Realm of the Runes: Blood Right

Chapter III

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His rugged leather jacket seemed incongruous with well-tailored Italian wool trousers, but Matthaios pulled it off well. A crisp blue-and-white striped shirt made him appear far more mature than his eighteen years, the peaks of his collar starched and ironed crisply.

He carried a black leather briefcase, the faint clicking of the soles of his shiny Oxfords the only sound in the darkened hallway. Glass stretched from floor to ceiling, and polished concrete graced the long walkway that curved around a landscaped entrance.

Automatic doors opened at the swipe of his card, and he was outside, the stench of the low-lying smog curling his nostrils in disgust. He entered the parking building, making his way over to his pride and joy.

The shiny body of a powerful Harley Davidson gleamed in the fluorescent light, the chrome trim shining brightly. The only other vehicle in the building was that of his boss - a sleek grey Rolls Royce - and it was parked crookedly across two spaces. He rested his palm on the familiar leather seat, and a lingering smile crossed his face.

He leant against the wall and removed his Oxfords, glad to be rid of their pinching properness. He stowed away his briefcase and shoes, shoving them into the studded leather panniers on the back of his bike. He pulled out a pair of rugged full-length boots and tugged them roughly over his trousers, not caring if they wrinkled.

The guttural sound of the motor sent a thrill up his spine, and he gunned the bike down the ramps, desperate to escape the concrete building. It felt like a prison. The steady grumble of the engine vibrated through his hands, and he resisted the urge to zip past the pay station. He jerked to a stop, paid his parking ticket with a swipe of his card, and roared away thirty dollars poorer.

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Dusk turned the smog into a murky brown soup. Matthaios wended his way through half an hour of thick traffic in the central city, breathing white gasps into the frigid air. He spent ten minutes getting out of a traffic jam, before ascending the eastern slopes, the Harley's headlights on full beam.

Melting snow spat dirty muck all over his shiny rear fenders, and the sky was darkening rapidly. He tried to resist the familiar depression that seized him, but it was no use.

How long since I've actually seen a blue sky? Felt sunshine on my face? Even seen a decent green lawn, or heard the crashing of waves in the ocean?

He sighed as he pulled into his gated driveway, the automatic doors opening just enough to let the bike through, before slamming shut with a muted clang. He slid to a halt in front of his garage door and swiped his card to let himself in.

The silence after he killed the motor felt like total emptiness. His own breathing was loud in the basement garage, and he grunted as he cleaned the muck from his bike.

Just another day at the office.

Sure, being employed by the largest insurance firm in the country had its perks in terms of prestige, but his call centre position wasn't exactly glorious.

Listening to hundreds of people complaining about the company ripping them off isn't my idea of a good day.

He bounded up the internal stairwell, his boots thudding dully on the laminated steps.

Especially when I can't break protocol, and I know they're being scammed.

He put the coffee machine on and leaned against the granite bench, surveying his surroundings with distracted eyes.

Plastered cream walls contrasted with polished wooden floors. Charcoal artwork hung in thick metal frames, mostly female nudes. A sleek leather couch faced the wall, where a Holoscreen took up most of the lounge. A cowhide rug graced the floor, joined by a giant green fern in a clay pot in the corner of the room.

The beep of the coffee machine drew him from his reverie. His stomach roiled at the thought of more caffeine, but his brain was lagging, and he had work to do tonight. He poured the black liquid into a mug and slipped a Holophone from his pocket. It flickered under the touch of his thumb, and a smiling face appeared on the screen.

A missed call from Mum.

He sighed and pressed his fingers to his forehead.

First Dad, now her... how I hate cancer.

He returned her call, but she didn't pick up.

Hmmm. Strange. I wonder if she's okay?

He paced across the floor, and stopped by the balcony, looking down at the pool he shared with his neighbors. Shards of ice floated on the surface, and old snow collected in grey heaps on abandoned chairs. He sighed.

She's probably just in the shower or something.

He grabbed his briefcase and headed to his desk, powering up his Holopad and getting back to work. Endless files and transactions, claims and forms floated like clouds as he sorted them and refiled them into appropriate vaults. He synced them with the company database, and leaned back.

Done.

His eyelids slowly flickered shut, despite the caffeine rushing through his bloodstream. The padded leather seat of his chair suddenly seemed even better than his bed.

So tired.

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The intrusive wailing of his Holophone woke him from a deep sleep. Matthaios's head slumped against the supple leather encasing his arm, and his cheek hurt as the skin peeled away from his jacket. The screen flickered urgently, and he groaned, rubbing his palm over his face and brushing away the unruly curls sticking to his forehead.

It's 2:32am. Who the hell is calling me at this hour?

"Hello, this is Matthaios speaking."

"Hello Sir, I'm Ravi from the Northern District Healthline. I'm calling to inform you that your mother was admitted to the Desmond Hospital an hour ago with severe oxygen deprivation."

Matthaios felt a sickening weight settle in the pit of his stomach.

"I'll be there in half an hour," he snapped.

"She's in Ward 790B," the man replied. "I'll let them know you're on your way."

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