From Death Unto Life

Ch. 21 Helios

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.