63. Someone tries the door.

I took a swing at Bailey today, though neither of us were officially matched – I think we both know it’s inevitable at some point, and wanted to have a little, test prod at one another.

The little sleep I’ve been able to steal since all this horrid silliness began, was disturbed again, last night.  I felt better rested after the needle prick in sickbay, but recent events have taken their toll – as you would expect – and my sleep still proves to be uneasy.

My cabin door was locked, of course. My piecemeal fortifications were back in place, lovingly transferred chair-by-chair from my previous cabin down the hall (though perhaps there is nothing worse than the illusion of safety).

I’m not certain if the groans of this old ship were playing tricks on me – wood and steel beams shifting – but I swear someone tried my cabin door-handle during the night. Firm, but silent, to the click – locked to the push…  The handle revolved back. No rattle, simply released.

I remember being awoken by the suspicion – a distant memory – a feeling that someone was out there, but I had fallen back again half in dream half in hallucination.

Forgetting where I was, I pulled the pillow over my head.


Tearing my wound – ‘Oh, bother!’ – which caused my weariness to flee.

I was left alone with only the darkness and the busy silence of the night to keep me company.

In the morning, a lick of red on my pillow.

Maud, I don’t know how long I can keep this up.  I’ve never felt so alone.

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