Wilfred led them on deeper into the outskirts. Through dirt roads patterned by the history of yesterday’s traffic and past buildings whose structures slanted as if unsure of the very ground they stood on. Hunched over, Ezra followed as he bore an unconscious man on his back. His shoulders sagged under the weight, and he looked up, considering if he should ask Wilfred how much further. Yet Ezra convinced himself they had to be close. Creased lines on Wilfred’s face framed a solemn expression he wasn’t sure what to make of. Ezra only knew that disturbing him at a time like this wouldn’t be the best option.
Milo blew persistently into the whistle beside him, yet no sound exited the instrument. “You need to give it up for now,” Ezra said. “We both know it’s not going to work by trying the same thing over and over.”
Frowning Milo shoved it into his pocket. “Do you want to trade? I noticed you're slowing down.”
“No, I’m alright.” Ezra straightened his back yet resumed his slouched position as Milo looked away into the night. It was my decision to keep him alive. I can’t let anyone else bear this burden. Taking a deep breath, one he intended to give strength, he readjusted the body.
Gleam-gem’s provided occasional havens of light amidst the shadowy streets. Fewer houses than Ezra expected had them, and even fewer people roamed in the darkness. Ahead of him, Wilfred seemed less cautious than on the way to the warehouse. He only spared a sparse glance into dark alleyways. Something else was on his mind.
The road grew wider until it reshaped itself into a circle with a single house at the end. This one didn’t have a gleam-gem on the outside, but a warm glow of light emanated from one window as if to signal that life went on in the shabby home. As they approached, Ezra noticed the door held a wreath with withering flowers cradled at the bottom. Wilfred looked upon it and straightened the crooked ornament.
“Hand me the man. We’re not bringing him inside,” Wilfred said as he reached out to Ezra. “I’ll put him somewhere else.”
Ezra could tell it wasn’t a request and slowly dropped the man from his shoulders. Holding him under the arches of his arms, Ezra handed him to Wilfred, who put the man on his back as a finger slid to his mouth. “Stay quiet and don’t go in until I’m back.”
They both stood in silence as the cold night air meandered through the outskirts until Wilfred came back a few minutes later. Opening the door slowly, he guided them inside. A hallway flanked by two doors on either side was barely visible in the dark environment. Beyond the first door on their right, a light, of what Ezra presumed to be a flame, flickered along the wall.
“Take your shoes off at the entrance,” Wilfred whispered in sharp tones.
Ezra didn’t think Wilfred was a man who had homely cares, but it was a simple enough request, so he complied. As he slid his shoes off the wood floor, from another room, creaked.
“Evan?” The voice of a woman cried throughout the house. “My dear, are you back?”
“Yes, mother,” Wilfred replied as an old woman slowly emerged from the second doorway to their left.
Milo and Ezra glanced at each other in surprise as Wilfred embraced the old woman. Ezra took a step forward, and the woman, a head shorter than Wilfred, raised her head. “Do you have guests over?”
“I do,” Wilfred motioned them over. “They’re friends from work who didn’t have a place to stay tonight. Would you mind if they slept here? Only a night.” Wilfred’s grizzled face didn’t match his tone at all, and to Ezra, the politeness was unexpected.
“Of course. Any friends of yours are always welcome.” A smile spread across her face, and as Ezra got closer, he noticed a scar across her eyes with murky pupils.
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“I’m Ezra.” He reached out and clasped her hand gently. “Your son is wonderful at what he does.”
“You can call me Lyssandra, and you must be a new sky-seeker.” She gently laughed as she put her other hand on his. “It’s your hands. They’re smooth.”
Once Ezra let go, Milo greeted her also. “You must be a Voyager or Stoletime seeker to have such experienced hands and to have trained someone so skilled.”
“Oh my,” her cheeks flushed as she laughed off Milo’s statement. “I couldn’t claim to be as skilled as you think I am. I’m just happy to have someone in the family who can contribute positively.”
“Mother,” Wilfred interjected. “We should be getting to bed soon. It’s been a long day for all of us.”
“Of course. It’s just been a month or so since you’ve been back, and I get so excited when folks come over. I even left a candle in the window. I hope it was visible to you.”
“It was helpful. Thank you.” Wilfred’s smooth voice made Lyssandra’s shoulders relax. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
With that, the old woman shuffled back into her room as Wilfred guided them into the opposite. A bed and a dresser were the only things in the scarce room. Even a thin layer of dust was beginning to claim the floorboards. Ezra casually strolled over to the dresser and wiped away some dust with his sleeve. The second drawer from the top was slightly ajar, and a glimmer of reflected light caught Ezra’s eye.
“Both of you can stay in here tonight,” Wilfred said.
“What’s this?” Ezra pulled a framed photo from the drawer. Upon closer inspection, it looked like it could be a younger Wilfred, but something didn’t seem right. The young man’s hair was brown instead of black, and his jawline was more rounded than Wilfred’s. “This can’t be you. Can it?”
Wilfred sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “You're right, that's not me. That's Evan.”
“Then why did your mother…” Ezra’s frown firmed as he looked back at the smiling pair in the photo. “She’s not your mother either. You're not even related.”
Wilfred solemnly nodded. “I barely remember my parents. The last thing they pressed into my hands was this coin before they went off to take the Morltin-seeker test.” A flash of silver twirled through his fingers. “And after that, foster homes never suited me, so I made it on my own. I was just a starving twelve-year-old when I found a house that would be an easy target. The windows were broken, doors smashed off their hinges; in all honesty, I thought the place was abandoned. But as I searched, I heard an old woman calling out, and there in her bedroom I found her lying in her own blood, gripping a photo.” Wilfred cast his eyes down as if the woman was still on the floor in front of him. “That’s when she thought I was her son. So I helped the poor lady, and she provided me food and shelter and treated me like family because to her I was.” He shoved the coin into his coat pocket and turned to go.
“But what about her actual son?” Milo asked. “What if he comes back?”
“He won’t,” Wilfred said with dead certainty. “He went off to be a sky-seeker and died on the fifth layer. I got the letter myself.”
“And you never told her?” Ezra's grip tightened on the photo.
“And why would I cause that woman more grief than necessary? Let her live in her fantasy. It's better than whatever this world can offer her.” Wilfred couldn’t face them yet stood for a moment longer until he walked away from sight.
Gazing at the photo once more, Ezra set it atop the dresser. “I’m tired; let's get some rest.”
Outside, chirping from creatures Ezra did not know permeated the morning. While rays of light illuminated motes of dust floating peacefully in the air. Getting up, Ezra peeked through the boards crisscrossing over the window into the backyard. He saw a lone shed standing awkwardly in a garden that bloomed with a multitude of flowers. Each one emerged from the rocky ground with admirable persistence.
The man that attacked must be in there. Stepping on each wooden plank beneath with caution, Ezra exited the front door. Then going around the side of the house, he found a stone path cutting through the flowers. As his hand drew near to the handle, a tinge of fear made him pause. Shoving it deep within himself, Ezra opened the door to find rusty tools leaning against the back wall. The rest of the space was big enough to fit three or four people, but it was empty. Looking up, he noticed small holes in the ceiling letting beams of light in like Elysia herself coming to save an agonized soul.
One beam highlighted a single stain of blood already drying into the wood. That was all Ezra needed to know. He shut the door and walked back to the house. Even the flowers seemed duller on the way back.
Wilfred had his reasons. Ezra was sure of that, but the more he got to know the man, the more it scared him. Not because he thought he would ever be a threat or would come to kill him one day. But like him, there used to be a boy who saw the world differently and tried to rebel against it. Who had a longing for connection so deep it could fill the souls of everyone around him. Yet the world had drunk its fill and left nothing for him.