The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the living room chair, legs curled into a little ball. I noticed Athos laying on the couch, snoring. It was dark outside. How long had I been asleep? I crawled out of the chair and padded into the silent kitchen for some water.
"Amica mea [my love]?" I heard.
I sipped my water and returned to the living room. Athos was sitting, his hair a mess around his face. I smiled and sat in his lap. He hugged me, and I dragged my hands through his hair.
"How are you?" He nuzzled his nose into my neck.
"I'm fine. A bit sleepy, but that's ok." I kissed his forehead. "Athos?"
"Yes?"
"Can I talk to you about something?"
"You can talk to me about anything," he said, pulling my legs up onto the couch.
"Well. You know that when I was little, I used to go to church, right?"
"Yes, and then your father stopped, so you stopped, too,"
"That's right. Well, there have been two times that I've prayed since then. First, I prayed while I was on my deathbed. I prayed that I would be able to see you again. If you had not...stuck around on earth for a bit longer... I would have never seen you again. I don't know if I saw you because I prayed or because it's just fate. But the second time I prayed, I prayed that my father would not hurt me. He stabbed me, seconds later. And... I don't know what to believe anymore."
Athos kissed my jaw tenderly. "That's alright, darling. You don't need to. Just know that I'll be here for you always. Forever and ever."
I curled up tighter in his arms. He leaned back, still holding me. I could feel his heart beating.
"Just match your breathing with mine," he said, rubbing circles into my arms with his thumb. I slowed my breathing, replicating his rising and falling chest.
I felt so safe with him. He was my protector. I felt so comfortable in his arms. Like I was made to fit into them. I fell asleep faster than I had in my entire life.
My dreams were filled with a mix of things. Some good, some bad. I dreamt that I was surrounded by fire, with a sword of ice in one hand, a harness for the wind in the other. Then I was faced by a god. The God. He wasn't bathed in light or dressed in the finest robes or bearing a crown. He wasn't attractive or muscular or even tall. He was a squat man, with rags of dirt and dust. I looked closer. He was a man with leprosy.
Then the dream changed. I was no longer a being of power, with wind and fire bent to my will. I was bedridden, with sickening eyesight. From the corner of the room, I heard a noise, so I turned my head. Athos and Adelide were standing there, expressionless, backs straight, hands near their sides. They did not move. But only humming came from their still bodies.
With a start, I woke up, Athos' arms still around me. He was asleep, and I felt his breath on my neck. The manor was quiet, and I felt safe. The front door cracked open, I gently slid off Athos' lap to greet Mama, but it wasn't Mama. Father grinned, a devilish look in his eyes.
"Been well, son?"
I took a step back, blood draining from my face. "You're not- You're not supposed to be here!"
Another grin.
"No, but I am." He jerked his gun at me. "Get him, boys."
I tried to run, but Father's goonies were upon me before I could scream. I kept trying to pull away and scream for Athos. But a goonie had a hand over my mouth and a strong grip on my wrists. One last time I tried jerking myself away. As a result, I got the butt of a gun to my head. I slumped to the floor, not quite unconscious, but not conscious, either. I could only hope Mama and Dean were somewhere safe. Someone dragged me and threw me down the stairs leading to the cellar. I closed my eyes, everything in pain. Heavy footsteps sounded down the steps. I lifted my head, my eyesight bleary. WAKE UP. WAKE UP. WAKE UP. I yelled at myself. The foot lifted and caught me in my stomach, sending me rolling. I coughed weakly and clutched my burning gut, trying to protect myself.
"Is he still asleep?"
The words weren't quite coherent, and I didn't connect the dots. Trap. It was a trap. Smearing my finger in my blood, I shakily wrote the word.
"He's stirrin'. He's comin'."
My eyes fluttered. My Father and his goonies hid, leaving me crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.
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YOU ARE READING
From Death Unto Life
ParanormalMan with no memory of his life before the war stumbles by accident back home and returns to his childhood mansion. Through a twist of fate nothing is how it was and nothing is how it seems. Will he manage to remember what he lost before he loses him...