“Guess God decided to take it easy on me,” I muttered under my breath, though it came out as more of a croak.

“I’m Father Ben,” the man said as he guided me inside. His tone was casual, like this kind of thing happened to him every day.

I grunted in response, the noise somewhere between acknowledgment and apology.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he said with a chuckle. “You look quite the mess, but I’m sure you knew that. Thankfully, we have a shower, and once you’re clean, I’ll see if we’ve got something in the lost and found that fits. Then, maybe you’ll be able to tell me what happened to you.”

I grunted again, this time with more intention.

“No problem at all,” he said. “Now let’s get you into the shower.”

As we moved deeper into the church, I felt a subtle warmth radiate from a nearby statue. I couldn’t see it, but my heightened senses filled in the details: smooth stone, faintly perfumed with incense. The Virgin Mary, I thought. How I knew, I wasn’t sure. The warmth washed over me as we passed, and for a fleeting moment, my body felt lighter, the tension in my muscles loosening just a fraction.

Father Ben led me through narrow corridors at the back of the church, the sound of our footsteps echoing softly against the tile. When we reached a small bathroom, he flipped on the light, the soft hum of fluorescent bulbs filling the space.

“Alright,” he said, turning the shower on. “This’ll get you started. Just step in fully clothed. Trust me, it’s the easiest way to deal with whatever’s going on here.”

I nodded, stepping into the stream of hot water. It hit me like a warm pillow, the heat sinking into my skin and muscles, washing away the grime and fatigue clinging to me like a second skin. The sensation was almost overwhelming - like my body had forgotten what comfort felt like.

“I’ll be back with some fresh clothes,” Father Ben said from the doorway. “I’ll hang a towel on the shower door. Leave your clothes on the floor when you’re done, alright?”

I grunted my thanks, more coherent this time. He left, and I leaned against the wall, letting the water cascade over me. Blood and dirt swirled in thick rivulets around my feet, spiraling down the drain. The sound of the water was hypnotic, a rhythmic reminder of the life I’d just clawed back.

The warmth and flow of the water started to strip away more than the physical filth. Memories floated to the surface, fragments piecing themselves together like shards of glass in a broken mirror. The alley. The girl. The thugs. My last clear memory was of stepping between her and danger, but after that? Chaos. Blurs of movement. Pain. And then - nothing.

The water worked its magic, siphoning away the lethargy and amnesia with each passing second. I straightened, more awake now, and turned my attention to the practical task of getting clean. I grabbed the soap and brush Father Ben had left and began scrubbing with the kind of intensity usually reserved for industrial cleaning.

It took a long time - longer than I cared to admit - but eventually, the layers of filth gave way to clean, albeit bruised, skin. The worst part was my hair. Between the dried blood and sand, it felt like a tangled mat, but even that eventually submitted to the water’s persistence.

Finally, I turned my focus to my eyes. The water had softened the crust and scabs enough for me to start peeling them away. It was slow, painful work, each movement sending sharp stabs through the tender skin. But I pressed on, stubbornly determined. When the last layer fell away, I opened my eyes... and saw -nothing.

“Shit.”

The realization hit like a punch to the gut. I blinked rapidly, willing something -anything- to come into focus. But the darkness remained, impenetrable and unyielding. My breath hitched, and for a moment, panic threatened to rise. I clenched my fists, the scrape of my nails against my palms grounding me.

“Think, Declan,” I muttered, the words a rough whisper. “What do you know?”

I reached for the only tool I had left. “System,” I croaked, willing the familiar interface to appear.

System Notification

Visual Module Offline.

Hint: Try not relying on your eyes all the time. They’re overrated anyway.

A dry laugh escaped me, humorless but somehow reassuring. The System’s snark was the most normal thing I’d experienced all night. Closing my eyes - which, admittedly, didn’t change much - I took a deep breath and reached out with my other senses. The sound of the water hitting the tiles filled the space, its rhythm calming. The air carried faint traces of soap and steam, mingling with the residual scent of old wood and faint incense from the church beyond.

I clenched my fists, the scrape of nails against my palms anchoring me. Blind or not, I wasn’t done yet. And for now, the water pouring over me, washing away the filth and fear, was enough to keep me moving forward.

I turned off the water, the sudden silence almost startling after the rhythmic cascade that had grounded me. The air felt cooler now, steam curling around me like a ghostly embrace. Reaching for the towel hanging nearby, I patted myself dry, the rough texture against my skin a stark contrast to the soothing heat of the water.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Father Ben’s clothes waited where he’d promised, their faint scent of detergent mingling with the residual soap and blood still lingering in the air. Getting dressed turned out to be more of a challenge than I expected. Without sight, it felt like wrestling an uncooperative animal. After fumbling with the shirt for what felt like an eternity, I finally managed to pull it on - only to realize the tag was digging into my throat.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, tugging at the neckline.

“Well, it looks like you’ve gotten your ability to speak back,” Father Ben’s voice said, startling me. I hadn’t heard him return.

I grunted in embarrassment, realizing I’d spoken aloud without meaning to. The faint rustle of his movements told me he was leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Maybe now you can tell me something about yourself?” he asked, his tone kind but curious.

“I guess, yeah,” I replied, my voice raspier than I’d expected.

“Let’s get you something to eat. Do you like coffee?” he asked, the sound of his footsteps retreating into the hall.

I shook my head, then remembered he couldn’t see that. “No, thanks.”

“How about tea, then?” he offered.

“Yeah, tea’s good. Thanks.”

I stood there awkwardly, unsure of where to go or what to do. “Uh, a little help?” I asked, hating how vulnerable I sounded.

“Oh, of course. My apologies,” he said, his voice moving closer again. A warm, firm hand found mine and guided it to his shoulder. “Here, just follow me.”

Father Ben’s pace was steady and deliberate, his voice punctuating the journey with occasional warnings: “Step here,” or “Watch your head.” The scent of old wood and faint incense grew stronger as we passed deeper into the church. My fingertips brushed against the occasional rough edge of a wall or doorframe, each contact grounding me in the moment.

Eventually, we entered a kitchen. The faint hum of an old refrigerator blended with the soft clink of ceramic dishes. Father Ben guided me to a chair, its wooden seat cool and slightly uneven beneath me.

“There you go,” he said, his voice now a few feet away as he moved toward the cabinets. The quiet rustle of packages and the metallic clang of a kettle filled the air as he worked.

“So,” he began, “tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?” I asked cautiously.

“Well, let’s start with the basics. What’s your name?”

“Declan. Declan Mor,” I replied.

“Alright, Declan. You arrived in quite a state. Do you mind telling me what happened to you?”

“Call me Declan,” I said, stalling for time. “And, uh, I don’t really know.” The lie tasted bitter, but I wasn’t sure how much I could trust him yet, even with his calm demeanor and helpful nature.

I heard the soft splash of water being poured into a mug. A moment later, his hands guided mine to the cup, the warmth radiating through the ceramic.

“Careful now, it’s hot,” he said.

The herbal scent of the tea wafted up, soothing in its simplicity. “Thank you,” I said, meaning it.

“No problem, my boy. None at all.” There was a pause before he continued, his tone shifting to one of gentle curiosity. “Now, when you say you don’t know, do you mean you really can’t remember?”

I nodded, breathing in the steam rising from the tea. It calmed the edges of my frayed nerves, making it easier to focus.

“Well, maybe I can help you with that,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “I know a trick or two. Tell me, what’s the last thing you do remember?”

I let my mind drift, trying to push through the fog. “The last thing I remember… I was in a club,” I began, hesitating.

He made a soft sound of encouragement, and I continued. “I was with my best friend. It was his bachelor party - he was getting married the next day. And there was this girl. She looked like she needed help, so I tried to step in. Then these guys showed up - goons, really - and things got messy. We fought, I think. And, well, I must have lost.”

Father Ben chuckled softly, his voice low and warm. The faint thud of a plate placed in front of me followed, the scent of mustard, roast beef, and cheese rising to meet me.

“Best I could do, I’m afraid. I hope you like roast beef,” he said.

I took a tentative bite, the flavors strange and overwhelming, as if my body had forgotten how to process real food. The bread was soft, the mustard sharp, the meat hearty but unfamiliar. I chewed methodically, forcing it down, and washed it away with a sip of tea.

“My, my, you sure are hungry,” Ben said, the amusement clear in his tone. “Would you like another?”

I shook my head, setting the half-eaten sandwich aside. “No, thanks. That was plenty.”

“Alright then. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

The chair creaked as he sat across from me, his movements deliberate and unhurried. “Well,” he said after a moment, “that would explain those scars on your face. Quite nasty work there, if you ask me.”

I reached up instinctively, my fingers tracing the rough lines that marred my skin. “It’s bad?” I asked, my voice low.

“It’s… noticeable,” he said diplomatically. “But nothing to be ashamed of. Scars tell stories, you know.”

I nodded, though his words did little to reassure me.

“So,” he continued, “do you remember which hotel you were staying at? Maybe we can call your friend and get you back to the wedding. I’m sure they’re worried about you.”

I hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. We were at Club Twilight.”

Father Ben froze mid-chew, the shift in his energy almost imperceptible. But I caught it. After a moment, he resumed eating, his tone carefully neutral. “And this was Friday night?”

“Yeah,” I said, taking another sip of tea. “Wedding was supposed to be the next day.”

There was a long pause before he spoke again, his words slow and measured. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Declan, but you’ve missed the wedding.”

I stopped, my mug halfway to my lips. Setting it down carefully, I turned my attention toward him. “What do you mean, missed it? You said it was only a quarter past one.”

“It is,” he said quietly. “But not one in the morning. It’s Thursday. You’ve been gone almost a week.”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer. “A week?” I said, my voice rising. “That’s not possible. I don’t remember-” I stopped, the enormity of it sinking in. “How?”

Father Ben let out a heavy sigh. “That’s what we need to figure out. Do you remember anything else? Anything that might explain what happened?”

“No,” I lied. “Nothing.” Well, I died, sort of. Then I woke up in a pit of ravenous corpses. Fought my way out only to suck the essence out of a patchwork monster who wanted to chew on my bones, and not in a good way. Then I traveled through the desert with nothing but a mystic pull drawing me to this place. So yeah, nothing. Of course I didn’t actually say any of that though. No need to give the guy a heart attack.

“Oh hi, yeah I’m probably a vampire, or something. Nice to meet you.” I thought sarcastically.

“All right,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps I can help. There’s something I’d like to show you. Bring your tea.”

He waited until I’d stood, then took my hand and placed it gently on his shoulder.