𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 | Elena Gilbert

𝐈𝐈

WHO THE HELL IS O.A.H?

The old wooden door swung open leading to the basement, darkness engulfed Patrick as blood riddled his body, still fresh from the three dead corpses which were still currently laying in his living room, pale and mostly incapacitated. he stepped warily onto the first step leading towards the downstairs room as he closed the door behind him, his hand shaking abnormally as he did. His once bright green eyes were now dull from the situation he found himself in, in one hand he grasped his cell phone as he was just done with phoning the authorities, crying profusely as he did. His other hand felt overly sore, he did not know why but it seemed as if his veins were trying to get out of his skin and cause him pain, he tried to ignore it but he seemed to hiss every so often as he walked down each singular step. whilst waiting for the police to arrive Patrick's wandering eyes seemed to go over the emblem and initials on the stake his father once held, he remembered that he could be given more answers for his situation in the one place he was never allowed to enter, the basement.

A low hiss passed his lips as he reached the bottom of the steps, his left hand clenched in a ball as a rash appeared to be forming on the back of his palm, from his knuckles to just the start of his wrists. He looked down in confusion as his tearful dull eyes clenched together, not thinking smartly he swiftly put the burning hand into the front pocket of his jacket thinking that would help the situation.  He tore his eyes from his hands as he looked towards the only thing that seemed to be down in the dimly lit room, the wooden desk and chair he had only set his eyes on once in his life. It was two months ago when he was last here, his Father was out the house and Patrick had beaten his Mother home first, so like any usual rebellious teenager he attempted to break the one major rule in the house, going down the stairs. Just like he had just done he stepped carefully down each step until he got to the bottom, until he set his sight on the lonely desk, he stepped closer with each passing second until he was interrupted by his Mother, who was holding grocery bags in her hands and tore his gaze from old crooked work table as she screamed at him for the 'disrespectful' act. This caused him to be shouted at not just by his Mother but also his Father, who swiftly granted him a week of being grounded.

A tear fell down his cheek as he thought back on the memory, anyone else might find it weird but it had just settled into the boys mind that he would never be shouted at nor grounded ever again in his life by his parents, which felt unusually strange to him. he looked towards the desk once again as he forced his settled legs to move forward,  placing his cell phone into his pocket whilst his other hand seemed to be in a tighter clench than ever before. He finally stood before the desk, it was messy, papers everywhere, splatters of ink engraved into the old wood and also as he looked upwards above the table he noticed a crossbow of sorts on a wonky shelf, which had  barely been drilled into the wall, looking as if it would fall at any moment. The boys eyes grazed every single detail on the table as he now skimmed through the letters he held in his once empty hand. Each letter seemed to be very short, not giving away much as nearly every one had the same sentence, a mix up between "Not in contact" and "Made contact". Patrick looked at the letters in confusion, this couldn't be it, please this can't be it, I need answers!  The boy questioned himself internally as he scattered through every single letter. His mind raced not knowing what to do with the limited information he had, he was scared, he wanted revenge, whoever was the initials on the wooden stake he stabbed the Vampire with had made his Father be affiliated with the same monster that killed his parents, he needed to know who O.A.H was, he wanted to find him.

Piles upon piles of letters were now scattered over the floor as Patrick threw every single one out of his hands if it had the same two sentences as the previous letters, this led to their finally being one left. The only letter on the worn out desk, it was brown and crusty as black ink scattered across the front, different from the rest. He picked it up slowly as he pulled it towards his eyesight, at a slow pace he read the singular sentence on the piece of paper. "Found, Desiccated." Patricks eyes fell, it was different but he did not know what it meant at all, he dropped it on the table, it flowed in the air for awhile before flipping over and finally placing itself comfortably onto the desk. The teenager looked at the back as the parchment now settled down, his eyes widened as he noticed it had a signee, the only letter that had the name of the writer was this one in front of him, "Best Regards, Connor Jordan." It read, Patrick rolled his eyes as he looked towards it, another name, to different from the initials on the stake to be the person he was looking for but he knew now that his Father was not the only person involved in this mess.