Indigo Shadow - Hemlock

Chapter 10

It started as a nudge, warm and crimson; like the late rays of sunset after a thunderstorm. Hemlock felt enraptured by a blanket of this warmth, making him tingle and stretch. Unlike his previous dreams, this one was a comfort... at least for now. Soon the nudge became more of a shove, but not violent or painful, it reminded Hemlock of someone taking his shoulder and pushing him along, pulling him towards the comfort of the crimson energy that surrounded him.

Rippling in the center of it all was a young man; his stature was grand, yet his face was occupied by something. It took Hemlock a moment to see that the man was looking directly at him, studying him like a specimen in a jar. His platinum white hair was streaked with the aura that surrounded them, ruby red and ochre. His black eyes twinkled in the shining red light.

"Who are you?" Hemlock's voice slugged out sleepily, like his throat was covered in mucus.

"That doesn't matter right now." the young man frowned. He raised his chin and reached out towards Hemlock; his palm glowing the same red that surrounded them.

"But it will soon, huh? I've- I've been seeing you." The color of this red, the white hair, the young man... all had been glimmers in his subconscious recently. He felt himself cringe. "I can't take it anymore," The dark phantom, Loretta, and now this guy? Who else was he going to attract?

"I know. It must be excruciating for you. I've been watching you, Hemlock Godfree. Your... skills are quite impressive." He smiled but then turned to look over his shoulder at an encroaching shadow. "I cannot stay long, but I need to tell you..." his voice started to change. The growing darkness made his eyes harden, and he stared fiercely back at Hemlock. "I've sought you out, and now you must find me. I can help. Whatever is attached to you, that ghoul you call a friend-" he chuckled, "-is ruining the balance. Follow the breadcrumbs."

Flashes of images blinded Hemlock; green mountains, a bustling downtown, a lonely cabin on stilts... When the pictures faded, the man was gone. And the darkness had returned.

Hemlock awoke to an empty apartment; Ange had spent the night on the floor in case he needed anything, but by the time Hemlock had awakened, Ange was gone. His pull out bed was torn apart from a restless night. His heart ached at the thought of what he must've put Ange and Jacoby through. His head felt better, the pounding was gone. Even though his stitches were sore, they were manageable. Getting up after a long stretch, Hemlock showered, started some laundry, and then robotically ate a bowl of Cheerios on his fold-out bed. Bottles of pain meds covered his couch side table, his weed pipe, along with a phone book with ripped pages and water stains. Wait... Phone book?

Hemlock grabbed it, his wet black hair sticking up all around him. Where had he gotten this? Weren't phone books a thing of the past? He remembered that before bed he decided that he wanted to seek help, he had a gut feeling that he needed to talk with someone; his therapist, a counselor, a priest... anything. He closed his eyes trying to concentrate; they stung from lack of sleep. He had tried searching on his phone, but nothing local had appeared. At least... nothing with accreditation. So, he had decided to go old-school.

The sun was shining through his balcony windows, painting the walls in a soft hue of yellow. It looked like a crisp fall day outside; and it made Hemlock excited. He loved autumn, everything about it... the smells, the movies, pop-up Halloween stores, pumpkin patches. Usually he and Jacoby would take an afternoon drive, about 20 miles south and go find a farm with a hand-painted sign on the side of the road advertising pumpkins or a corn maze. But this year seemed different now... already the events of the weekend made Hemlock worry about how Jacoby, and even Ange, would see him. I wouldn't want to hang out with me either... Nonetheless, Hemlock stood up and tore through his dryer for his favorite piece of clothing; a black hoodie with a poster of the 1996 classic horror movie, Scream, on the front. He tied up his black boots, grabbed the phone book, and headed out the door.