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The bus has gone quiet.
Night has fallen, and the sinners are sound asleep.
Well, except for you.
There are sleepless nights, and you know how to deal with them.
Your hair is a little messy from the tossing and turning, but it matter not. It is but a stroll along the corridor of the bus, you don't have to look presentable.
For now, you are not a manager. You are just a sleepless sinner.
Rarely you hear the bus this quiet. Normally, either laughter or yells of anger fill the air. It is peaceful as you stroll.
As you wander past a room with a number 08 written on its door, you feel a little disturb. Something like your mind resonating with the golden boughs, but at the same time not quite it. You can't seem to place it, but you sure heard things coming out of that room. In a night where even a pin drop can be heard, the subtle noises catch your ears.
And it is room 08. Where sinner 08 resides.
Can't hurt to check it out, you think. You reach out to knock on the door, but it is not even shut properly. The door opens to a view of Ishmael sitting side facing you on the bed. Beside her you can make out white strips of undone ribbons, and she holds onto something in her hands.
She looks up at you, teary-eyed, and says nothing. She then looks back down and buries her head towards her closed fists.
I should probably go, you tell yourself, as you cautiously take a step back.
But at the same time, you feel a persistent tug in your heart that only grow agonising over time, its pain comparable to reviving the sinners from the worst of death. You try to silence it, but the soft wails from Ishmael anchor you to the soil of reality.
You admit to yourself: you haven't been too much of an ideal manager from the start. There are too much things you don't know about. Leadership, management, and responsibility...
Falling short in leading the bus is one thing, but failing the one soul who has willingly given her heart to you… that’s another wound entirely. One you would have inflicted on yourself with silence and with absence should you walk out the door tonight.
You know what to do this time. You will not back away again.
Ishmael must have noticed you approaching her as you close the door behind you. She didn't stop you, nor invite you forward. You slowly take a seat beside her on the bed, careful not to touch the white ribbons beside her, as if they are something sacred.
You wait for her to start. Yet all you get are weeps and sniffles. You realise that you brought yourself into this - if you do not start, nobody will.
"Ish," you whisper to her.
She says nothing in return, merely giving you a few slight nods.
"Is... everything okay?" You ask. Immediately, you want to punch yourself in the face. Obviously nothing is okay. But then again, what else could you have asked?
You wait patiently by her side, watching her slowly open her fists to reveal a brown rope. You realise that it is the very rope she used as her headband all the time.
"Back at the Great Lake..." Ishmael started, "do you... remember Queequeg?" Ishmael mumbled through sobs. She turned to look at you as she asked with a pair of sorrowful and pleading eyes, and seemingly uncontrollably, tears fell out of her puffy eyes like waterfall at the very mention of the name.
"I do," you reply her. It hasn't been too long since the encounter at the Great Lake. Queequeg... that first harpooner of Ishmael's former ship, Pequod. The one individual that caught your eyes back then other than the dangerous Captain Ahab. You have seen how Ishmael interacted with Queequeg, and undeniably you felt a little envious. After retrieving the Golden Bough from the Pallid Whale, your bond with Ishmael has grown so strong you took the courage to confess your feelings. Perhaps you had seen the way Ishmael looked out for the scars on Queequeg's body, perhaps you had seen the way Ishmael dropped her weapon and embraced Queequeg immediately after a hard-fought clash, perhaps you had seen the way Ishmael had her eyes on Queequeg. You crave for that, and you hoped for it.
And you received it.
Ishmael wiped the overflowing tears away from her eyes filled with guilt. She choked, "this rope... belonged to Queequeg." At the mention of the name, you see her eyes flowing with tears once more. This time, she never bother to wipe them. She just let them drop on her sleeves, seeping into her wrist.
"I see." You replied. It felt as if in that very instant, all the envy you carried towards Queequeg have been washed away by Ishmael's tears. As a manager, you have extracted countless mirror world Identities of your sinners. Of course, you paid most attention to the Ishmaels from other universes. Now that you think, you suddenly gain an epiphany - that every Ishmaels from every universe has had this very rope on her. It is so common that you fail to notice it at all, until now.
Ishmael continues to hyperventilate. You don't stop her. You continue waiting. Until she continue speaking through sniffles, "she was all I have... All I have...!" Her voice cracking, much like her glassy eyes, "and now... this is all I have..." her eyes widen at the rope in her hand, as if in great denial and disbelief.
Scenes of Ahab absorbing a pallidified human flash through your mind. Without question, it was a horrendous sight to watch. And now, it is more horrendous to think about, knowing that Ishmael was there to witness it all.
You gaze deeply at Ishmael. You finally understand what everything means to her. How important certain things are to her. You remember the stories she told you about, and now come to realise.
She had once lost Queequeg to the whale. You remember what you saw in her memories - the promises she had made to Queequeg, assuring her that she will one day save her and live out a life of their very own.
She had reunited with Queequeg once more, with you. You used to think that her only obsession was to pierce her harpoon through Ahab's heart. Now, you doubt yourself. You wonder if her intention was to fulfill a promise undone all along.
Yet you also know the outcome. She promised salvation to the person dearest to her twice, but also lost said person twice.
You feel a tingle in your throat. You want to cry too, you want to fault the world for everything that has happened, you want to yell at everything.
"I'm... sorry," Ishmael chokes, cutting off your train of thoughts, "I shouldn't... be crying over things like this... now that I'm with you... I shouldn't even think..." she tries to wipe her tears again, but this time, you do it first. You reach out and as tenderly as you can, smudge the tears away from her freckled cheeks. She uses one of her hands to hold onto yours, and gently pushes it away from her face.
"Don't be," you replied, desperate but try your best not to show, "please, don't apologise for something like this." It pains you. Not because the person you love still yearns for the person she loves, but because you realised just how much she has been suppressing it for your very sake.
How many nights have she actually been crying by herself that you do not know of?
You wrap your arms around her shoulder, holding on to her tightly, pulling her closer into you, but not to a point it hurts. You're unsure how Queequeg used to do it, or if she did it another way. But all you can do, is pray that somehow, you can too reach Ishmael's heart even for just a heartbeat of a moment, just to instill within her that she must not feel guilty for yearning for what truly mattered the most.
"Ishmael," you called out again, softer this time, but you make sure your determination stays. She finally turns to look at you once more. Her gaze meets yours, and you notice that she is still holding on to your hand. You bring your hand back towards yourself, taking hers along with it, and press her trembling fingers on your face. You tenderly kiss her palm, light as a feather, and allow it to rest on your cheek.
"I see it," you whisper as you force out a smile for her, " I can tell you were the happiest you have ever been back then. Happier than I have ever seen you. So, please do not punish yourself up for crying over the beautiful things you lost. To yearn, and to grief, is to be human. You are not a mermaid, are you?" A broken chuckle slips through your words, but even you do not know where they came from. It is as if... they always have been meant for her.
Choking back her cries, you can see Ishmael gripping onto the rope even tighter with her other hand, knuckles turning white. But for the first time, you feel relieved, for it doesn't seem like she is slipping away.
"Thank you..." Ishmael murmurs, barely audible even at a distance so close. Like the words are foreign on her tongue, like she doesn’t quite know how to hold kindness when it’s handed to her unwrapped.
You smile again. This time, unforced. You slide your other arm around her too, now enveloping her fully. You hold on tight, as if afraid she will shatter and snap into a million pieces again.
You seek for the warmth from her in your embrace, knowing well that she will feel the same. You know that you may not have done as well as Queequeg have, your touch may have been less certain than hers, and your words more hesitant. But you know you have delivered your own feelings across to her. And now, heart to heart, you are more sure that both of your slowly synchronising heartbeats have signified a connection deeper than just the physical hug.
Burying her head in your chest, you notice that Ishmael's sniffles have subsided. Her breaths, now calm, glaze across your skin warm and slow. Carefully, you gently lower yourself onto the bed, cradling her as you do. Afraid to disturb her from her slumber, you remain laying beside her, still keeping your arms wrapped around. "Good night, Ish," you silently mouth while running your fingers slowly through her curly hair, as you feel the sleepiness finally hit you in your head.
And then, in the dim quiet of the night, you find yourself gazing at the face of the one you love most - soft, unguarded, and most certainly beautiful. As you hold her tight in your embrace, she clutches the rope in her hands.
A blur washes over your thoughts, and in the next breath, sleep eventually takes you.
There is no more need for words. You were sleepless a while ago, but now you fight the urge to drift away, all to see her for even one more moment.
But what follows is nothingness.