It took a long while of extremely anxious waiting, but the small tug eventually chugged towards my vicinity. As it was his career, Price was efficient in blowing a large portion of the hull open.

I eagerly awaited for assistance on to the boat, which was given by Bradley’s enthusiastic hand, that hand being accidentally smeared with blood after I was pulled onto the ship.

Everyone aboard looked at me with a mix of confusion and fear as I simply took in the wide-open space of outside. I realized what I had to have looked like. I was shirtless and pruned from the water. As well as that, my hands, legs, and face were either covered or splattered from the blood of the maneater and his victims. “I-I… It was… There was a…” I stammered, unable to think of any convincing excuse for my horrifying state. Eventually I simply swallowed the lump in my throat and fruitlessly tried to push on. “I have the flowers… There was, uh, a quite violent individual and… I am ok…”

I slowly took the empty revolver from the back of my trousers and dropped it on the ground as a sign of peace. I did not expect any violence from them towards me, but I could sense the great amount of worry they had when viewing me. Once my display was shown, their uncertain demeanor became more relaxed. Bradley was the first to speak, soft and meek. “Good to see you’re safe, mate…”

With a nod, I retrieved the crate from my back and sat it on the deck. Immediately, attention was turned from me to the box.

Hughes, of course, was the first to say what was on our minds. “We should open it… just to make sure…”

Price countered with a hint of hesitance. “It would probably be better to bring it back to the hospital first…” He continued to look at the crate in silence, then finally uttered the end to his sentence in a low voice. “But it probably wouldn’t hurt to take a look…”

Eyes turned to me once more, this time in waiting. It seemed no one wanted to take the box the man covered in blood risked his life to obtain, so it ended with Bradley speaking. “So, Chatwood… You want to open it up, yeah?”

I nodded and began to lean downward. My attempt to ease onto my knees ended with me more so collapsing than lowering by my own strength. When my fingers grasped the crate, I felt the smoldering fire in my muscles from the swimming and tension. With a single strained pull, I realized that I was not the one to open the crate. Trusting me, Bradley was the first to approach. He kneeled next to me and inspected the crate but did not attempt to open it.

Even for someone with moderate strength, a tool was needed. One which Price had ready. Pulling a sheathed knife from his boot, he began to walk forward. Price noticed that my eyes were on the knife as he sat down next to me. Tapping the tug’s deck, he spoke. “Not as needed on this thing, but back in my sailing days I realized quickly you want one of these with you at all times.”

I nodded, leading the orange haired Irishman to wedge his knife between the planks in the box. Hughes jumped forward, ferociously waiting for a glimpse at the flowers. Emilia also curiously strut closer, finishing the group circle we had formed around the crate.

Even Price struggled to unhinge the soaked wood and rusted screws, but with enough effort the box burst open. Water gushed onto the deck as we all gasped and looked about.

Withered and water bloated flowers spilled across the metal floor. What I once imagined to be bright purple was a deep blackish color. Green stems were now rotted brown. Filthy river water permeated through each flower there was.

I began to pant in panic, my face becoming cold and palms clammy. Bradley muttered curses to himself. Price’s face became a bright shade of red in frustration. Emilia shivered, and Hughes clutched to his forehead.

Emilia then became unsteady in standing and slowly lowered herself to sit and contemplate. Hughes ran to the railing of the tug and began to puke. Price slammed his knife so hard into the boat’s metal deck that it produced a several millimeter deep dent. He would have pierced the floor if it had not blunted the knife first. Bradley began to scream in anguish as I continued to stare at the wilted flowers.

The world felt foggy and far away like I was separated from my body. The vertigo and pulsating headache from earlier came back and at full force. The residual water still left in my lungs felt like it was slipping into my throat. The last hope held in all of us was extinguished…

“Nonononono…” Bradley muttered, finally speaking at an audible volume. “We can fix this. There’s got to be another way to get those flowers, right? Right?”

Price replied, defeated. “We have to go back and tell the Doctor. What happens next is figured out from there.”

I concurred. “He is right. First and foremost, we need to take this information to Dr. Prescott. Maybe he can still do something with these flowers…”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

My optimism was in vain, and very easily seen through as a simple bluff to lessen the stress. Bradley gathered the flowers as best he could while Price brought us back to shore. Whilst he did that, I was finally able to procure real first aid equipment and hastily bandage my torso, allowing me to wear my shirt again.

It did not take long for the tug to push itself back to the wooden docks. Leaving the boat, I alerted them that I would be just a moment as I washed up.

I went towards the edge of the docks to a place where the water was shallow enough to stand in. The great river Thames was polluted and dirty, but I decided I’d much rather be filthy than covered in blood.

Jumping off the docks and into the water, I began cleansing as best I could. The gore on my face from when I shot the maneater came off quite easily, but the red up to my forearms were tough to relinquish myself from. No matter how hard I scrubbed, it barely made a difference. As more blood was scrubbed from my arms, I noticed the acidic burns on my right once more. The pain had all but ceased, and the scars were becoming less pronounced. Where they were once risen and flushed with red, it had turned a pale white. The blood also seemed to be denser when it was over the pattern, as if it were almost magnetized.

With enough time, though, even it was scrubbed clean. Nothing but specks of red under my fingernails and the memory of what I had done remained.

Before I could pull myself from the water, though, a voice rang out. The gruff and deep tone accompanied with his peculiar accent let me know it was Price. “You done yet?” He said rhetorically. I nodded as he came over and held a hand outward, offering his assistance back onto the dock.

I raised my hand, almost grasping his own before I saw the scars once more. It made me realize that no one had even as much as glanced at the horrifying eldritch glyphs burnt on me. Instead, I raised the same arm towards Price for inspection, saying. “Do you see anything?”

He took a cursory inspection, then shrugged. “No blood. You’re clean.”

That was not what I meant for him to search for, but if he had not noticed it, that meant my question was answered. Never had I had a vision so persistent… or so painful…

Finally grabbing hold of him, I was pulled back onto the wooden and slightly dilapidated dock.

As I began to regroup with the others, Price grabbed hold of my shirt. I turned to look as he reached behind his back, producing the pistol I had dropped on his ship earlier. A spark of confusion and instinctual terror coursed through me for a moment, eventually yielding as he held it out. “It’s a tough world, Chatwood. You’re gonna need this moving forward. Same calibre as the one I got, so I filled you back up.”

I nodded and accepted the pistol, concealing it in the band of my trousers and under my baggy shirt. “Thank you…” Price and I were both people who understood the more dangerous side of the city.

I had learned to keep myself out of trouble through discretion, since I could not hope to fend for myself in a physical confrontation. Price, on the other hand, seemed like a much more brash person; one who could grit his teeth and fend for himself when needed. Now that we worked together, I suppose he thought it best I had some manner of defense. It had proved to save my life before, after all, and Price could most likely tell from my mannerisms that I hadn’t gotten covered in blood for the fun of it.

With thanks, we continued back to everyone else. In the depression of our new reality, nothing was spoken. A simple, silent, walk to the hospital. At the very least, it was only dark, cold, and overcast, but not raining. That fact made me happy. I had gotten enough water for a lifetime, and highly doubted I would ever go swimming again.

Once we were in view of St. Dymphna’s mental hospital, I saw that all the lights had been turned off, except for a single glowing window. We came through the same entryway as before, and as before Dr. Prescott’s office door was open and waiting for us. The fireplace still roared as a much more tired looking Doctor sat in his leatherbound desk chair.

He perked up as we all entered the room. As soon as he saw us, though, his mood dampened. His optimistic smile became even further into a frown as Bradley walked closer and produced the wilted flowers from a handkerchief in his pocket. Dr. Prescott simply stared at the flowers for a bit, sighed, and took off his glasses. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned back in his chair. It was a very long moment before he finally leaned forward again and spoke. “Well. That is certainly not ideal…”

Hughes piped up. Once I turned to look at him, I noticed he had begun to pick at his face once more, renewing the bleeding. “We can fix this, right? We can get more?”

Dr. Prescott thought for a moment. “Sadly, no. Without the Andha flower we will not be able to produce any more of the authentic medication…” Everyone began to shift and murmur in distress, that was, until Dr. Prescott rose his hand. “There is one last option… We have been working on a recipe for a potential synthetic version. It most definitely will not work as well, if at all… But it is the best we can do with our options now.”

Immediately jumping on the opportunity of hope, Hughes replied. “And what do we do? Funding? I can provide funding.”

The doctor nodded. “While funding would certainly be appreciated, once again I must ask for assistance. The compounds we would need for this to work is very… tricky… to acquire. It is also very time consumptive; The kind of time we simply do not have.”

Price took a breath. “So, it’s up to us again.”

“Indeed.” Dr. Prescott answered. “Although, I will recommend you all try to get some rest. Many of you, some more than others, look like you need it…” He reached into his desk and produced a small case with five syringes inside. “But before you leave, let me administer this. The dosage in all these combined would make maybe one of your usual dosages, but this is all that is left…”

One by one, we all took our medicine. The potency was extremely diminished from what I usually received, but it was better than nothing. The scars on my arms slowly faded, yet they did not disappear.

After that, Dr. Prescott sent us to get our well-deserved rest. Yet before we could shuffle uneasily out of the door, he said one last thing. “Theodore, would you please stay a moment?”