Okay, I know the first few chapters may be a bit confusing (unless you've already figured out what's going on—if so, you may be as messed up as me. Lol), but don't worry. It's meant to be that way and it will all become clear soon. I hope.
Chapter Two
She was on the ground, not moving. Still. So still.
Why was she so still?
He moved closer. He couldn't get closer. And then suddenly he was too close. And the pavement—why was the pavement so dark? The stain seeped out, spreading across the pavement.
Spreading. Spreading.
Until it reached his beat up brown shoes. He crouched and touched two fingers to the dark concrete. They came away red.
Always red.
He looked back over to her. Her hair was dark, matted with liquid. So dark he couldn't see the color, but he just knew.
It was red. It always was.
His hands hung limply at his side for a moment before moving—seemingly of their own volition. He took a step closer to her, hands gliding through the air in movements that were both familiar and strange.
She wasn't moving. Would she ever move again?
He needed her to move. He needed…
The light was bright. The room was white. He blinked down at his hands, stuck under the faucet of the sink. The white porcelain lay underneath water that was stained a pale pink. The warm water fell from the faucet, pouring over his hands. Through them. Then hitting the porcelain pink rather than clear. By the touch of his hands, the water was transformed. His lips twitched in a small smirk.
Like a baptism. Touch. Water. Transformation.
He stood there until the water ran cold. He didn't feel the chill. He stared at the water running.
Running. Running.
He stared until it ran clear.
And then he raised his eyes to the small, cracked mirror in front of him. A man with blue eyes and wavy blond hair looked back. The man looked tired. Why was he so tired? Lines created a fine web around the tired blue eyes. Dead eyes. Vacant eyes.
Her eyes were closed, but he knew that green gaze would stare up into nothing if they were open. Dead. Vacant.
He shook his head, ridding it of the dark-haired woman's image. The man in front of him did the same, the movement marred by the network of cracks in the glass.
Without turning off the water, he turned and went to the bed across the room. Now he was tired. He didn't want to see that man, didn't know him, didn't want to know him. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to forget. Or remember. He couldn't tell which.
He lay back and looked hard at the crystal ball. Wondered if it could tell him something. Wondered what people thought when they saw it, when they asked questions of it.
"The Kingdom of God is a real place…"
The words came on the heels of a memory of red hair and with it a rush of loneliness, longing, pain, panic. He blinked, pushing it away.
He didn't want remember. He wanted to forget. Definitely forget.
He concentrated on the crystal ball and closed his eyes.