Lord Liverchester

Chapter 9

The next few minutes were a whirl of terror and the sharpest pains I'd ever felt in my chest. I was so worried and all I could think was "this is the end". I got Dorian to his feet and in the dark I got him back in the house. I couldn't see a thing, no light at all available, even from the moon. It was the blackest night, even more so than the night before. I stumbled in the darkness trying to find any kind of relief for Dorian, just medicine or anything else. Before I could get him upstairs, he collapsed on the floor, unable to grip onto me or walk. I refused to leave him like that, kneeling beside him. He was staring up at the ceiling again, eyes rolling in the back of his head. I lifted his head off the floor, shaking him and trying to get him to look at me. His eyes just kept rolling, unable to focus. He was trying, but he had no control. His body was limp, but I felt his muscles tense each time he attempted to look at me or lift his head. There were sounds when he tried to speak, but they were unintelligible. I started to cry, panicking the hardest I'd ever panicked in my life. I dragged him over to the window where a minimal amount of light came in. I sat him up against the wall, holding his shoulders. A violent surge made him twitch, and a horrifying dark liquid came up from his stomach. He was trying to scream but it was drowned out and choked. Despite not being able to express any emotion to me, he was scared, his hand tensing on mine. His stomach lurched violently several times, and so much black stuff came up. Every time he tried to fall over, desperate for the floor, I held him up. His heart was pounding hard, faster than I thought possible. I was thankful that he could still breathe, though it was very labored breathing. He stopped coughing, but the scary part was, he didn't seem able to anymore. It seemed there was nothing I could possibly do to help, sitting there beside him helplessly holding him upright. I was pleading with some unknown force to let Dorian live, to leave him alone. It was the worst thing I'd ever seen, continuous twitching and vomiting up copious amounts of what could have been blood. I prayed it wasn't blood, watching all of it drip down from his mouth and covering the floor. I feared he was gone, watching him convulse for what felt like an eternity. He wasn't coming back but still tried to hold my hand and communicate. Tiny little sounds that could have been words kept coming from his throat, followed by the liquid. I didn't dare sniff it to check for the metallic smell of blood. He was so desperate to fall to his side, so I allowed him, keeping his head up and to the side so he wouldn't choke. There was no end in sight, just a constant stream of lurching, noises, vomit, and convulsions. I tried to get a grip on the situation, trying to stay calm in case Dorian could feel my fear. He still couldn't look directly at me but he was trying to. I wondered for a while if he was trying to speak his last words, or if he was trying to tell me what to do. Either way I couldn't make it out, so I hoped it wasn't important. I felt all I could do was stay with him, stroking his hair.

Once I looked up to make sure we were alone, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. Nothing else was in the house with us. I felt a little better thinking maybe the demons hadn't returned. I couldn't bear sitting there unable to help. I feared what would happen if I didn't intervene. Going against everything I knew, I ran upstairs in a last ditch effort to try my best. Halfway under my bed was the book, still open to the page with the chants on it. I flipped through in the darkness, using a match to read each page. There wasn't anything like Dorian's symptoms mentioned anywhere. I was on my own for this one. I threw the book down and retrieved the Stainthorpe pendant, rushing downstairs with it clutched firmly in my hand. Dorian's condition hadn't changed. I lifted his head again and pinned the pendant to his waistcoat, paying close attention to his movements. He tensed up completely before one final explosion erupted from inside him, a whole mess of stuff flowing out all over the floor. He screamed clearly afterward, the sound piercing my heart like a railroad spike. His eyes still rolled, but something new was happening. A bright light illuminated from the back of his eyeballs, an orange hue gently lighting them up. It got brighter and then went out completely. I stared at him, waiting for something good to finally happen. He screamed again, writhing all over the floor. I couldn't hold onto him, losing my grip as he started freaking out. His screams were loud, filling the house with the most guttural sounds of pain. Finally he lied down flat on his back, a few feet away from the horrible mess on the floor. I moved with him, looking down at him. The ordeal seemed to be over now. He was panting heavily and looking up at the ceiling with wide terrified eyes. He searched for me, grabbing onto my arm with cold shaking hands.