Saltwater Sting
Drowning was like anything else
Once you had spent enough time
In it, you became afraid
Of what it would be like
Without it
Regulus wakes and immediately falls to his knees, clutching his chest, breathing in sharp , gasping inhales, squeezing his eyes shut against the saltwater sting, feeble breath wasted on the pointless apologies and endless regrets that fall off his tongue.
It takes him far too long to realise that the awful, grasping hands are no longer tearing him open, marking his flesh with their fingerprints. That the air he’s choking on is filling his lungs with oxygen. That the weight on his skin is little more than the clothes he’s wearing. It takes another long time before his breathing evens out into quiet, hiccuping sobs, into softly gasping inhales. Until finally Regulus opens his eyes, blinking away salty tears, and peers up at the water suspended above him.
Immediately he scrambles back, until he hits a cold stone wall. The water still hangs above him, and Regulus watches it carefully, refusing to glance away, as he feels along the wall behind him, searching for a crevice or gap he can climb into, protecting him from harsh, crashing water. Regulus still sits on his heels, as opposed to standing and bringing himself closer to the water. His palms are scraped raw against the rough stone walls, until finally on hand falls through empty air to the right of him, and he scrambles for purchase so that he can pull himself around the bend into the seemingly large gap in the wall. The gap in question turns out be another, smaller cave carved into the wall of the first, with a low ceiling that eventually leads into an arched entryway between the two caverns.
Eyes still fixed on the covering of his watery grave, Regulus allows the panic once more to tighten his chest and build under his ribs, before it gradually ebbs away, and he pushes himself to his feet tentatively.
The cavern he came to in is bathed in a cold blue light, fractals of sunlight barely reaching this far though the depths of the water. The craggy grey stone walls shoot directly up on all sides, leaving a large, circular, flat ground between them. And finally the focal point, the temptation, the rippleless surface of water suspended a few inches higher up on the walls than Regulus’ full height, defying the laws of gravity. The water is such that only some of the walls it covers is visible, any evidence of a roof to the cavern non-existent, just a layer of deep blue above him.
Regulus’ watches this anomaly cautiously, stepping carefully out from under his shelter, until he is once more exposed, gazing up in wonder. He takes another step, and another, until he stands in the centre of the large cavern. He peers up, eyes wide, the cool cobalt light reflected on his face, and, half-expecting the water to come crashing down on him, submerging him once more, Regulus reaches up with one hand to touch the sapphire shiny surface of the water.
Without warning, as soon as droplets bead on the pads of his fingers, Regulus is yanked up by the sudden pull of the water. Gasping as he’s dragged up, eyes squeezed shut, through the water which no longer feels like an ethereal entity, just waiting to bear down on him, but rather like an impossibly thin, substantial barrier, easily crossed.
He surfaces just as quickly, barely any time seeming to have passed, at least by Regulus’ perception, legs kicking out under him, arms desperately treading water, though his hair and face are entirely dry, his clothes don’t feel like a weight dragging him down.
He’s floating in the middle of a large body of water, the darkness of the apparent night, though Regulus is certain he saw sunlight shining through before, cut through by the striking presence of the moon. Outside of foundational articles, it’s difficult to make much of his surroundings out, almost like the scene he’s in was painted with watercolours. Almost like he’s viewing this landscape with a skewed perspective.
It’s the juvenile shouts and reckless movements of three figures that drags his gaze across to the distant, dark shoreline. Regulus watches them, the whole scenario feeling familiar, a strange numbness washing over him. He opens his mouth to call out, when clawed hands suddenly grasp at his face, gripping his jaw and arms, cutting him off. Panic grips him, along with fingers, always reaching, grasping, choking, and Regulus doesn’t even fight as he’s dragged once more through the thin veil water, helpless.
He never has any control.
Regulus is deposited suddenly, in the strangely lit room once more, his feet are suddenly under him, chest heaving as he stumbles back against the wall. He’s not entirely sure if he wanted to be in that lake, but he really didn’t want to be back in this fucking cave. The clawed hands feel as though they’ve left marks on his skin, the only thing stopping Regulus from attempting to force his way to the surface once more. His heart jackrabbiting in his chest.
Regulus just can’t help but think that maybe, if he could speak with those figures on the shoreline, he might understand what’s happening. Why he’s here, though he fears he may already have an inkling. Where the hands came from, or where they went? Or even, why he was so panicked when he first woke, what exactly lead to his being in this strange, mind-bending cave. There was something about those distant people that Regulus recognised, a trust he felt he could put in them. Though Regulus isn’t certain he’s ever trusted anyone.
Regulus eyes the water carefully as he once more backs into the secondary, supposedly safer cave, paranoia now pricking his skin. Not even he would be idiotic enough to approach it again, though Regulus isn’t so sure about other people he knows. Knew.
It’s as his shoulders are falling away from his ears and his breathing is evening out that Regulus hears a single, solitary piano note clinking behind him. He turns around quickly, and finds that the small cave he thought he was standing in, has extended into a long, straight tunnel leading to a recognisable black door. Or maybe the smaller cavern had always lead to that door, and he hadn’t noticed? His thoughts feel weighted down and sluggish, juxtaposed to the sudden lively tune drifting towards him from behind the door, and Regulus is having difficulty grasping his reality. Everything feels as though it keeps shifting, nothing solid. Leaving him feeling wrong-footed.
In an attempt to ground himself, Regulus recalls a voice murmuring instructions softly to him. A safe quality to the memory, more a feeling than anything else. Without question, because he never did question that particular voice, he closes his eyes and becomes aware of each individual part of his body. His feet planted on the unnaturally smooth ground. His legs, slightly shaky, clothed in stiff black trousers, supporting his weight. His arms, hanging by his sides, fingers going numb, filled with potential. His chest, rising and falling with each new breath, no longer hindered by a saltwater sting. And his face, a strange breeze, another peculiarity, brushing dark curls back, a gold light piercing through his eyelids.
Gold light?
Regulus blinks his eyes open, and finds the craggy room is now bathed in a soft golden glow, already fading back to opalescent blue. That safe feeling fills his chest even after the light has waned. Regulus may be having difficulty placing where exactly he is, but his body is here. His body existing solidly. Of that he is certain. An experience that strangely feels sort of scary and new, as though he’s been fading away from his body a lot recently.
He places one hand on the wall of the tunnel to assure himself, and despite the more careful side of him warning against it, Regulus once more throws caution to the wind, and takes one step toward the door, following the steady melody. When his reality isn’t entirely upended, Regulus begins making slow, wary steps towards the door.
It’s only as he stands directly before it, palm gripping the handle, that Regulus pauses. For some reason the song has taken on a more sinister tone, the fluid notes that have not once faltered once throughout his stilted approach now picking up pace, crashing suddenly, falling off cliffs, before climbing rapidly once more. And beyond that, Regulus can hear, so faintly he almost believes he’s imagining it, screams and shouts drifting from behind the black door.
It’s only due to an overwhelming curiosity that he finally turns the handle, hearing a faint click, a jolt of pain so sudden rushing through him he isn’t even sure it was real. Still, instincts screaming, Regulus can’t push down the temptation to open the door. Can’t seem to resist.
As soon as Regulus pushes open the door, the music cuts out, sudden and jolting. Falling off a cliff, but never racing to climb another.
He finds himself on the threshold of a dark room, filled with musical instruments and yet completely empty of people. The resemblance is uncanny, he can’t help but think. The loneliness equally as familiar.
The piano is no doubt the focal point of the room, with its glossy black sheen, placed in front of a large window so as to catch the light, rolling green hills visible through it.
Regulus walks towards the window, brushing carelessly passed acoustic guitars, flutes, violins, a cello, mind struggling to comprehend the optical illusion of a window showcasing a seemingly real view of the summer splattered countryside at golden hour, seen from a window deep beneath the crushing ocean, as its surface reflects the pearly moon.
Regulus steps even closer, and his shins knock against the grand instruments bench. Distracted by the piano, or perhaps simply giving up, he sits at the bench, posture a perfect mirror of the one beaten into his brother, reaching tentatively for the fall board, and pushing it up. His fingers rest, splayed across the keys. Regulus can so easily picture himself sitting here at five, nine, thirteen and now at eighteen. Can so easily picture another young boy sitting here with him, teaching him every carefully practised note and chord. Until he didn’t need to be taught anymore. Or couldn’t bring himself to be.
Finally, a strange dread building along with the anticipation, Regulus presses carefully down on the very highest key, the lone note echoing, strange and isolated.
It’s just as the reverb of the note is fading out that the fall board slams back down, falling heavily on Regulus’ fingers.
“Fuck,” he hisses, tearing his hands away, certain each and every finger has shattered.
“Reggie! You weren’t supposed to touch it!”
He swivels around for the young, familiar voice, and his grey eyes meet a brighter, silver pair, and then a hand is gripping his elbow, and he’s being dragged from this recreation of his childhood music room, more accurate than he had perhaps expected.