[BOOK #1][COMPLETED]
In the quaint village of Eldenhaven, time seems to stand completely still. Oliver Morgan's life has always revolved around his modest family shop, Morgan's Fresh Essentials.
With his ailing mother's care and running the shop, O...
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"In the quiet aftermath of turmoil, we find the space to reflect, to heal, and to embrace the dawn of a new understanding."
—
The final drops of cloud left his body, gathering into a giant dark angry cloud above their heads. Mrs Patterson and Oliver stared upwards in shock at what they were seeing.
They were relieved when the cloud burst away from them at extreme speeds, shooting through the doorway leading into the apartments above.
Collectively, they breathed easier, although the sight of Theodore's lifeless body contorted on the shop floor made them tense back up again.
"My Lord," Breathed Mrs Patterson, her hand covering her mouth. "Whatever are we going to do now?"
Looking up from the body on his shop floor and towards Mrs Patterson, Oliver felt a sense of dread or fear pour out of him and release its hold from him. The hold that had been held ever since Theodore had shown up. Ever since he heard the man call him 'Dear boy'.
He shuddered now at the memory of his voice, that smile. But looking down at the body—no smile, no chuckle, no dear boy—he felt a little bit better.
"I assume we call the police? I need to check on my mom." He finished as he broke towards the staff door.
"Police won't understand, Oliver." Mrs Patterson said stopping the larger and larger strides Oliver was making towards the apartment stairs. "I'll call Brian. We'll sort this out. Don't worry."
Mrs Patterson smiled over at Oliver before she turned away to look for her handbag. He took no further stops of distractions as he too turned and sprinted around the counter and through the staff door.
*
THEODORE REACTED TO THE BLAZING FIRE which roared from his side. Nothing but the flame. Everywhere else was black, there was nothing.
The heat of the blaze bubbled his skin, popping and spluttering as he allowed it to consume him. Envelope his entire being. Melting away his human form.
His skin pooled around the floor like liquid clay. As if the wax figurine had been left too close to the fire. His form slowly disappears into the pale-coloured liquid.
When his form had completely been lost to the pool, so too did the flame. Not before blazing larger and brighter than before. Roaring one final time.
Finally, I can sleep.
*
OLIVER'S STEPS SLOWED TO A HALT as he burst into his mother's bedroom. He looked sheepishly over towards the bed where her body lay. Still. Motionless.
Oh God! No. No. No.
He didn't want to go any further. Not a single step closer. But he needed to. He had to see for himself.
Fuck Theodore!
The floor creaked with his slow steps. The silence ricocheted the sound off every wall. He was getting closer, painfully. But he was getting there. Just a few more steps—
What?
What the h...mom?
Mrs Morgan's chest slowly—almost unnoticeable—raised and fell down, repeating over and over.
"You're alive! Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Oliver cried as he kissed his mother's face. She didn't wake, but he knew she was a very deep sleeper.
Oliver still didn't understand, couldn't, understand what had happened over the past hour. Part of him was saying: "Told you so." About the intentions of Theodore. But he didn't do anything, at least not until it was too late.
Could he have stopped all this? He should have done better to protect his mother. He'd failed. But by some miracle here she was, alive.
Miracle.
He pushed himself down onto the chair next to his mother. Trying to brush passed the thoughts of who had last sat in this very seat.
Thinking over what Mrs Patterson had done. She'd saved him, and his mother. But how she'd done it, well, he thought it was pure magic.
For the first time in his life, Oliver thought about Heaven, thought of Hell. Had that been what he'd witnessed? Had he seen the Devil himself, or a demon of Hell?
His mind raced through all his memories and recollections of anything to do with God or Hell, the Devil. The only things coming to the surface were his Religious Education lessons from his time at school.
Useless.
With nothing else left to think of, he did the one thing he knew—at least he thought—he could do. Grabbing the armrests of the chair and pushing himself up.
Taking a few small stretches Oliver places himself on the ground, resting his knees on the carpet. Clasping his hands together he begins to pray.
