Son of Lazarus

Chapter 1: Better Days

October 12th, 2027
2:30 a.m.

   Pure white walls rose on all sides; they were all he could see. The walls even extended beyond the small confined room he found himself in. Sounds and smells—both fowl—assaulted his ears and nostrils all at once and overwhelmed his senses. From beyond the ugly white door with the small, circular window came the sounds of screams of agony, which were followed by the sounds of excitement.
   But above all of these noises came the sound of chains rattling violently as though they were being dragged across the floor and above that was the sound of bones cracking as they were split in half. Then without warning, the door to the room slid open to reveal a tall man wearing a long, white lab coat.
   In his hand was an oblong object with a clear center and a long, wickedly thin needle sticking out from the top. The boy recognized it as a syringe. As the man entered, he didn't speak and instead raised his free hand to the syringe's center. He balled his fingers into his palm except for his thumb and middle finger, giving the syringe base a flick.
   Whatever liquid was inside had been stirred up and a thin stream jettisoned from the needle's tip. The man gave an approving nod before he turned back to the boy and began to stride confidently toward the bed that rested against the far wall.

   For a moment, the world seemed to blur out around him until only the syringe was visible to his eyes. It drew closer and closer toward the boy's skin and behind it, the sounds of screams grew to a crescendo until­—

   He shot forward, scattering his comforter across his lap as a scream burst from his lungs. Sweat dripped down his forehead from drenched black bangs, mixing with the tears that were streaming from his eyes. As his screaming ceased, the door to his room slid open violently, flooding the room with the hallway's harsh yellow light and causing the shadows to reach toward the boy's bed like grasping hands.
   A shadow fell across the floor as a figure stepped into the room. All he saw striding toward his bed was the figure cloaked in thick, black shadows while his mind's eye kept throwing the man in the white coat in its place.
   "No! No!" He wailed, his voice rising into a high-pitched scream. He began to thrash around as arms reached out toward him and wrapped around him.
   "Hush, Tristan," soothed a woman's voice, though it was distorted by the nightmare that had gripped his chest. "It's all right!"
   The arms that had wrapped around him drew him closer to their owner while the voice continued, the nightmare fading from its depths to reveal a gentle, soft tone. "Calm down, baby. I've got you. You're safe."
   Tristan craned his head to stare at the face. Now that the nightmare was fading, he could just make out his mother's soft, rounded features. His thrashing ceased and he buried his face into her chest, unable to stop his body from shaking.

   "Was it another nightmare?" At her question, the boy nodded his head and sighed into her chest while she stroked her hand soothingly through his black hair. His hands clutched at her shirt tightly, as though trying to keep her in place for fear of her disappearing before him.
   "It was the walls again, mamma," the boy managed to say in between sobs, small patches of stains forming where his tears struck her shirt. "There was a needle and...and..."
   "Hush now," soothed the woman, her fingers carefully brushing against his bangs. "You're safe, sweetheart. I've got you."
   They remained like that for a while, his mother cradling him against her chest, rocking gently back and forth in a soft swaying motion. After a while, she asked, "Do you want to try and go back to sleep?"
   With the fear of what awaited him in sleep's black curtains gripping his heart, the boy shook his head violently and snuggled deep into her arms. He could hear his mother's soft chuckle above him and felt her arms around him. "Okay," she said soothingly.
   For a while longer they remained that way until sleep's heavy blanket fell across young Tristan's body like a weighted blanket. Stifling back a yawn, Tristan craned his head up to stare at his mother's face and asked, "Will you stay with me?"
   He watched as a smile cracked across her face. She offered him a gentle nod and lowered him back against the bed. She lowered herself onto the bed until she was sprawled out next to him. Once she was comfortable, she began to hum softly.