The Somnus - Segment 3 of Q's Story

Dear readers,

The vote was unanimous: Q should help Min. Read the following segment to find out how Min convinces Q to join his cause (or start from the beginning).

Enjoy!

-Lillian James

“I’m a sleeper," Min said. "But you already knew that.”

Q studied his tired eyes. She’d only seen that level of exhaustion in a few other people. “How did you find out about me?”

“My dad and yours go back. He thought maybe your family could help.”

“With what? I still don’t understand how you’re involved in all of this.”

His eyes grew hard, and every trace of charm vanished. “Dette has my sister.”

Min passed his phone to Q, and a young woman smiled up at her from the screen. “Her name is Mee-Kyong. She’s only had fifteen waking years. She’s still a kid, and he took her while our mother slept in the next room. What am I supposed to tell my mother when she wakes up to find her only daughter gone?”

He slid his finger across the screen, and his sister’s warm smile was replaced by chaos. Blood splattered over shattered glass and wrecked furniture. Papers were strewn across the floor, as if the room had been searched.

“She didn’t sleep through her abduction.” His voice was quiet, but his hand trembled. He balled it into a fist and shoved it in his pocket. “He took her two months ago. She’s been awake for every minute of it.”

Q looked at the phone again, but all she could see was the black of a hidden coffin. All she could hear was the sound of her breath, hitching in burgeoning panic. Her hands were scraped raw, their pale hue already bluing with bruises. And she’d been awake in captivity for maybe twenty minutes.

“Okay,” she said, her voice echoing in her head as if she still wasn’t quite present. She pushed back the memory and met his eyes. “I’ll help you.”

Darcy grabbed her arm and yanked her away. “Are you crazy?”

Her furious whisper carried clearly across the room, but Min only leaned against the wall again, as if his moment of passion had sapped his strength.

“She needs help,” Q said.

“So let him call the police!”

Q raised a brow. “Says…the brown girl?”

Darcy threw up her hands, her long black braid swaying with the movement. “Fine, but we can’t help. We don’t know anything about saving someone from a kidnapping.”

“You saved me.”

Darcy crossed her arms over her waist and sighed. “You hired me to keep you safe. You know I don’t do it for the money, right?”

“Of course I know.”

“And you trust me?”

“Like family.”

Darcy nodded, and rare solemnity fell over her face. She lowered her voice. “This feels wrong to me. Dangerous, and not just in the way we’ve worried about. Three days after Min shows up at our shop, you’re kidnapped. What if it’s not a coincidence?”

“You’re saying he orchestrated the kidnapping?”

Darcy studied him and frowned. “I don’t think so. I’m not getting that kind of vibe. But he probably led Dette to you. It sucks that his sister was taken. Really, it does. But I think it might be safest for everyone if we bow out now.”

“I can’t keep running away every time someone needs my help. That’s not who I’m supposed to be.”

“You’re not doing it for you.”

Q studied her friend. Tiny lines had begun to feather around her eyes while Q slept, and she felt a pang that she’d once again missed so much of her friend’s life. She took a deep breath and nodded.

And then Min said, “He called her the Somnus. Does that mean anything to you?”

Q’s heart stopped and then began to race. Darcy’s eyes widened.

“The Somnus?” Q asked. “You’re sure?”

Min straightened away from the wall. “You know what it is.”

Q couldn’t find her voice. Defeated, Darcy sat and rubbed a hand over her face. “The Somnus is a who, not a what.”

“A legend,” Q managed. “A sleeper who controls sleep and wake – for everything. If he thinks she’s the Somnus, he won’t ever let her go.”

Min shook his head, pale under the gold of his skin. “Unless he figures out that she’s just a simple sleeper. Then he’ll kill her in retaliation.”

Q looked at Darcy, and her hands shook. Darcy nodded, and Q turned back to Min. “How can we help?” 


What should Q do next? Vote below, and the option that gets the most votes will guide segment 4 of Q's Story.

Q's Story - Segment 2

Dear readers,

You chose The Collector as the villain in Q's Story. Read here to find out who he is and what he wants (or start from the beginning).

-Lillian James

Q's Story - Segment 2

The nightly party was winding down by the time they reached the French Quarter. Revelers made their way toward welcoming beds as the music tried to lure them in for one last drink. A man leaned against the hotel, his black hair tousled and spiked, his eyes closed.

Darcy got out of the car, took one look at him, and said, “Shit.”

He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice and then straightened away from the wall. “Is this her?”

“Go away, stalker, before I call the police.”

“You won’t do that.” He walked up to Q, brown eyes rimmed with the deep dark of exhaustion. It was enough to make Q wonder, but of course she didn’t ask. He was Asian, maybe Korean, but he spoke with an American accent. “Took her, didn’t he?”

Darcy grabbed Q’s arm and dragged her inside. “Ignore him. He’s crazy.”

“New boyfriend?”

“Ha!” She pushed the elevator button, her eyes darting around. “Let’s just get our stuff and get the hell out of here.”

“We’re not dating,” he said from behind them.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “She knows.”

“I want to make sure you know.”

“Relax,” Darcy said as he followed them into the elevator. “I prefer the innies to the outies.”

He paused and cocked his head. “I’m trying to decide if that’s cute or gross.”

“It’s both,” Q said. “Who are you?”

“Min.” He smiled with considerable charm and held out a hand. “Hi.”

She glanced at Darcy. Her friend rolled her eyes again and shrugged, so Q shook Min’s hand.

“Who took me?”

He looked at Darcy. “You haven’t told her?”

“We were kind of busy escaping from a nut job.”

“I can tell you about him, but we should get to your room first.”

Darcy raised a brow. “Seriously? That’s your line?”

“You know it’s not a line, Darcy.”

At his quiet tone, she set her jaw. She glanced at Q, worry dragging at her face. “Fine,” she finally said. “But if Q doesn’t want you here, you go.”

*          *          *

“His name is Dette. He’s an archeologist, and he’s obsessed with the supernatural. Demons, vampires, werewolves, angels. He believes in all of it. He started collecting artifacts thirty years ago, and when those weren’t enough, he ramped it up. Now he collects people.”

“People? Jesus. Darcy–”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I said we need to get out of here.”

“We need to call the cops. He kidnapped me, Darcy. Why are we the ones hiding?”

“This guy is crazy rich, and this is his home town. The police are definitely in his pocket.”

“Darcy, I’m sure we can trust the police.”

“Says the white girl.”

Q frowned and turned to Min. “How are you involved?”

He leaned back against the wall as if he no longer had the strength to stand. “I’m like you.”

She lifted a brow. “Like me.”

“I’m a sleeper. But you already knew that.”

Q studied his tired eyes. She’d only seen that level of exhaustion in a few other people. “How did you find out about me?”

“My dad and yours go back. He thought maybe your family could help.”

“With what? I still don’t understand how you’re involved in all of this.”

His eyes grew hard, and every trace of charm vanished. “Dette has my sister.”

 

Q's Story - Segment 1

Dear reader,

Welcome to my latest piece of interactive fiction. Here's how it works: read the segment below. At the end, you get to vote on key plot points.

Enjoy!

-Lillian James

Q woke up in a coffin, and her first thought was, Not again. Her second was one of horror, but a frantic search told her she was alone. Thank God. A coffin companion was the absolute worst kind of uninvited guest.

The coffin was dark and warm. Dark suggested she was underground, but warmth usually meant climate control. Maybe a crypt? Did they have crypts in San José? Darcy would know.

Where was Darcy?

Didn’t matter. Now that Q was awake, she didn’t have long before she ran out of oxygen. She pressed against the wood above her head. Cheap and rough, it scored her palms. It was dry, which supported her crypt theory – and meant that there would be less rot for her to break through.

Nerves buzzed under her skin, but she ignored them. She would get out. She’d done it before. And then she hadn’t had Darcy.

Where the hell was Darcy?

She shifted to get her knees as close as possible to the center of the coffin. With the movement, something slashed at the inside of her wrist. She winced and grabbed the wound, expecting to find a knife-sized splinter. But instead, there were stitches.

The cut ran crosswise along her wrist, the stitches jagged and the flesh tender. Whatever had happened to her, it had been recent.

Her nerves spiked, and her breath started to hitch. Something was wrong. No Darcy was bad, but no Darcy and an amateur hatchet job on her body?

This was no accidental burial.

She punched against the wood before she knew she intended to move, and it felt good, it felt right, so she did it again and again and again. And it was so loud, and then she realized that she was screaming. Screaming and flailing, panicking like a child. Hysterical.

Her mother had taught her better.

She closed her eyes and forced her body to still. Her battered hands sank; her knees rested limply against the side of the coffin. Her lungs began to slow.

Of course it was an accident. It was always an accident. She would get out, she told herself again. Then she would find Darcy, and everything would be okay. She repositioned herself and braced to thrust up her knee.

And something slammed into the wood inches above her face.

She shrank back, her fingers searching desperately for something she could use as a weapon. But she had nothing. As the lid creaked open, she rolled away and thrust her arm up and out in blind attack.

“Ow! What the hell, Q?”

“Darcy?” Her old friend was standing over the coffin, her brown face lit by the glow of her phone. “Darcy, it’s you. Oh, thank God. Where were you?”

“Shhh!” Darcy glanced over her shoulder as she helped Q sit. “They could be close.”

“Who? Darcy, what’s going on?”

“The men who took you. I’ll tell you later. We have to go.”

“Someone took me?”

“Yes. Shut up.”

Q climbed out of the coffin, her unsteady legs making haste difficult. Not a crypt, she saw. A shed. And she’d been right. This was not an accidental burial.

Darcy’s phone went dark, and the younger woman peeked through the open door of the shed at the woods beyond. Then she grabbed Q’s hand and yanked her into the night.

They ran through woods and moonlight. The ground was blanketed in pine needles, the lack of undergrowth suggesting that the land was maintained. Q wondered if they were on private property, and she shuddered.

She weakened with each step, and when they finally reached Darcy’s car, she leaned gratefully against it. Her lungs wheezing, she asked, “How did you find me?”

“The chip in your wrist. Get in.”

There was food in the car. Q tore into it, her hands shaking with hunger. “Guess this was a weird one?”

Darcy laughed grimly. “You have no idea.”

“Thanks, Darce.”

Darcy looked over. Q’s face was even paler than usual beneath the strobe of the streetlights. “It’s what we do.”

Q pushed a shock of red hair out of her eyes and glanced around. “This isn’t San José.”

“Nope. Westwego. New Orleans.”

“Jeez. How long was I out this time?”

“You mean your little nap?” Darcy laughed more easily this time. “Only about three years.”