Harbinger (The Bleeding Worlds) by Justus R. Stone

look shaken. Did she say something to you?”
    Sophia’s frantic words played through Gwynn’s mind. No matter how he turned them around, they made no sense.
    “It was just gibberish.”
    “Tell me something Gwynn,” Pridament’s eyes and voice were intense, “have there been some, um, odd things going on with you the past couple of days? You seem a bit disoriented.”
    “It’s just been a bit much. I think I just need some more rest.”
    Pridament didn’t seem convinced. “Do me a favor, take my card. I’d like the chance to finish our talk. Sooner than later, okay?”
    Gwynn took the card and slipped it into his pocket. “Sure. Right. I’ll call soon. Seeya.”
    Gwynn plunged through the hospital doors into the biting November air. The cold wind stabbed his exposed flesh leaving it feeling raw. On a normal day that would have been annoying. Today he imagined the cold eating away the darkness that clung to his skin.
    Forget a cab. He didn’t need the risk of someone being chatty. He opted for the quiet anonymity of the bus.
    The bus arrived with just a few passengers congregating near the front. Gwynn went for the solitude of the back seat. The swaying rhythm of the bus moving through traffic soothed his battered soul. He closed his eyes, drifting in the between places of waking and sleep.
    A growl.
    At first, Gwynn dismissed it as traffic noise. The next time it came, it sounded nearer, urgent. Gwynn snapped his eyes open. The passengers at the front of the bus were looking at him with hungry, feline eyes.

8/ The Script of Creation
    Gwynn rushed from the hospital. Whatever had transpired between him and Sophia had left the boy rattled. Pridament had inspected Sophia’s chart after his first meeting with Gwynn. There’d been little of significance noted about her injuries and nothing noted about her mental state. That had changed two days ago when she had returned because of an emotional breakdown. But how did he miss news of Gwynn’s release? Could someone be keeping things out of official channels?
    Pridament made his way to the elevator. He reached into his pocket, reassuring himself that he still had his forged identification. The world operated on simple rules—if you looked the part, acted the part, and carried the right pieces of laminated paper and plastic, you could access anywhere.
    The elevator doors shuddered as they opened. The hallway, white and oppressive in its facelessness, lead to a double door where a pin pad waited to allow access. Pridament punched in the code and waited. The doors swung open with a low electric hum. On the other side, an orderly sat at a desk. Pridament approached the man and flashed his credentials.
    “I’m here to see Sophia Murray.”
    The orderly raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re not a doctor assigned to this ward.”
    Pridament had played harder roles. One rule served him in all of them; never appear flustered.
    “Yes, you’re right. See, the girl came in a few days ago to the emergency.” Pridament leaned in closer, his voice hushed and conspiratorial. “When I found out she had been readmitted, I just wanted to check on her.”
    The orderly wore a sly smile. “Just making sure you didn’t miss anything doc?”
    If only his credentials were real, just so he could report this useless excuse for an employee. Breathe, he told himself. Remember the rules. Pridament gave the man a wink, “I’m in the clear bud, but the other doc on with me, well, you know how it is.”
    The orderly nodded knowingly. It’s not me, it’s my friend. Power lay in using cliché excuses. For whatever reason, it always made people more understanding. Maybe because they had used it themselves, or because it made them feel a small part of the deception. People, no matter the world, liked being a part of conspiracies, especially if they could do so from a safe distance.
    The orderly led Pridament down the hall. To his right, a small waiting room where a woman, a visitor,