Saving the World - Awakening

The Other Side

Eliot leaned against the door to his apartment.  He could hear the television on, and knew someone was home.  He cracked the door open and smelled deeply, trying to check if there was the smell of smoke or alcohol in the air.  As soon as he did his gut exploded into pain, and he fell forward, flinging the door wide open.  His father jumped up from the couch, startled by Eliot's sudden entrance.

"Eliot, what happened?  Are you okay?"  His father asked, concerned.

Thankful that his father was sober, Eliot relaxed a little bit.  It was after the initial shock of a bleeding, half-conscious Eliot falling through the door that his father noticed the large sack of knives Eliot was dragging behind him.  Confused, he started to ask why Eliot had an entire shop's worth of blades. Realizing that he wasn't gonna get any answers out of his wounded son, he filed the questions away for later.

"Let's get you fixed up." He said warmly. 

He picked Eliot up and carried him to the table, which was strewn with beer cans from the night before. He brushed them on the ground with his foot and gently laid Eliot down on the table.

"I hope what you've got is worth it, you've never come back in this bad of shape."

"Sword dealer..." Eliot muttered, "weird employer."

Eliot's father gave Eliot a funny look. "Maybe you'd better explain when you aren't delirious."

As he lay on the table, Eliot began to lose consciousness.  His father cut away the fabric around his gut wound and ripped away the scab that had formed.   It wasn't the pain that caused Eliot to pass out, it was the loss of blood. Regardless, Eliot's mind floated away into ethereal bliss while his body endured the harsh reality of his both fortunate and unfortunate escapade.

* * *

Eliot woke to the familiar sound of a football game, or more specifically his father cheering.  He felt surprisingly fresh, and considering he had just been stabbed twice, that was a big deal.  He looked around and realized that his father had put him in his bed, and that his father had changed his clothes.  He felt his gut, and expected immense pain, but surprisingly pain didn't overwhelm him.  Sure, it still hurt like hell, but he would live.

His watch sat on his dresser: it was 19:37.  He had about twenty minutes to get to Brachs, or his entire quest would be for naught.  He slowly got up and put on his shoes.  He grabbed his bloody pouch and checked inside.  Everything was where he had left it.  He took out the dealer's wallet and left the sulfuric acid inside.

Placing the pouch around his shoulder, he grabbed a scimitar from the massive bundle of blades and walked slowly out of his room. His father was, sure enough, watching a football game, and yelling all the while.

"Pop, I'm going to cash these items in.  I'll hopefully be back within an hour."

His father looked up from his game and noticed that Eliot was dressed to leave.  He frowned, but didn't argue.

"Do what you need to do.  And don't die."

Eliot smiled for the first time in what seemed like years. "It's me, what do you expect?"

His father winked back. "Nothing but the best."

Eliot slowly walked over to the door and exited the apartment. As slowly as possible, he made his way out of the apartment complex and into the streets.  The sun was setting as he walked, and with every second he grew more and more apprehensive of attack.  The night shift was dangerous, but he fortunately brought a weapon with him.  The roads were clearing, only a few people were left on the street.  It was probably nearing 20:00, the man would be waiting for him.  Only a few blocks until he would get to the meeting place.

After a few minutes of limping through the alleys, he rounded the corner and looked to where the strange employer was standing earlier.

"Ah, Mr. Green.  What have you managed to acquire?  Besides a stab wound, of course." The man looked at him with a knowing look, as if Eliot didn't even need to tell him.

"I've got your scimitar and your acid.  You owe me 200."

"Ah, yes, I do."  The man reached into his coat pocket, where he had seemed to have the money ready to give to Eliot.  "Here you are."

Eliot didn't want anything more to do with Brachs, as the day had been rough enough to him.

"It's late, and it's dangerous.  Thanks for the job, and don't talk to me again." With that, he turned away from mysterious employer and hurried towards home, going as fast as his injury would let him.

As he walked, he could feel the shadows seem to spy on him, as if they knew who he was and all his weaknesses.  He couldn't shake the oppressive feeling inside him, and something told him that it wasn't just paranoia that was triggering his unsettled demeanor.  Something, or someone, was lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.  Not wanting to let that predator take its chance, Eliot hurried even faster, almost breaking into a pained run.

His side ached more than it had since his father had wrapped him up, but he was too afraid to pay any heed to it.  Only one more building, then he would be home.  Just as he got to his apartment complex, he heard a laugh come from the alley.  He looked behind him and saw a hermit emerge from the dark alley across from the complex.  The hermit's crooked, rotten teeth were twisted into an inhuman smile, and Eliot quickly opened the door and quickly slipped inside, trying not to look back at the nightmarish figure of the hermit.

His heart pounded, causing his wound to start bleeding again.  He groaned and leaned on the door. He made it, which was all that counted.  Now he just needed to present his earnings to his father.

When Eliot got to his apartment door for the second time that day, he stopped, not knowing what he should expect.  He listened inside, and didn't hear anything.  Maybe his parents were asleep?  He had only been gone about an hour.  He cracked the door open and once again smelled for alcohol or smoke.  This time, he wasn't as lucky.  He opened the door and braced himself.

His father sat on the couch, a bottle of beer in his hand.  He looked up from his slouching position on the couch at Eliot.  He shouted incomprehensibly, but it seemed like it was a bunch of words mixed with swearing, all meant to convey one question: "Where have you been all day?"

Eliot walked past his drunken father with a heavy heart, trying to ignore the entirely different person his father had become.  In fairy tales, men became werewolves, bears, and horrors at night.  Eliot found out at a young age that these fairy tales were true.  Every night, his father would become a monster, a slave to the alcohol that he loved more than his family.

It was this thought that Eliot fell asleep to.  Though his life was a hard one, he lived.  There was no place in it for dwelling on hardship, only from learning from it.  He closed his eyes, and drifted away into a dreamless sleep, hoping the next day might go better than the day before.