You can find A here.
“Go Libby, run!” He yelled, shaking her shoulders.
Libby shook her head, pulling away. “No, it didn’t happen like this.”
He was calm again, standing there watching her. Blood poured from his head and crusted in his perfect blond hair, and his suit was dusty. “What are you talking about?”
“It didn’t happen like this. You were laughing at your own joke, getting the bags.”
“Was I?” He cocked his head at her. “And what were you doing?”
She looked around her, at the empty bay, and shivered. She moved to stand away from the ship. “I was standing here, wondering where the dock master was.”
“He’s over there, dead behind the barricade,” James answered, pointing behind him.
Libby swallowed, and focused. “How do you know that?”
“Because you do.”
The world around her flashed, and James was screaming. “He’s dead, there’s a bomb. Libby, run! There’s a bomb, run!”
“I started to walk closer to you,” she whispered, taking a step.
“No, run or you won’t make it, it’s down to seconds!”
“I can’t leave you,” Libby whispered, watching herself now. She wasn’t sure, something didn’t feel right. James was across the room, standing like he’d stepped on something.
“If I move it’ll just explode now. Go, Libby. Go NOW.”
She moved with the dream, followed herself running. Into the dark corridor. There were stairs, and she’d done like a flight before she gave up and did the ventilation tube instead. It was wide enough she could almost run standing up, and it was uphill but it was less uphill than the stairs.
She’d run forever. Her legs were screaming and her lungs burned and she still ran. Climbed the ladder for the next section of the ventilation. There was a growing rumble behind her, and if she could just make it a little further she could connect with the point to point rescue system.
Her fingers slipped off the door the first time, but she yanked it open…right as the floor melted out from under her.
Libby bolted up in the bed. Gentle light poured out of the bathroom—she always left the light on in hotels the first couple of nights, until she got used to the new layout—and the streetlights poked through the curtains. She panted, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her knees.
“Vox, call room 533.”
“Are you aware of the time, Miss?” the automated system replied.
“Yes,” she glanced at the clock, three am. “Place the call.”
Brody answered before it got to the second ring. “What’s wrong?”
“I remembered. Everything until I fell—”
“I’m coming, find a piece of paper or say it out-loud to the system until I get there,” he interrupted.
Libby pushed herself out of bed and started hunting for a piece of paper. “Vox, take a note.”
“He was in the luggage compartment, laughing at his own joke and I was standing in the middle, wondering where the dock master was.” Libby grabbed the notepad and pen off the main table. “He went over to the dock partition and said he stepped on a trip wire, the dock master was dead and if he moved it’d blow up.” She started writing as fast as she could. “I tried to say I couldn’t leave him but he pushed so I ran. Changed into the vent system because of the stairs, managed to grab the search and rescue connection before the explosion caught up with me.”
The door chimed, and Libby looked at the system to make sure it was Brody before she opened it. He’d apparently thrown on his shirt from earlier over his sleeping shorts and hadn’t bothered with shoes. She raised a brow at him, but stepped back to let him in the room.
“Vox, play it back,” Libby ordered.
Brody grabbed the notepad from her, and started scribbling as it talked.
“He was in the luggage compartment, laughing at his own joke and I was standing in the middle, wondering where the dock master was. He went over to the dock partition and said he stepped on a trip wire, the dock master was dead and if he moved it’d blow up. I tried to say I couldn’t leave him but he pushed so I ran. Changed into the vent system because of the stairs, managed to grab the search and rescue connection before the explosion caught up with me.”
Libby shuddered, and rubbed her arms. It’d been unsettling. Sure, a trauma dream was always going to be unsettling, but this had been worse, it’d been--
“Is that all of it?” Brody asked, handing her the pad back.
He’d written her entire statement out, surprisingly neatly given the speed.
“Purge the note.”
She cocked a brow at him.
“Just…let’s not leave anything in a place people with skills in the system can find it.” He gave her a bolstering smile.
“Vox, purge the note.”
“Remove file completely?”
“Yes.” Libby sat down at the edge of the bed.
She didn’t feel better now that she’d remembered. She--
“How detailed was your dream?” Brody asked carefully, towing a chair over from the seating area.
“Were you reliving, or watching?”
“Watching.” Libby rubbed her face. “And it jumped around a little. He wasn’t accurate.”
“What did he do that wasn’t accurate?”
“He didn’t just talk to the me that was there.” Libby folded her arms over her chest, leaning forward. “He was…wrong.”
“What about when he wasn’t doing that. How did he act when he found the body?”
Libby blinked at the floor. “He didn’t.”
Brody nodded, and jotted down a note. “And the bomb?”
“He kept saying I had to run but it wasn’t…”
She rubbed her face and pushed out a tired breath. “It wasn’t panicked enough. And he acted like he couldn’t move without it blowing up, but…”
Brody waited quietly, not prompting her now. She knew it was him not putting words in her mouth. Maybe that was helpful, in the long run, but it didn’t feel that way at the moment.
She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. “But he specifically said he’d never done any incident training so how did he know what he’d stepped on.”