Darkling

Chapter Seven: The strongest person

Content/trigger warnings: Death, Violence, Child abuse, Suicidal ideation, PTSD, Emotional abuse, Trauma, Murder

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– ed. Jason's feet hit the ground though he couldn't remember jumping in the first place and he staggered back. The stranger caught his elbow before he could crash to the floor. The roar of town life rushing through his ears had disrupted his vestibular balance.

"Whoa," he groaned, unable to prevent the other guy from gently helping him lie down flat on his back and then on his side. He pressed a hand to his mouth as his stomach spun on the spot like a breakdancer. "Whoa ..."

The stranger vanished from sight and returned with a bottle of water. "Don't move until you stop feeling sick. Then drink this."

Words from his childhood flitted through his ears.

"Jason, do you know what to do if a stranger gives you food?" his mum asked him.

"Don't eat it."

"What if you're starving?"

"Then ask you if it's okay?"

She muffled a giggle. "And what if I'm not there?"

He shrugged, pouting at the idea. "Then I'll probably die anyway, so I might as well eat it."

She laughed and shook her head at him. "No matter what happens, you shouldn't eat or drink anything from strangers."

"What about when I'm big?"

"When you're a big boy, you'll understand why and won't do it anyway," she assured him.

Sorry, mum. He took the offered bottle and watched the unknown guy as he unrolled a sleeping bag. If I don't drink this now, I'm gonna puke all over Satara or do something just as embarrassing.

Once he had spread the sleeping bag out and placed a small pillow at its head, the long haired stranger approached Satara. He picked her up quickly but with the same level of care. Jason eased himself up onto his elbows with a grimace and tried to breathe away the nausea.

And realised way too late that they were no longer outside the MMA building but inside another one.

A derelict hotel from the look of the ruined decoration and shape of the glassless windows. His eyes grew wider as they swept his surroundings.

How the heck did we get here? Rings of blue flame reared up in his thoughts. A strange hand gesture that looked like the sign of respect he and Satara had chosen for their pre-fight ritual.

By the time he could finally sit up straight and open the bottle, Satara had been moved onto the sleeping bag. Her relative had extended both hands over her as though he were holding defibrillator paddles. His palms lit up, covered in a blue fire-like substance, and Jason choked on his water.

Magic? Is he using magic? Is that how we got here? He clapped a hand to his mouth and carefully shuffled closer until he could see Satara's face. Maintaining a short distance from the stranger whose hands shook even as he passed them over Satara from head to toe. Her skin seemed colourless apart from a splash of red around her neck. Her body motionless until his palms passed over her ribs. She stirred and her usually stoic face twisted into a mask of pain. The other guy held his hands over the same area for several seconds, until sweat shone on both their faces, before moving them lower. He didn't touch her at all.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Jason blurted the question out instead confirming whether he was allowed to speak.

The other's hands stopped glowing and he brought them back to tremble upon his knees. He turned to face Jason and sat back on his heels like someone from an Chinese movie he had watched with Satara years ago.