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Post by Izabella Riddle on Jan 14, 2009 23:55:37 GMT -5
They never ask him why one day a year he locks himself in his quarters. They never ask him why he shuts off his com and refuses to speak to anyone. They know the only people who know are in the room with him.
They gather with him drawn to his incredible hidden power, a power he only lets outon that day. If anyone realizes it's always on Halloween no one says anything about it.
They hear the screams of anguish, the yelled arguments. They learn to stay away from that corridor on that day. They look the other way. They never ask about the cuts and brusies so visible on his skin.
They whisper but never say anything when he returns the next morning. They know nothing has changed. They take his smile and wit at face value, he does his job.
They don't know he inflicts his own torment bringing back the ghosts of the dead. They blame him, the dead do...
They are the dead of Atlantis...Sumner, Gall, Abrams, Dumais, Millar, Simpson, Beckett, Weir, McKay...They are the fallen angels.
And he is thier killer.
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