The Regression

Chapter 0: The End, Before The Beginning

The Advent of Christmas

As Arshen took a step out of his car, the biting winter wind welcomed him harshly. A sharp contrast to the warmth he had felt in his car. The cold breeze seemed to give him a message of what he could meet here.

The old warehouse loomed ahead. Abandoned and uninhabitable. Long forgotten by time. Not even electricity was running here.

Yet, here he was. He had came. Driven by a mere letter from an unknown hand, received a week ago. Yet, deep in his mind, he insisted he knew those handwritings. The words lingered in his mind: "Let only the two of us meet for the last."

The letter specified to him for the day and the location. Those were the very time and place he now was.

As he approached the building, he could feel the anticipation. The anxiety. His heart raced hard. The possibilities flashed in his mind.

Before Arshen came, he had consulted to trusted friends, leaving out details he considered they didn't need to know. Everyone told him not to. It could be a trap, a robbery, or even if it was the person Arshen thought it would be, nothing good would come from the person who called him to an abandoned place in the dead of night. He thought, everyone was right. He should not.

But he had came.

When he pushed the rusted-steel door, it shrieked loudly. Arshen was almost frightened by the sound. However, he had came too far to return without finding any truth about the letter.

He peeked inside, and he could see the room was dim, yet not as dark as the outside. Few kerosene lamps were lit, as if someone had waited for his arrival. Each lamp sputtered as the wind from outside tried to reach in, along with Arshen's steps. The smell of the room was also not moldy, or abandoned. Instead, of the mix of kerosene and wild flowers. Really, Arshen was now anticipating of who he would meet. Because for sure, someone was here.

"Hello," he called out. His voice echoed, filled the empty space, bouncing around like his wayward thought. "Is anyone there?"

Just as he wished to leave, a door creaked open at the far end of the room. The familiar blonde hair was revealed, a figure stepped into the scene.

"Arshen," the voice replied. Arshen shivered at that voice. He recognized that sound. William. That voice was tender, yet wasn't what William truly was. "I am glad you could make it."

Arshen stood frozen in the moment. The shock was undeniable. Once, twice, he blinked several times, tried to distinguish between reality and dream. William couldn't be here.

"William?"

The name escaped his lips in white whisper, disbelief coloured his tone. He had believed William had gone long ago. But here William was, standing in front of him as no time had passed. Arshen trembled as he remembered the torturous time they had spent together. He fought to maintain his composure, not to lose his calm in front of this prick, this devil incarnate of a human.

Why did William find him now?

"What do you want?" Arshen's voice cracked. Spontaneously, his leg took a step back, creating a space between them, his heart was pounding loudly.

While William, he had been the person he was. Calm, cold, collected. His gaze was steady, his voice soothing.

"Take a seat, Arshen." Yet commanding. His gesture gestured to a couple of wooden chairs, which also eaten by time.

The tone. In the past, William had used the similar tone to command him. Failing in submitting would cause him pain. Yet he tried to be brave now. Now was not the past, "No, I don't think I will be here for so long. I will stand."