dotingly applied by Crane ran in streaks over her face, and a slight lip stain was the only color on her ghostly flesh. Her cheeks were hollow and high enough to make a model proud. At thirty, when her accident put her in a coma, she'd been happily putting on weight—an extra fifteen pounds meant she could eat like everyone else, and Crane and she both got less insulting comments about trophy wives or beauty and the beast. Now, that fifteen pounds and more had fled.

Rose bit her knuckles and looked away. The crashing upstairs continued but after a while noises like a rough search came from outside the lab door. Someone was banging around the washer and dryer doors.

A sob rioted inside her throat. Whoever those people were, they didn't sound friendly. If Crane had enemies, he'd never mentioned it, but she couldn't risk it. Not with him in this condition.

Another person pounded down the unseen stairs to the basement. Briefly all went quiet.

Rose shoved her fist further between her teeth.

"Anything down here?" barked a loud, crisp male voice. Each word like a hammer blow to Rose.

A reply blocked by the wall came but was unintelligible.

Rose closed her eyes.

One after the other, people hammered up the stairs. For a little while longer they swept the house, but soon it was silent.

Rose wept. Alone in a tomb, she waited.

A few hours passed before footsteps sounded above. No crashes this time, just slow, methodical taps.

"What's happening, Crane? What do I do?" Rose's hands twisted in Crane's shirt but no matter how hard she searched he gave no visible response.

Someone came down, slower than the previous group. Rose stood, her legs gummy but functional. Perhaps the person was not a friend, but what other choice remained? Sit in the lab until Crane died of dehydration? No. She had to do something.

"I can't be alone in here. I need help," she explained to her sleeping husband.

She moved to the door, clicked the lock and let it slide open.

*AN This is for a contest so I'm going to make an odd request. Please do not vote for this story until June 14th-21st. The only way I can place is by receiving votes during that time period. So I would love it if you all would comment, but if you could save your votes it would be super appreciated! 

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