Darkness Surrounding - Ch.2
Title: Darkness Surrounding
Author: pimprevster
Rating: PG
Summary: A plague has befallen the city. One jagged scar torn across Arin's back marks him for death. Ten attacks, ten lines, and he will never be seen again. The strange part is that the assaulting darkness seems all too human.
Disclaimer: Not real. Never happened, I don't know or own anything here.
Notes: Constructive criticism makes me very happy.
Prologue
Chapter 1
An unexpected guest was waiting when he woke up. He was nodding to sleep in the visitor chair, body slouched and two sinewy arms dangling off the armrests. Arin hadn’t expected to see Brian again. Erebus had claimed that he could keep his life because he was a sinner. Even then, the poor kid was probably unwelcome at home now that he had returned his uniform.
Arin sat up slowly, wincing at the new stripe of pain that had been tallied across his back. He reached back to run his fingers over the barely moist, leathery scar. Two of them now. Two lines in a matter of three days.
“Bri,” he said softly, desiring the boy’s company to cheer him up. It was selfish, really, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help feeling forsaken, and right here was a friend willing to stay with him and delay that inevitable realization of hopelessness for a little bit longer. “Hey. Wake up, buddy.”
Brian stirred. The moment he regained consciousness, he jolted to his feet and staggered to Arin’s side, his tanned hands clutching the thin white sheets. He was still half-asleep; Arin could see the momentary confusion in his eyes and admittedly, it was a little amusing.
“You okay?” Brian asked, his words coming out in drowsy increments.
“Better since you’re here. Last time I was alone,” Arin responded gratefully, though he didn’t try to force a smile and act optimistic like most terminal patients liked to do for their families. There was no need to be fake around Brian because he would only see right through it. He was also grateful now that he had confided in Brian about his family. Both of his parents had been victims of a serial killer the same year Arin left home. He was a single child, and for awhile now, an orphan.
“I’m sorry. For leaving. I felt this powerful force whisk me away...and before I knew it I was tumbling down the front steps. I couldn’t get back in no matter how hard I tried.”
“Don’t be sorry. It would have happened anyway. You heard him. You did hear him, right?”
“No. Does the darkness speak?”
Arin nodded. It was up to him now whether to believe the voice was real or not, and that only secluded him further. Was that the monster’s purpose? To drive him out of his mind with solitude?
“What did it...he say?”
“Well, um,” Arin started. It was embarrassing to repeat the suggestive words out loud, especially to Brian, and he couldn’t think of any way to rephrase them. “He likes the taste of my soul. Innocence. He likes the taste of innocence.”
“And he didn’t curse me because I’m not innocent?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“What were his words exactly?”
Arin paused. There was no way he could forget those words, but he didn’t want to say them. He didn’t want to believe them. He didn’t want Brian himself to confirm them, as he knew he probably would.
“‘The sinner can keep his life. Sinners taste bitter.’”
Brian chuckled under his breath, and said simply, “So the devil believes in the same rules as God.”
It was a better response than he had expected. No real confirmation, no denial - but it was obvious which side he was leaning toward. It baffled Arin rather than disappointed him, because he couldn’t think of any sin reasonable to Brian’s morals and personality. Leaving the church was a step in the negative direction, but it wasn’t like he had desecrated it. And Arin knew he loved his family despite their disapproval.
To Arin, he seemed far closer to a saint.
A warm hand on his wrist, almost his fingers, brought Arin back to reality. He had given himself a headache again. “Call the nurse. Get me out of here.”
- - -
As he paced back and forth on the doormat in front of the white home, Arin felt a tinge of guilt. It didn’t feel right to be here. There was nothing stopping him from being a welcome visitor as always, especially considering his place of employment, but it just felt...disloyal.
The rosy-cheeked man who answered the door looked surprised to see him, but not hostile. Arin hadn’t previously expected him to show any hostility anyhow, but seeing him was like a knife in the gut, a shock to the senses. He explained himself before the man could even open his mouth.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to go to. I need guidance.”
Pastor Brian Haner Sr. smiled warmly, stepping aside to open the walkway for him. “Come in.”
It was a clean and cozy abode painted earthy colors. The living room was equipped with a costly home entertainment system, and they passed through several hallways to get there. One could tell that the owner of the home was reasonably well-off. There were less religious decorations than one might expect to see in a pastor’s home, and they were mostly near the entryway.
“Why not ask the Lord for guidance? Or have you already?” Haner asked, bringing two cups of tea into the living room and setting them down on a glass coffee table between two sofas. It was customary in this household. Arin assumed that nobody else was home, judging by the level of quiet and the fact that the pastor’s wife had not greeted him and brought in the tea instead.
“Sometimes I need an answer,” he responded carefully, leaving the tea untouched. “An immediate answer. Can you understand that?”
The pastor nodded in acceptance, seating himself across from Arin. “What is your question?”
“What...do I do? I know it’s vague, but...I’m sure you’ve heard what happened. And I just...I can’t live anymore. I can’t see the point in doing anything and it’s driving me insane.”
“You force yourself to live, then,” Haner responded gently. He took several short sips of the steaming liquid while crafting his answer. “Carry on even when times are tough, and sooner or later it will start to come naturally again. Do what you want to do. Supposing your time really is limited, there’s not much else to do, is there? Enjoy what time you have left.”
“I can’t,” Arin mumbled, resting his elbows on his knees. He bowed his head and ran his fingers through unkempt hair, keeping his glassy eyes on the soft umber carpet between his feet. It was becoming more and more of a challenge to stay composed under the weight of all this distress and just...fear. He was scared, more scared than he had ever been in his life. More scared than he had been when he found out his parents were dead and realized he was alone.
He was more alone now than ever, and he hadn’t thought that was possible.
“The reason I gave you that answer is because I believe you have the will to do it. If it was anyone else, I would probably be reciting Bible verses and hoping it would cheer them up.”
Arin barely smiled, but he could still feel the tears burning behind his eyes. Angry tears, grieving tears. Grieving for himself, which was pitiful. Most of all, frightened tears.
“There’s not much else I can say, if I’m being honest with you. I seem to have made honesty a habit when speaking with you which I do not intend to break. So what I want to tell you is that you’re a special person, Arin. The most optimistic, self-empowered, pick-yourself-up-out-of-the-ashes and grow into something incredible person I know. If anyone can get through this and stay perfectly sane, I think it’s you.” He paused to take another gulp of tea, watching the boy sitting opposite him with concern, but Arin showed no signs of moving or speaking. “You’re still not independent, though. Not completely. I can tell that you yearn the comfort and affection of the people around you, and I don’t blame you. Camaraderie is an important thing. Don’t be afraid to go to the people you care for when you need them, especially now.”
It helped. It did help, but Arin could hardly think straight let alone think of a proper way to express his gratitude. He was silent for a long time even when he knew that the pastor was done speaking. The words replayed over and over in his mind, and it took several repetitions before his mind properly processed them. Then he realized something.
He chuckled. “You keep talking about this as if I’m going to get out of it. No one has survived it. Even the ones who didn’t disappear; they either had a mental breakdown and were possessed into some sort of demonic slaves before reaching the tenth line, or they killed themselves.”
“Did Brian tell you that?”
“Tell me what?”
“That no one has survived.”
Arin nodded but didn’t raise his head.
“He ranted about the same thing to me after your first attack, just before profaning the name of the church and hurling the cross above the mantelpiece at me.”
An expression of shock, and then confusion, spread across Arin’s face as he looked up at the pastor. Ranted? Profaned? Hurled the cross above the mantelpiece at his own father? Upon seeing his reaction, Haner gestured at the mantel above the fireplace, where three jagged pieces of a white porcelain cross rested, waiting to be repaired.
Arin reviewed what he knew of his mysterious friend. Brian did not rant. Not a single curse word or even an impolite word had left his mouth in Arin’s presence. Violence didn’t seem like it would be in his vocabulary. Thus, the story he had just been told did not make an iota of sense, yet there was physical evidence of it having occurred.
“It was the most upset I had ever seen him. Have you talked to him recently?”
“Just this morning,” Arin replied, still in awe. He couldn’t wrap his head around the image that had been described to him no matter how many different ways he tried to imagine it.
“Good,” the pastor replied simply. It was becoming harder for him to speak of his son without the note of pain in his voice. He was missed, but could not be welcomed back anytime soon. One of the most tormenting internal struggles a father could face. “Also, he was wrong. About there being no survivors.”
“What?”
“I know someone who did. Promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone unless it was really important. I think you’re important enough, especially after today. So I’d like you meet him.”
Arin rested his head in his hands. It was clear in his body language that he couldn’t handle any more surprises for awhile, so the pastor sat back with the slightest smile on the corner of his lips, signalling the end of their discussion. “Another day, of course. I’ll schedule for you to visit within the week. He lives just down the highway in Christoval.”
“Thanks...”
“He might be able to help you, Arin,” Haner asserted, noting the sarcasm in Arin’s voice with amusement. “Drink some tea. You’ll feel better.”
“I don’t like tea,” was the lethargic response. It could barely be heard beneath his pale hands and the multiple layers of shaggy black hair that had fallen into his face when he bowed his head again.
“Drink it anyway.”
With a subtle groan, the boy reached out and grabbed the full cup of tea on the coffee table, nearly spilling it on the way back to his face. Holding his nose, he took a long sip and hoped it really would make him feel better. God knows he needed it.
Author: pimprevster
Rating: PG
Summary: A plague has befallen the city. One jagged scar torn across Arin's back marks him for death. Ten attacks, ten lines, and he will never be seen again. The strange part is that the assaulting darkness seems all too human.
Disclaimer: Not real. Never happened, I don't know or own anything here.
Notes: Constructive criticism makes me very happy.
Prologue
Chapter 1
An unexpected guest was waiting when he woke up. He was nodding to sleep in the visitor chair, body slouched and two sinewy arms dangling off the armrests. Arin hadn’t expected to see Brian again. Erebus had claimed that he could keep his life because he was a sinner. Even then, the poor kid was probably unwelcome at home now that he had returned his uniform.
Arin sat up slowly, wincing at the new stripe of pain that had been tallied across his back. He reached back to run his fingers over the barely moist, leathery scar. Two of them now. Two lines in a matter of three days.
“Bri,” he said softly, desiring the boy’s company to cheer him up. It was selfish, really, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help feeling forsaken, and right here was a friend willing to stay with him and delay that inevitable realization of hopelessness for a little bit longer. “Hey. Wake up, buddy.”
Brian stirred. The moment he regained consciousness, he jolted to his feet and staggered to Arin’s side, his tanned hands clutching the thin white sheets. He was still half-asleep; Arin could see the momentary confusion in his eyes and admittedly, it was a little amusing.
“You okay?” Brian asked, his words coming out in drowsy increments.
“Better since you’re here. Last time I was alone,” Arin responded gratefully, though he didn’t try to force a smile and act optimistic like most terminal patients liked to do for their families. There was no need to be fake around Brian because he would only see right through it. He was also grateful now that he had confided in Brian about his family. Both of his parents had been victims of a serial killer the same year Arin left home. He was a single child, and for awhile now, an orphan.
“I’m sorry. For leaving. I felt this powerful force whisk me away...and before I knew it I was tumbling down the front steps. I couldn’t get back in no matter how hard I tried.”
“Don’t be sorry. It would have happened anyway. You heard him. You did hear him, right?”
“No. Does the darkness speak?”
Arin nodded. It was up to him now whether to believe the voice was real or not, and that only secluded him further. Was that the monster’s purpose? To drive him out of his mind with solitude?
“What did it...he say?”
“Well, um,” Arin started. It was embarrassing to repeat the suggestive words out loud, especially to Brian, and he couldn’t think of any way to rephrase them. “He likes the taste of my soul. Innocence. He likes the taste of innocence.”
“And he didn’t curse me because I’m not innocent?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“What were his words exactly?”
Arin paused. There was no way he could forget those words, but he didn’t want to say them. He didn’t want to believe them. He didn’t want Brian himself to confirm them, as he knew he probably would.
“‘The sinner can keep his life. Sinners taste bitter.’”
Brian chuckled under his breath, and said simply, “So the devil believes in the same rules as God.”
It was a better response than he had expected. No real confirmation, no denial - but it was obvious which side he was leaning toward. It baffled Arin rather than disappointed him, because he couldn’t think of any sin reasonable to Brian’s morals and personality. Leaving the church was a step in the negative direction, but it wasn’t like he had desecrated it. And Arin knew he loved his family despite their disapproval.
To Arin, he seemed far closer to a saint.
A warm hand on his wrist, almost his fingers, brought Arin back to reality. He had given himself a headache again. “Call the nurse. Get me out of here.”
- - -
As he paced back and forth on the doormat in front of the white home, Arin felt a tinge of guilt. It didn’t feel right to be here. There was nothing stopping him from being a welcome visitor as always, especially considering his place of employment, but it just felt...disloyal.
The rosy-cheeked man who answered the door looked surprised to see him, but not hostile. Arin hadn’t previously expected him to show any hostility anyhow, but seeing him was like a knife in the gut, a shock to the senses. He explained himself before the man could even open his mouth.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to go to. I need guidance.”
Pastor Brian Haner Sr. smiled warmly, stepping aside to open the walkway for him. “Come in.”
It was a clean and cozy abode painted earthy colors. The living room was equipped with a costly home entertainment system, and they passed through several hallways to get there. One could tell that the owner of the home was reasonably well-off. There were less religious decorations than one might expect to see in a pastor’s home, and they were mostly near the entryway.
“Why not ask the Lord for guidance? Or have you already?” Haner asked, bringing two cups of tea into the living room and setting them down on a glass coffee table between two sofas. It was customary in this household. Arin assumed that nobody else was home, judging by the level of quiet and the fact that the pastor’s wife had not greeted him and brought in the tea instead.
“Sometimes I need an answer,” he responded carefully, leaving the tea untouched. “An immediate answer. Can you understand that?”
The pastor nodded in acceptance, seating himself across from Arin. “What is your question?”
“What...do I do? I know it’s vague, but...I’m sure you’ve heard what happened. And I just...I can’t live anymore. I can’t see the point in doing anything and it’s driving me insane.”
“You force yourself to live, then,” Haner responded gently. He took several short sips of the steaming liquid while crafting his answer. “Carry on even when times are tough, and sooner or later it will start to come naturally again. Do what you want to do. Supposing your time really is limited, there’s not much else to do, is there? Enjoy what time you have left.”
“I can’t,” Arin mumbled, resting his elbows on his knees. He bowed his head and ran his fingers through unkempt hair, keeping his glassy eyes on the soft umber carpet between his feet. It was becoming more and more of a challenge to stay composed under the weight of all this distress and just...fear. He was scared, more scared than he had ever been in his life. More scared than he had been when he found out his parents were dead and realized he was alone.
He was more alone now than ever, and he hadn’t thought that was possible.
“The reason I gave you that answer is because I believe you have the will to do it. If it was anyone else, I would probably be reciting Bible verses and hoping it would cheer them up.”
Arin barely smiled, but he could still feel the tears burning behind his eyes. Angry tears, grieving tears. Grieving for himself, which was pitiful. Most of all, frightened tears.
“There’s not much else I can say, if I’m being honest with you. I seem to have made honesty a habit when speaking with you which I do not intend to break. So what I want to tell you is that you’re a special person, Arin. The most optimistic, self-empowered, pick-yourself-up-out-of-the-ashes and grow into something incredible person I know. If anyone can get through this and stay perfectly sane, I think it’s you.” He paused to take another gulp of tea, watching the boy sitting opposite him with concern, but Arin showed no signs of moving or speaking. “You’re still not independent, though. Not completely. I can tell that you yearn the comfort and affection of the people around you, and I don’t blame you. Camaraderie is an important thing. Don’t be afraid to go to the people you care for when you need them, especially now.”
It helped. It did help, but Arin could hardly think straight let alone think of a proper way to express his gratitude. He was silent for a long time even when he knew that the pastor was done speaking. The words replayed over and over in his mind, and it took several repetitions before his mind properly processed them. Then he realized something.
He chuckled. “You keep talking about this as if I’m going to get out of it. No one has survived it. Even the ones who didn’t disappear; they either had a mental breakdown and were possessed into some sort of demonic slaves before reaching the tenth line, or they killed themselves.”
“Did Brian tell you that?”
“Tell me what?”
“That no one has survived.”
Arin nodded but didn’t raise his head.
“He ranted about the same thing to me after your first attack, just before profaning the name of the church and hurling the cross above the mantelpiece at me.”
An expression of shock, and then confusion, spread across Arin’s face as he looked up at the pastor. Ranted? Profaned? Hurled the cross above the mantelpiece at his own father? Upon seeing his reaction, Haner gestured at the mantel above the fireplace, where three jagged pieces of a white porcelain cross rested, waiting to be repaired.
Arin reviewed what he knew of his mysterious friend. Brian did not rant. Not a single curse word or even an impolite word had left his mouth in Arin’s presence. Violence didn’t seem like it would be in his vocabulary. Thus, the story he had just been told did not make an iota of sense, yet there was physical evidence of it having occurred.
“It was the most upset I had ever seen him. Have you talked to him recently?”
“Just this morning,” Arin replied, still in awe. He couldn’t wrap his head around the image that had been described to him no matter how many different ways he tried to imagine it.
“Good,” the pastor replied simply. It was becoming harder for him to speak of his son without the note of pain in his voice. He was missed, but could not be welcomed back anytime soon. One of the most tormenting internal struggles a father could face. “Also, he was wrong. About there being no survivors.”
“What?”
“I know someone who did. Promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone unless it was really important. I think you’re important enough, especially after today. So I’d like you meet him.”
Arin rested his head in his hands. It was clear in his body language that he couldn’t handle any more surprises for awhile, so the pastor sat back with the slightest smile on the corner of his lips, signalling the end of their discussion. “Another day, of course. I’ll schedule for you to visit within the week. He lives just down the highway in Christoval.”
“Thanks...”
“He might be able to help you, Arin,” Haner asserted, noting the sarcasm in Arin’s voice with amusement. “Drink some tea. You’ll feel better.”
“I don’t like tea,” was the lethargic response. It could barely be heard beneath his pale hands and the multiple layers of shaggy black hair that had fallen into his face when he bowed his head again.
“Drink it anyway.”
With a subtle groan, the boy reached out and grabbed the full cup of tea on the coffee table, nearly spilling it on the way back to his face. Holding his nose, he took a long sip and hoped it really would make him feel better. God knows he needed it.