Dark Side of the Moon

• Chapter 3 || It's Just Me •

The building in front of which Kane came to a jeering halt rarely had any guests outside of those who lived there as most had no use for such a place. The place itself felt a bit smothering and overly clean with its stark white walls, and the inside was no better. Kane frowned, examining the simplistic design and decor as he started down the main hallway. The woman attending to the front desk barely glanced in his direction as he passed. The young Harper boy was a face much too commonly seen there. The workers only took pity on him, so for quite some time, he had started to avoid speaking with them unless necessary. He hated those sympathetic gazes more than words could explain as he knew what that expression meant.

    He finally came to a halt at the end of the corridor, knocking gently on the door before him, and entered the room. Inside, the blinds were tightly shut, blocking out most of the light from outside. What did manage to enter the room gave off a weak glow, making the room that much drearier. Narrowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden difference, Kane crept quietly toward the small cot in the room. Bundled up beneath a collection of sheets and a thin woolen blanket was a humanesque shape, and the pile heaved slightly with each slow dragging breath the person took. Kane knelt cautiously at the side of the bed, gently giving a small shake. "Mom, wake up please," he whispered.

    It didn't take long for the woman to bolt up, sitting straight as a board. She blinked her sleepy eyes, her slightly messy graying hair falling in disarray around her face, the strands frizzy and matted. Once, her hair had been a warm brown like her son's, but those days had since passed as her age started to catch up with her. "Wh—Who are you?" she stammered, her voice trembling in fear as she pressed back against the wall. Even her hands quivered as she stared at her son with empty, unknowing eyes.

    "Mom..." He stood up slowly, his voice cracking ever so slightly. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. But that didn't soothe the ache he felt deep in his heart. Over the years, his mother's memory had started to deteriorate as she grew older, starting at a rather young age. Now, she struggled to recognize even the boy she had given birth to eighteen years ago. "It's me... Kane..." He rested a hand on the edge of the mattress, watching her hopefully for some sign of recognition, but he didn't get one.

    "I— I don't know you!" she shrieked, her wail reverberating loudly in his ears. He drew back slightly as his mother crumpled in on herself, clutching her head between her opened palms. "Get away! Get away from me. Help! Someone help me!"

    "Please..." Kane winced at her shrill fearful voice. He didn't want his presence to drive her to a psychotic break, but he needed her now more than ever. He needed her advice, so she had to remember— whatever it might take. He approached her slowly, hands held up to assure that he meant her no harm. "You do know me, Mom. It's me, Kane."

    "Kane," she repeated slowly, lifting her head to look at him, but her expression showed no sign that she realized who he was.

    "Yes— Kane," he murmured tenderly, "It's me... your son."

    "I— I have a son?" Her lip quivered sadly as her eyes grew watery and red-rimmed. "I don't remember," she wept, tears overflowing onto her cheeks.

    Kane felt his throat grow scratchy as he struggled to say a word. She no longer seemed scared of him, but being reminded of what she'd forgotten— as much as it pained him, he knew that it left a deeper scar on his mother herself. "It's okay. Don't strain yourself to remember... It comes back in pieces sometimes," he insisted, taking a seat at the far end of her bed. Even if she had managed to calm herself, he felt it would be best to give her space.

    "Would you..." her voice trailed off as she turned in his direction, "...help me remember?"

    Kane's lips curled up in a faint smile, and he nodded. "Always." Repositioning himself to face his mother, he sat cross-legged, his hands folded in his lap. "Do you recall being the head priestess of our great goddess' shrine?"