Ale-Induced Hallucinations

She couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a joyous giggle, or even a playful chuckle, it was more like a sarcastic choke to keep from screaming. He showed up… again. She took a drink from the oversized frosted glass and then propped her elbow on the bar top to keep from sliding off the stool.

 

Xandrea Raylin was a mess. The former Banner Captain of the scouts for the Band of the Red Hand, moved all the way up to Commander of the entire Band, now plastered drunk wandering… what country was she in again? Somewhere along the road from Fal Dara to Tar Valon –memory lapsed exactly where—Drea became bitter. She had separated from Mehrin, no longer caring about their mission or about her parents whom she saw brutally murdered, or even about any of her comrade’s troubles. She buried her own issues in a lovely concoction: a fermented, hop flavored, malt sugared, liquid. Mehrin didn’t seem to say much when she left, but then again, he wasn’t a man of many words.

 

*

 

That’s when it started, on the road after leaving Fal Dara. She was sure Aryik was watching them, somewhere, somehow and paranoia began to sink in. They had run into some bandits about to rob a merchant headed south. Mehrin’s plan was divine, as usual. Drea waited in the bushes on the side of the road for her moment. On her cue from Mehrin she jumped out and caught one of the bandits around the neck, holding her knife to his throat. The man stiffened and Mehrin looked at her wildly. That wasn’t part of the plan. They had only threatened the young merchant, so their intents were to scare the bandits, not to kill them. Through the hot sun, Drea’s hand became sweaty and as she adjusted her grip on the hilt, the bandit took advantage of her insecurity. He lifted his elbow and jammed it into her nose, causing Drea to fall. Another bandit came out of no where and caught Mehrin from behind, holding him back. Drea looked up at the large bulky man standing over her; the sun created a halo around his head; and gasped. There, standing before her was an old friend, boss and lover: Cabroci Ramzael, but it wasn’t him a minute ago… The man spit on her tunic and his face changed back. He was ugly, with a mole in the right corner of his mouth and a big bulging nose. His hair was gone except a few grey strands that were combed from the left side to the right. Just as he raised his worn boot over her face, Drea heard Mehrin cry out.

 

She blinked back, startled, as something warm and wet dropped onto her face and the shadow over her fell to the side. Rolling to her right, Drea saw the man, overweight and bloody, rolling in the dirt. Out of his side protruded Mehrin’s knife, deep enough to wound but not to kill. She stumbled to her hands and knees, crawled over to the man and turned him on his back. Rolls reversed, she gripped the hilt of the knife and forced in a bit farther. The man’s eyes widened and a stiff moan escaped his lungs.

 

“You aren’t real.” She whispered. “You are not real.” she turned the hilt of the knife sharply and watched the man before her close his eyes.

 

*

 

It happened again and again, and hasn’t stopped yet. There was one time that sent her off the edge, knowing that she could no longer travel with Mehrin, knowing she had a problem that he couldn’t fix and that the sooner she left the longer he’d live.

 

It was about midnight; they had gotten to a small Inn in a tiny village outside of Tar Valon and only decided to pay for a room because of the heavy rain and storm coming down for the past few hours.

 

Rain soaked and wind blown, Drea removed her coat and threw it over the chair in the corner. It had been a quiet day but tiring, trying to outrun the storm Drea could sense heading their way. Judging by the puddle already forming beneath the chair, they hadn’t been quick enough. She ran a cold hand through her damp hair, just to make herself some-what presentable and made the mental decision to go down for a drink. Before Drea could get her fingers completely through her shoulder-length dark brown hair, two rough hands fell on her shoulders, turned her around and pulled her close.

 

Mehrin’s body was warm-as his wet clothes were already draped over a small chest of drawers on the other side of the small room- and his lips already back to their normal shade of red.

 

*

 

Finally warm, under the covers of the feather bed and with Mehrin’s body lying next to her, Drea stared at the ceiling. The man to her right lay sleeping, his breathing steady: so peaceful, so innocent. Did she love the man? She didn’t know. She didn’t know if she could really ever love anymore. So many ghosts, so many nightmares. What did her brother, Kimal, call those girls? Damaged goods. That was Drea.

 

Still needing that drink, Drea turned to carefully slide her arm from under Mehrin’s head. He murmured softly and readjusted the pillow. She ignored the sleeping giant and pulled the blanket from her legs, ready to get out of bed. A hand grabbed her wrist, startling Drea. She gasped and turned around to see Cabroci lying where Mehrin’s body once was. His grip on her wrist tightened—or was that her imagination?—and he moved to pull her back down to bed, but Drea’s reflexes were too fast. From the side table next to her, she grabbed the knife and rolled to straddle the large body. Cabroci’s face looked so strange on such a huge frame, but the thought didn’t occur to Drea until later.

 

With her knife pressed to his throat, her knee on his chest and his hand still firmly around her other wrist, Cabroci let out a menacing—playful?—laugh. Drea adjusted her weight, choking Cabroci’s laughter, his eyes wide. She bent down, her knee touching her bare chest and whispered in Cabroci’s right ear. “You do not exist,” then louder, “You do not exist!”

 

“Drea.” He mocked her. “Drea you know that isn’t true. I’m right here. I’m right in front of you.” His smile widened “and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Drea looked on this man, horrified. This couldn’t be happening. The past few occurances with seeing Cab had been mere images of his face but she’d never heard him speak to her before. The repulsion took over and she raised her knifed hand in the air, ready to strike. This needed to end.

 

“Look at me, Drea” he hissed. “Look in my eyes.”

 

Against all reasoning, she did.

 

Then a different voice, one not so menacing, one strong and full of life, “You know who I am, Drea.”

 

She saw him, Mehrin, really saw him. Cabroci was gone, that strange, sick voice of his was gone. She lowered her hand and stuck the knife into the pillow just to the left of Mehrin’s head, and dragged the blade down, feathers puffing out.

 

Deranged, Drea got off the bed, quickly dressed and grabbed her saddle bag. “I need a drink” was all she said as she left the room.

 

*

 

That wasn’t the last… or only time Drea had seen ghosts in the past few months. She blamed the ale, but some nights the ale was the only thing to help her forget. She felt trapped in this vicious cycle, a daily reminder of every failure, every mistake and every long lost love.

 

Well, not every one. She never saw the handsome face of Jaem as she walked down the street at the earliest hour of morning, or Mehrin’s strong, determined smirk in place of the man she bought bread from—poor soul didn’t even know what was happening before it was too late…

 

So why Cab and why now?

 

She took another swig of her ale; back in the common room many days, many leagues and many more drinks from that fateful night when she separated herself from Mehrin’s company. He deserved better and would live longer on his own.

 

Drea peered over her shoulder a the man who’s face poked at her senses. After strutting in the common room, swinging his cloak from his shoulders with flare similar to that of a gleeman he sat at a lone table in the middle of the room. That he had his back to her frustrated Drea. He always was stubborn and never did what she wanted him to do. Light! It probably wasn’t even him. It was another ale-induced hallucination; the stable hand that had taken Renly from her upon arriving a few days ago.

 

Trying to get the serving girl’s attention—and with less tact than the serving girls themselves—he turned in his chair, giving Drea a brief glance at his face. Her heart skipped a beat, skipped a few beats actually. It was him, it had to be him.

 

Blood and ashes! Because no one else had Cab’s face? That doesn’t even make sense, Drea. Snap out of it. You’re too far gone.

 

Taking one final swig of her drink for courage, Drea slid off the stool, steadied herself on the bar and made her way to his table—only tripping once. She gave herself as much advantage as possible and stopped behind, making him turn to her. His ice blue eyes; so deep, so familiar, pierced into hers and caused her to stumble slightly backward. He had always had so much weight on her, so much influence. A simple look could cause damage she didn’t know she was capable of creating. Those eyes knew her. It was him.

 

She wanted to run; she wanted to scream at him to leave her alone, to go away. She wanted to take him upstairs to her room and never let him leave, to take her knife out and slit his throat like she almost did to Mehrin. She wanted to do to him all the things he made her do to those innocent people these past few weeks.

 

Her feet stayed where they were, her mouth stayed closed and her hands stayed put. Her heart, however, raced.

 

Cab—or this man who looked, acted and smelled like Cab—motioned for Drea to sit, going as far as pushing the chair out with his foot. Such a gentleman.

 

She did. She didn’t want to, but she did. “It’s been a while.” Her voice was more of a hoarse whisper, betraying the confidence she wanted to portray.

 

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Cabroci sighed. It had to be her. "Sir?" He looked down and saw the stableboy looking up at him expectantly. "Can I take your horse Sir? Or aren't you staying?" What had she gotten herself into? He lifted himself off his horse and handed over the reins to his horse to the stableboy. "Yes, I guess I will be staying," he said half to himself as he turned towards the inn. "My work here is not yet done."

 

He slipped into the inn quietly, scanning the room to see whether she was there or not. It was her! His eyes drank in the sight of her and his heart skipped a beat. Still. After all those years. That she could still have that effect on him was... He smiled. It was no more than logical. Any number of women had held his attention over the years, but only one of them had always remained...interesting. Which brought him to the situation at hand. Interesting indeed. He had tracked down Mehrin about a month ago on his search for Xandrea herself. Once he had learned that the man knew nothing more about Drea's whereabouts than he himself did, he had left him and continued on in the direction he guessed she had gone. And he had been right. And so had Mehrin. What Cabroci had taken for the ramblings of a man with a broken heart did seem quite true. Drea wasn't herself.

*coughs* To be continued