One Silver Coin For a Pound of Demon

Chapter 16

Draft
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When you came home today, the living room was empty.

The TV is still on, the lights are off, and the fluorescent lights from the screen shines on the empty sofa. You turn on the lights in the living room and see the mug that had shattered into pieces on the ground. There are no traces of a break in, several very terrifying possibilities appear in your mind, but you reject them and rule them out one by one. Before you could think more, you open the bathroom door, turn on the bathroom light, and see Lemuel inside.

He's wearing the sweater and trousers you've bought, curled up in the tub in the same pose as before. Lemuel kept looking at the direction of the door, like he was preparing for your entry, like he just wanted to come back and relive what it was like to live in the bathtub. However Lemuel's rigid body disagrees with this, when you stepped into his field of vision, the arms around his knees loosen into an unnatural position, like a frozen package falling apart.

You've seen a similar situation in some refugees. They hide in a small space in order to escape and keep their muscles tense for a long time. When they're rescued, most of them would get muscle spasms, or become so tense they couldn't move. This isn't the case with snipers who need to lurk for a long time, well-trained soldiers can control their physical condition, and only those who are scared crazy will use unnecessary and excessive force.

"Are you all right?" You ask.

You stand by the door, keeping the lights on. Your voice is soft, you've used the same tone to treat the rescued refugees. You go into work mode, say soothing words like "it's all right" and "you're safe", guessing about what had happened. When you entered the room was pitch black, Lemuel didn't turn off the television, and most of the time he wouldn't turn off the lights, so maybe it wasn't dark yet when something happened. It gets dark earlier because of the season, so he must've been in the bathroom for at least several hours.

Lemuel shakes his head irritably, and you close your mouth.

"Enough, don't do that..." He says.

Lemuel stops and wipes his face. He hates your attitude, but you don't know exactly what it is that he hates. He's more relaxed now than when he first saw you, as always, embarrassment follows fear, like it's something to be ashamed of.

"It's not," You say.

"What?" Lemuel mutters.

"It's not your fault," You say.

"Of course it's not," He says through gritted teeth, gesturing rudely. Lemuel's hands tremble slightly, and you think that this time it's mainly due to anger, not fear. He reaches for the edge of the bathtub but soon realizes that he won't be able to stand up smoothly even while holding on to it. He lets go again.

"Then why are you mad at yourself?" You say. "I've seen many survivors, and few are as brave as you."

Lemuel frowns as you speak, like your words are unbearable for him. He obviously doesn't want to hear you talk about it, even if he had told you everything about his past.

No, Lemuel just told you about his human life, from birth to his awakening, and he never said a word after that. You're the one who cleaned his wounds, it had told you what happened but he had never talked about it.

You've never discussed this, about what happened to Lemuel, about your thoughts on it. Some people think that encounters should be shared, others see it as a minefield, and you can never tell the difference between the two. In the past, you just had to stay put and wait for the people in need to come to you. If some people need help but don’t come to you because of various reasons, you can only regret the consequences of them not being treated— still, it's their choice, isn't it? It's not your job. But you can't do that with Lemuel, he's unique, you can't take the risk of failure.