My Name is Ranel [Short Story] ✅

Part 3

It takes a day to arrive at the units that I have been assigned to as my "temporary residence", which is actually just a hostelry. I would have managed all these on my own, had I not been assaulted in the airport just this morning, causing Point Zero – Keane, her Character – to somehow become my mother to bustle about the documents and forms, speaking with the soldiers in charge to take me in, making sure that I am Martin Hernandez. Not that I'm making a complaint, especially since it had been a really long, strenuous day, followed by the wound I'm supporting – which, as the hours pass, becomes more agonising regardless of being treated. All in all, I could use some help.

I am certain that it is already past midnight by the time we arrive at the hostelry; dark, with crisp wind biting on my face. All the lights have been shut off except for a lodge just near the gates, where clouds of smoke can be seen swirling from the chimney. I can only make out the silhouette of the building that is illuminated from the glow of the moon, while the rest is cast into shadow. I don't think anyone is even up at this moment – let alone lives here, seeing as we are remote from the rest of the city, not to mention very secluded.

My left leg gives away the moment I step out of the Jeep that I nearly topple over, only to be caught by Keane in the nick of time from behind me. She balances me out, and rests both of her hands onto my shoulders, surveying me. "All right?"

"Something wrong?" Brett asks, hoping out of the vehicle before I could even respond.

"Whacked, is all," I answer offhandedly, gritting my teeth while doing so at the pain in my leg.

"That's all right," he says. "You can go straight up to your room. We'll take it from here, Martin."

"You sure about that?" Keane cocks an eyebrow.

"Yes, he's been informed," Glenn replies.

"Who is?" I ask.

But nobody is paying attention, and Keane is already fastening the straps of my backpack on my shoulders, heaving one of my arms across her shoulders afterwards even though I tell her I can walk. Not that she believes it, for I can only hop around one foot at the moment, which will take until the break of dawn to reach my room. Furthermore, I can feel fatigue starting to take over my entire body that I feel exceedingly sluggish, almost as if I've downed every alcoholic drink in the world – I don't remember the medic prescribing me a drug or forcing one into my bloodstream.

But maybe she has.

Keane guides me at the entrance and all the way up the stairs. Half of the time, my eyelids droop, and I'm not even paying attention to where I'm going but to rely on Keane. My legs keep giving in and balancing at every successful step, one looping behind the other as we meander across the dim-lit hallway. If anyone were to poke their head out of their door at this moment, they would think Keane just brought home a drunkard.

We must have reached my room soon after, for Keane pulls out a key as soon as we come to a halt in front of a door at the far end of the hallway of what might possibly be the third floor. She unlocks in and, reaching in, she finds the switch and turns it on, causing the lights inside to flicker to life. I squint in response of the sudden intensity and stumble in before her. She doesn't say anything but to just lead me towards a nearby ashen couch. I simply plop down, letting out a sigh of relief as my body sinks in.

"You don't want to check around first?" she asks me.

I don't respond.

"You don't want me to carry you to a proper bed?"