The Iron Skeleton

Chapter 2

"There you go." Baird said with a kind smile. He laid a cup of steaming tea on the table Khemera sat at. He grabbed the blind man's hands and helped him find the mug's spacial relation to his seat before sighing and heading back to the kitchen. 

As Baird stood at the doorway, watching his redheaded wife cook, his mind wandered. Marrying Abigail had been the best decision of his life, the second being taking his former martial arts teacher, Khemera into their household shortly afterward and caring for him. And Antapeño wasn't a bad place to live, either. It left very little to be desired, with a high standard of living, complete freedom from Alcontean tyranny, and an intellectual populace that continually sharpened his mental faculties. His current environment was perfect for a writer such as himself. 

Baird glanced at his sword up on the mantle, the one with the lightning bolt engraved on the flat of the blade. He closed his eyes and bit back tears. Aaron had told him two years ago, whenever he laid eyes on that weapon, to remember him, his sister, and all their other companions on the expedition to empty the Iron Hallway. And that he did, daily. 

It pained Baird to see all the text messages pour in from Wendy, Aaron, and Keira. It pierced his heart like nails to leave each one of them on "read", never offering any reply. He cared for them all, loved them, even, but he now had a wife, and a blind old friend to look after. This was his burden to carry, now. This was his duty. 

Still, the nostalgia stung, and ignoring his friends was the only way to keep himself from making a rash decision to join their dangerous rebellion. Baird stalked off to his bedroom as the first tear slipped through his eyelids. Abigail doesn't need to be burdened with my double-mindedness. 

******************** 

Late that night, Baird tossed and turned. He'd only been able to sleep soundly for about an hour, but once he awoke the first time, he never fully returned to his slumbering state. He considered waking Abigail so he could have someone to talk to, but glancing at the clock and seeing that it was 3 a.m., he thought better of it. 

With a groan, he slipped out from under the covers and stepped across the room to the window. Sometimes, on restless nights like these, the moonlight strangely mellowed him and allowed him to return to sleep. 

But ten minutes later, his mind only raced faster, and beautiful as the starry nighttime sky had been to stare at, it hadn't eased him in the slightest. With a sigh, he slipped out of the bedroom, shut the door gently, and headed down to the basement. It was time to try the punching bag. 

After cranking out a couple dozen pushups, Baird leapt to his feet and threw a flurry of kicks and punches at the hanging bag. Sometimes, he could only resolve his mental agitation with a manifestation of that disquietude in the physical realm. The bag served quite nicely for that purpose as his incessant attacks on it continued. 

A few minutes later, the basement door creaked open, and Baird turned to see who had arrived. Sure enough, Abigail stood in the doorway and eyed him curiously. 

"You can't sleep." she stated, rather than asked. 

Baird gravely nodded. "You know me all too well." 

Abigail stepped closer and laid a hand on her husband's shoulder. She gazed deep into his eyes. "Do you wanna talk about it?" 

Baird closed his eyes and shook his head. "You need to sleep." 

"So do you, but here we are. Asleep or awake, I wanna be together with you in it." 

Baird gave his wife a burdened smile. "Thank you."