Chapter 12 Em
Em
The alarm on the nightstand rings.
That’s odd. I usually wake up beforehand.
Without opening my eyes, I reach blindly for the snooze button. My hand finds it easily. Muscle memory, I suppose.
After that, I bring my arm to rest on my middle. I keep my eyes closed and wait for the ache in my abdomen that tells me the bed might be empty this morning once more.
That last thought before sleep last night was that Idris might be called away, that I might wake up alone again, and my body prepares for that reality.
Then I hear him breathe. A slow inhale beside me. The mattress dips as he moves closer. An arm slides over my own.
Soft lips brush my forehead. “Are you awake, Em?” he whispers. “Or should I let you sleep in?”
“I’m awake,” I answer.
I feel the corners of my lips lift, small yet unstoppable. I open my eyes. His handsome face is right by me. I take in his beautiful tan skin, his sharp jawline, and his objectively attractive symmetry. Familiar and comforting.
“I’d like to go about my day,” I tell him.
His smile reaches his eyes. The tension I saw in them yesterday seems less prominent now. “I’ll join you,” he says.
We move through our routine. We shower together, where the water is warm, but Idris is warmer.
We eat together, but he insists I drink more ginger tea for my nausea.
By the third bite of toast he tells me to eat, I tell him my stomach can’t handle more.
He chuckles, mumbling something about making sure I eat more later.
We also walk the corridor together toward the captain’s room. His usual long strides match my shorter ones. When the ship tilts a little, he puts his hand on the curve of my back. I don’t need it for balance, but my body registers the contact and files it under safety all the same.
By the time we step into the captain’s room, my heart rate has almost returned to normal.
But then I spot Darius. There’s something different about him today. Though, there’s no speakerphone blinking green. No tube or metal component in his hands. In the central table, however, is a thick stack of printouts he’s looming over.
He stands with his arms crossed over his chest. His wide jaw’s clenched. He doesn’t look like he’s slept.
My mind notes the tells. Darius’ usual sun-kissed skin is slightly sallow under his eyes. There’s a fine tremor in his fingers resting near his elbows. Micro-delays between his blinks.
I gather Darius has had a minimum twenty-four hours of disrupted rest. Possibly more.
“Good morning,” Idris says. His voice is gentle, but I sense an alertness. “Sorry, we got here late.”
“You’re not late,” Darius responds, his tone clipped. “I considered calling you both here earlier, but I had to discuss matters with Father first.”
“What happened?” Idris asks, sounding urgent.
“At 4:13 a.m.,” Darius says, “security reported Jonathan Wazowski running down Deck Two, barefoot and partially dressed.”
My grip on my tablet tightens by a fraction. Jonathan. Jon. Subject Two. I want to ask what happened to him, but Darius is still speaking.
“Security attempted verbal contact,” Darius continues. “He did not respond. They assumed panic or sleep disturbance. When they intercepted him, they realized he couldn’t respond. He was physically unable.”
Idris’ brows draw together. “Unable how?”
Darius’ gaze doesn’t waver. “His tongue was missing.”
The ship feels as if it’s tilting again. Sound recedes behind a high ringing noise in my mind. For a moment, all I feel is my own body. A sudden rush of heat up the back of my neck. Cold spreading up my arms. A constriction in my chest that makes air feel thick.
I register each symptom like I’m observing someone else. But it hurts to breathe by force.
“Em,” Idris whispers from somewhere beside me.
His hand rubs my back, fingers firm and warm through the fabric of my lab coat. It’s meant to ground me, I’m sure. My mind recognizes the intention. Yet my fingers feel too stiff around my tablet.
I try to push the sensations back, away from the front of my thoughts. Yesterday, there was space to do that. Today, it feels rather crowded in my head. As if every feeling I shoved aside has pushed itself against the same door, waiting to burst out.
I can’t tell which one will push through first. Fear, guilt, confusion—all of them stack on top of each other, leaving little room in my mind.
“Is he alive?” Idris asks. “Is Jon alive?”
“Yes,” Darius says. “He’s been in the MedBay. Stable for now.” He flips open the stack of papers on the table. “He’s under observation.”
He’s alive. For a moment, my lungs remember how to pull in a fuller breath.
“The security feed shows he moved under his own power,” Darius continues.
“He navigated the corridors of Deck Two well on his own, eventually alerting security. He followed their verbal prompts to stop, to sit, to accept assistance. Motor function is still intact. Visual tracking appears intact as well.”
Beside me, Idris breathes out slowly. I hear some of his strain leave with it.
“But as I’ve said, Jon can’t speak,” Darius adds. “We’ve given him pen and paper to communicate with us.”
“What has he shared?” I ask. My voice comes out thinner than I’d like.
Darius flips to a page and reads it. His eyes scan quickly over the lines. “He reports falling asleep at approximately 10 at night. A typical time, according to his prior logs.”
That matches the previous nights. My mind clings to the consistency. Bedtime routine stable. Sleep onset typical.
“Around 4 in the morning,” Darius goes on, “he woke up, feeling unusually groggy. He says his vision was ‘swimming’ and that he had trouble breathing.”
Idris’ thumb draws circles on my back. “And then?” he prompts.
“He realized he was choking,” Darius answers.
“There was a sensation of fullness in his mouth. He tried to swallow and couldn’t.
When he put his hand to his lips, he saw blood on his fingers.
” Darius pauses to sigh, jaw working with his frown.
“He reached further into his mouth and realized his tongue was cut out, presumably in his sleep.”
My tongue presses reflexively against the roof of my mouth. Jonathan woke up to the absence of it. Bile rises at the back of my throat. I swallow it down, but the burn remains.
“He states he doesn’t remember pain,” Darius says. “Only panic and confusion. I’d add shock to this list. He writes that he ‘stumbled to the door’ and ‘couldn’t scream’, so he ran.”
“Did he see anyone?” Idris asks. “Hear anything? Anything unusual yesterday?”
Darius flips a few pages. “He mentions being restless at lights out. He attributes it to the announcement about Sergio. Other than that, there’s no mention of hallucinations or company in his quarters.”
My mind tries to make sense of this incident. Subject Two. Jonathan. History of substance use. History of trauma. Baseline scans within expected ranges since the first dose. No recorded anomalies in last vitals.
Now missing an organ. But alive.
“Em,” Idris murmurs. His voice is closer to my ear now. “Can you breathe with me?”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath while trying to process the news.
Staring at Idris, I mirror his breaths. I inhale. Air feels thick. It moves in unevenly, catching at the top of my lungs. I count with him anyway. In—two, three, four. Out—two, three, four.
It helps for half a cycle. But Darius’ terse tone collides with the fragile balance. “I know this is more bad news after yesterday,” he says. It almost sounds like an apology, which is rare coming from him. “But, Emira, you need the full picture to decide what happens next.”
I look over at Darius. He meets my eyes. His are bloodshot at the corners.
“Jon is requesting Kys to get him through this event,” Darius explains, still looking at me. “Which I leave up to you.”
I nod. It’s another decision. Another variable to consider. It should be expected that Jonathan would ask for Kys. It’s pain relief, stabilization. A coping mechanism.
But what stays with me more than the request is the pattern forming in front of us. Someone on this ship is removing parts of people. Sergio’s eyes. Jonathan’s tongue.
My body starts to react again. I feel it coming this time.
Heat climbs the back of my head. My fingertips are freezing cold. The same sensations I’ve been filing away since yesterday start crowding the same space in my head, pushing against each other with nowhere left to go.
I tighten my grip on the tablet. Even that small motion feels difficult.
“I’ll speak to Jonathan,” I say. The words come out controlled enough.
Then I turn and walk out of the captain’s room toward the MedBay, hoping distance will give me room to think.
***
The MedBay is a quiet space. My footsteps sound too loud against the tiles.
A medical staff member stands by a bed behind an opened blue curtain. I don’t know their name. We’ve never spoken much before. Their medical mask covers half their face, but I see the tension in their shoulders.
Before I can greet them, they straighten abruptly. “D-Doctor, I…” they start to say, tripping over words. “Thank you. I… I’ll step out.”
They don’t wait for my response. I don’t give it in time. They move past me with an urgency that doesn’t match the stillness of the room. The doors slide shut behind them.
I turn toward the bed, holding my tablet tightly against my beating chest. The curtain is open, revealing Jonathan’s closed eyes and relaxed face.
He’s asleep on his back, one arm on his chest. The blanket covers him up to his waist. The heart monitor beside him displays a consistent set of beats. The oxygen saturation reading is acceptable.
I scan his chest. His breathing pattern is shallow but stable. His skin tone is paler, though not alarming. His lips are slightly cracked but no longer bloodied as Darius described.
My breath leaves me in a long, silent exhale. My shoulders lower.
I take a seat on the stool beside his bed. My gaze moves to his face. There’s bandages taped along his whole jaw.