David Haller (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} xgene) wrote, |
From watercolor to a monochrome Gaussian blur -- the world faded away before everything seemed to shudder. David's brow furrowed, his grip on the fabric between them tightened, his other hand balling into a fist. There was a hurricane of images in his head, pictures, frozen in time. Some he recognized, he tried to reach out to them, tried to grab the familiar, but like trying to grasp at photographs being thrown around by a hurricane, the first he was able to snatch was random, unfamiliar.
There was only a second's worth of dread before, like a crack of lightning, they were standing in a ruined building. The windows blown out, the damp of rain filtering in from a quiet, but persistent storm outside. A quick look around told them they were in the right place, Summerland, but that every other detail was wrong. This place was long abandoned, walls having been broken down... blood stains on the floor.
A sudden, sharp pressing on every corner of his mind swiftly assaulted David and he dropped the fabric with a cry, hands going to his head as his legs gave out from underneath him.
Eyes, peering, searching, sharp. Yellow and powerful, curious. He pushed back, his instinct to hide and run kicking in the same instinctual reaction as when Amy looked over them in the crowd at the funeral. The humming returned, stronger, more noticeable, and the eyes looked them over, disappearing to a low throb in the back of David's mind.
But it was still there. It was like holding a door against a consistently pushing set of hands. It was all he could do to keep equal pressure. "It's out there," he managed to say, eyes screwed shut as his head continued to pound. "It almost saw us, oh God, I can see it out there." Wherever there was. It felt like it was both thousands of miles away and breathing down his neck.