Chapter 25
Phaedrus turned away from Harry who was quickly losing a battle against sleep. Though the boy seemed determined to stay awake for his father, Phaedrus knew that it was a fight that he couldn't win in his current condition.
Arriving at the man's bedside, Phaedrus gazed down upon him sadly. It would be a miracle if he made it through the night. It was a miracle that he had made it through the previous night. It had taken Phaedrus the better part of the day once he had woken near the pair to get them to his home.
Closing his eyes tightly and massaging the bridge of his nose, Phaedrus reflected on how he would break the news to Harry and how the child would react. A shutter ran through his body as his eyes snapped open. Ashamed of himself for practically signing the man's death warrant, Phaedrus pulled himself out of that mindset.
Walking briskly to the other side of the bed where he had set up a chair and table next to the bed to care for Harry's father, he sat down and felt the man's forehead and cheeks with the back of his hand. In contrast to Harry's feverish condition, his father was cold and pale, most likely due to the loss of blood.
Casting a quick side glance at Harry, he noted that the teen had already fallen into a heavy sleep. Turning his attention back to the unconscious man before him, Phaedrus dipped his hand into a shallow bowl of warm water that was sitting atop the side table. Lifting out a cloth that had been soaking in the water, he brought it down over the ugly wound that cut across the man's chest. The deep gash was a fierce red which contrasted against the man's pallid torso. It would take weeks to heal properly.
His breathing seemed to be steady, a good sign, but it was also shallow.
Phaedrus took the cloth off of the man's chest and wrung out the bloody contents in another bowl that was placed by his feet. After tossing the cloth into a pile of reddened rags he picked up another cloth and this time only covered the wound.
Turning his attention to the man's less serious injuries, Phaedrus began to clean and then ardently study them one by one. So far he hadn't found any caused by a bite though he knew that he must inspect the body thoroughly. He silently prayed that he wouldn't find any. If he did, it might be best that Harry's father not survive. He often times wished that he hadn't. As he scrutinized the fresh marks on the man's neck, he began to mindlessly finger his neck where the fangs had turned him into the monster that he was.
His eyes began to wander up to the man's face and lingered on the row of parallel cuts that now marred his cheek. Bringing his hand away from his neck, Phaedrus traced the wounds in the air with his finger tips. Collecting his fingers into a fist, he recoiled and stood abruptly, picking up the bowl of water and walked into a dimly lit adjacent room.
His hands were shaking and water was sloshing onto the floor. He had broken into a nervous sweat. Placing the bowl on the counter near an iron sink, he pumped the lever allowing water to flow from the faucet. Splashing his face with the cool water, he concentrated on steadying himself.
Turning his back to the sink, Phaedrus was surprised at his own weakness when his knees buckled, rendering him helplessly to the floor. His back ached as did the rest of his body. It always did after his transformations.
His vision blurred slightly and he could sense his own exhaustion threatening his consciousness. Allowing his upper body to slip to the floor's wooden planks, Phaedrus breathed deeply and slowly. He could tell that it was beginning to help when his vision cleared.
From this position he could see the dimming light from the fire. He knew that he had to keep it going if the stranger was to have any hope.
Feeling the danger of blacking out fading away, Phaedrus cautiously pushed himself up into a sitting position. His senses felt normal again. Confident that he would be able to stand, Phaedrus pulled himself up to his feet. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it down in one gulp and filled it again.
He collected a pile of clean rags and soaked them in the bowl of warm water before returning to the man's bedside with a glass of water.
Seating himself, Phaedrus placed the bowl of rags on the table and now turned to the lifeless body next to him. Gently raising the man's head, Phaedrus tilted the glass and parted his lips to allow the water to flow in.
Suddenly the man began to cough up some of the water. Phaedrus had expected some of it to get into his lungs, an unfortunate side effect, but what happened next shocked him.
The man's eyes opened. He obviously had been woken by his body's expulsion of the water. In the man's eyes, Phaedrus could see confusion, fear, and weariness staring back at him.
Author's note: Okay, really sorry about the delay. But for someone who's unemployed and not in school, I've actually been busy. Anyway, I'm sorry that this was short but I'm having writer's block. I'm not quite sure what I want to do with Phaedrus yet. Also, thank you to all those who reviewed the last chapter and any previous chapter. I really appreciate the feedback!