I had almost missed the darkness. In my times of misery, it became the place I wandered, where my drab thoughts could find purpose and camaraderie. I had steeped in it like a long-forgotten tea bag. For the past two weeks, I had lived in the light. Yet, as vibrant and warm as it may be, it was also blinding.
Despite the vibrating headache turning my brain into mush and the steady stream of cold sweat soaking through my cliche outfit, there was an element of safety to the utter void around me. My inner brain knew that I was just inside the mouth of the Titan shark, but my eyes couldn’t pick up enough light to know if the fleshy insides of the maw were a dozen feet away or a hundred.
I watched in awe as a shooting star of blazing pink arced a trail through the darkness before me. And then, blinded again. Ambers and red hues flooded in, allowing me to see my tomb for what it was. On shaky legs, I took a step backwards away from the curse of sight - before a hand burst through.
“Take my hand, Eric.”
I did not trust the voice. It did not belong to the dark. It brought light to where I did not want it. Pained me when I sought shelter. I rued this hand outstretched in expectation. Yet I held it. Something within me moved without knowing why, and I was pulled forth.
The heat of the rock I clattered down onto warmed my sweat, making me feel clammy and humid. More ugly feelings for my senses wracked by confusion.
“Did the Org not teach you about situational awareness?”
I looked up at the face bent over to talk to me, briefly obscuring some of the scouring light of whatever this place was. Purple skin, tied back white hair, black horns. Beautiful, radiant eyes. There was concern over her face, but I also knew her by another name.
Demon.
And I must kill all demons.
The revolver shook in my hands, but my arm wouldn’t raise against her. I was still shivering - that wasn’t very good. It would ruin my day if I caught a cold. I wouldn’t want to be sneezing at the funeral. Funeral?
“Talk to me, Eric - are you okay?”
The soft voice felt more familiar now. I closed my eyes to block out the intruding sensory information that was a constant barrage on my fragile mind. Cold sweats were bad. Headache was bad. Delusions bad. Pearl good. Pearl? That tasted like a good synapse connection.
“Pancakes,” I said, unsure exactly why. I craved the little round fuckers.
“Gotcha.” She put her hand on my forehead and ran her fingers through my hair, below my hat line. That felt familiar too, and my shivering started to cease. “Think of home, Eric.”
What was home? The place I was bound to. I thought returning would be good, and I also agreed with myself. Internal democracy was important, and all the little Eric Redds were fully on board with my decisions. It felt good to be in charge.
Three seconds for the transfer to kick in and then there I was, back in the pale blue of the basement. The cradle of my calamitous self. We had made the clever decision of moving all the medical supplies down here, seeing as this was often where my ruined corpse washed up. Although, I was struggling to think of who the ‘we’ were again.
Perhaps I could lay here awkwardly, across the metal frame of the portal, until the right parts of my brain could function as intended. Maybe I could get something nice painted on the ceiling for times like these - although, in my fragile mental state, it would probably warp into something malign and complicate recovery.
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Footsteps came from upstairs and moved onto the basement staircase. I didn’t have the heart to sit up and find out what it was. If they wanted to kill me, then I was ripe for the taking.
“Fastest pancakes this plane,” Pearl’s voice came across the room.
I sat up.
“I made some mixture ready earlier; call it a sixth sense.” She smiled as she handed me the plate. I had been down here enough minutes for them to be made, certainly.
Pearl made good pancakes. Not just because she laced them with something. That certainly helped, and in part was why we ate them so much. Not only did the anti-psychotics keep me grounded in harsher times, but the warmth and taste of them gave me a sensory connection to home. To being okay.
I wolfed them down, barely acknowledging her as she crouched beside me.
“You’re going to have to take it easy. Being inside a Titan is a lot of corruption all at once. I didn’t think that would happen.”
“Mm.” I finished the last of the delicious golden round circles, “Something messed with my head. Stunned me.” I leaned back on my palms and sighed deeply.
She sat down on the floor and put her hand on my knee.
I looked over at her, recognizing her fully for the first time. There was worry in those pearlescent eyes, and it managed to pull at my heartstrings. Despite being the one of us that was a lot rougher around the edges, I was the easiest to break. I put my hand on hers.
“Thanks for saving me again.”
“There’s going to be a lot of this until we get you stronger. I’ll pick you up from the edge as many times as it takes.” She gave my knee a squeeze. “No matter how many pieces.”
A little shred of cynicism within me wondered if these words were just a life rope thrown out into the ocean to stop me from drowning. Foolish. There was always the chance that this was a long game for her to get something that she wanted. It was hard to separate the cold possibility from our recent smothering happiness.
“Bath and bed rest?” She withdrew her hand, the soft warmth escaping me, and stood.
“With you?” I smiled, struggling to my feet with a groan. Pearl had become a constant presence during my various recoveries. If I could ply that into a little heavy petting as well…
She rolled those radiant eyes, but gave me a smile. I would be the last person on the mortal plane to brag about having any manner of charm. A bucket full of grisled misery tainted with the odd color of fated purpose. Comfortable and calm is how she described me. All this indicated was that demons in the High Hells must be mega-jerks.
“Leave your clothes down here; we don’t want the house to stink of fish guts.” She wagged a finger towards me, and I finally noticed that she had already changed back into the comfortable t-shirt and shorts from earlier. Nice for some.
She took the plate from me and pointed to a corner where I could pile the sweat and gore-caked clothing. “I’ll go run the bath.”
I gave her a bow, an act I quickly regretted due to my brain almost bursting from my ears from the change in pressure. As I watched the demon go up the stairs, I started trying to peel my shirt from my skin.
A surprising lack of actual physical damage. It was almost a point of celebration that my meat suit had arrived untenderized and full of my blood still. I couldn’t see my psyche, so it got a blind pat on the back for not losing the plot, despite the heavy bruising it took.
Briefly, I considered leaving my underwear on. But they had fared no better than the rest of my garb during the brief trip, and the chance of Rodney coming to visit unannounced was minimal at best. It was my own house, after all, although probably not legally. I shouldn’t be afraid to move through it unhindered by fashionable cladding.
That did remind me, however, that I should check my phone. Walking naked upstairs, I still clung to my revolver. An odd sight if someone were to catch me - a killer in the midst of a mental breakdown - well, not too far from the truth, I supposed. I turned and walked up the stairs to the bathroom. Those pancakes sure hit the spot.
The bedroom felt fresh against my skin, and I could hear the bath still running in the en-suite. I placed the revolver down gently on the wooden cupboard. Earlier, I had left my phone here, which was not a very convenient place in case of emergencies - but I still hadn’t gotten quite used to carrying one around. Plus, I only really got messages from Rodney or…
I pushed the bathroom door open. Pearl was already in the bath, her white hair tied up in a bun and bubbles covering her modesty as if we were in a sitcom. Things were about to get a lot less funny.
“Water’s hot, Eric, why don’t you…” Her expression changed to match mine. Concern and apprehension. “What’s wrong?”
I held up the phone, showing the missed call. Her eyes narrowed, but I was asking a difficult task from this distance. I couldn’t will my feet to move closer, frozen in my flight or fight response at registering things in the open.
“The Organization has called me in.”