Chapter 16

Draft

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When you came home today, the living room was empty.

The TV is still on, the lights are off, and the fluorescent lights from the screen shines on the empty sofa. You turn on the lights in the living room and see the mug that had shattered into pieces on the ground. There are no traces of a break in, several very terrifying possibilities appear in your mind, but you reject them and rule them out one by one. Before you could think more, you open the bathroom door, turn on the bathroom light, and see Lemuel inside.

He's wearing the sweater and trousers you've bought, curled up in the tub in the same pose as before. Lemuel kept looking at the direction of the door, like he was preparing for your entry, like he just wanted to come back and relive what it was like to live in the bathtub. However Lemuel's rigid body disagrees with this, when you stepped into his field of vision, the arms around his knees loosen into an unnatural position, like a frozen package falling apart.

You've seen a similar situation in some refugees. They hide in a small space in order to escape and keep their muscles tense for a long time. When they're rescued, most of them would get muscle spasms, or become so tense they couldn't move. This isn't the case with snipers who need to lurk for a long time, well-trained soldiers can control their physical condition, and only those who are scared crazy will use unnecessary and excessive force.

"Are you all right?" You ask.

You stand by the door, keeping the lights on. Your voice is soft, you've used the same tone to treat the rescued refugees. You go into work mode, say soothing words like "it's all right" and "you're safe", guessing about what had happened. When you entered the room was pitch black, Lemuel didn't turn off the television, and most of the time he wouldn't turn off the lights, so maybe it wasn't dark yet when something happened. It gets dark earlier because of the season, so he must've been in the bathroom for at least several hours.

Lemuel shakes his head irritably, and you close your mouth.

"Enough, don't do that..." He says.

Lemuel stops and wipes his face. He hates your attitude, but you don't know exactly what it is that he hates. He's more relaxed now than when he first saw you, as always, embarrassment follows fear, like it's something to be ashamed of.

"It's not," You say.

"What?" Lemuel mutters.

"It's not your fault," You say.

"Of course it's not," He says through gritted teeth, gesturing rudely. Lemuel's hands tremble slightly, and you think that this time it's mainly due to anger, not fear. He reaches for the edge of the bathtub but soon realizes that he won't be able to stand up smoothly even while holding on to it. He lets go again.

"Then why are you mad at yourself?" You say. "I've seen many survivors, and few are as brave as you."

Lemuel frowns as you speak, like your words are unbearable for him. He obviously doesn't want to hear you talk about it, even if he had told you everything about his past.

No, Lemuel just told you about his human life, from birth to his awakening, and he never said a word after that. You're the one who cleaned his wounds, it had told you what happened but he had never talked about it.

You've never discussed this, about what happened to Lemuel, about your thoughts on it. Some people think that encounters should be shared, others see it as a minefield, and you can never tell the difference between the two. In the past, you just had to stay put and wait for the people in need to come to you. If some people need help but don’t come to you because of various reasons, you can only regret the consequences of them not being treated— still, it's their choice, isn't it? It's not your job. But you can't do that with Lemuel, he's unique, you can't take the risk of failure.

"People will feel fear because they've been hurt, just like how palms shrink back when they touch the flame. This is a very normal reaction." You try to understand him, comfort him, "Pain and fear keep us alive. You didn't cause any trouble."

"There was a knock on the door," Lemuel says quickly.

Rather than being moved by your comforting words, he make a self-defeating confession so that you could shut up and stop talking about these things. "At morning, there was a knock on the door," He repeats, it seems to explain why he broke the cup, left the TV on, and hurried to the bathroom where he's hiding now.

Lemuel hasn't had nightmares for a few days, and winds wouldn't frighten him. His actions are becoming more and more natural, like an ordinary tenant who's staying over. He's pretty tenacious, he seems to be trying to adapt to everything around him changing. Because he adapts well, you really believe that he's quickly getting better.

"It's the nearby believers," You say. "They won't come in."

Lemuel nods casually, pursing his lips. Every second you stand here talking, the more uncomfortable he looks. You think: he doesn't believe it and just wants you to go away.

Verbal expressions don't work, you have to walk away first, go back to the living room, and clean up that broken mug. You made dinner as usual and called Lemuel when you were done, but he didn't come out. You started eating alone, went out, came back, exercised, and when you were about to take a shower, Lemuel finally dawdled out of the bathroom. You warm up the dinner reserved for him and go take that shower. After washing you went into the room, opened the third drawer, and took out the gun.

The clergy also have guns, but in such a small and peaceful town, every use of a gun needs to be reported. This is quite troublesome. This isn't your gun, its the gun that Lemuel snatched from a certain girl, the one he used to blow up his head. You brought back the bloody Lemuel and the bloody gun that night, and now they look clean and whole. There's five bullets left in this gun, it should be enough.

You're back in the living room, Lemuel's still poking at the dinner with his fork, absent-minded and without appetite. In this weather, most of the food gets cold quickly. You sit across from him and he glances up at you, picking up speed and stuffing the rest of the food into his mouth. The time when he finally finished eating was ten thirty-seven in the evening. The holy pigeon you just released guarantees that the streets within one thousand meters are empty, the conditions are very good.

"Come with me, please," You say to Lemuel.

Lemuel follows you hesitantly, leaving the living room, walking through the hallway. You come across a door. You open the door, and the creak makes him wince.

"Is it cold?" You ask.

You walk towards Lemuel, he takes a step back reflexively and stops abruptly. You walk past him and go to the hanger, you grab a coat, put it on him, and he becomes as stiff as the hanger. You walk out the door, but Lemuel doesn't follow. He stands in the doorway and looks at you, his face pale.

"Don't worry, there's no one else here," You say.

It's guaranteed to have no effect, Lemuel grabs the collar of his coat, holding it tight, like it's too cold to leave the collar open (why doesn't he button it up). He's stares at you with that kind of searching look he's been using countless times these days- it's stiffer than usual, and you can almost hear his head scrambling to analyse whatever it is going on inside your mind. You stand there, looking at him, and let him dig calmly.

You don't know what Lemuel sees, after a minute or two, he drops his eyes. He broke eye contact, his eyes wandered, and you suddenly have a strange feeling, as if you had won an unexpected victory for no reason. An old wolf looks away in your confrontation, hanging his tail and showing his throat, old and sick, unable to fight any more.

"I'm... sorry," Lemuel says dryly, looking at the floor. "I didn't mean it."

"What?" You say.

"The cup," He answers, licking his lips, "I'll pay you, if you need anything..."

"Please don't mind, I'll buy another one tomorrow," You reply, "It's not too expensive. "

"Oh," Lemuel says, "Okay..."

But he didn't look good, his Adam's apple moved, and he blinked quickly, pale as a ghost. You can't help but look back outside, wondering if there's some beast out there that you didn't know about. The night's so quiet, you've successfully uncovered all the gunshots and demon incidents in the middle of that night. The residents around you are relieved, and the doors and windows become closed. They go home early and go to bed early, they have no curiosity about that night. The street's deserted, the curtains cover every window, the pigeon's patrolling the neighborhood. You're so well prepared that even if a dozen demons were to sing and dance in this place, nobody else would notice.

"I- I won't touch anything," Lemuel says quickly, "I can stay in the bathroom, I'm not going anywhere..."

"You don't have to stay there!" You also say quickly, "You're free, and I have no intention of restraining you."

You've interrupted him twice in a row, it was quite rude, but you're too confused and eager to explain. Why did Lemuel suddenly say that? What happened? Are you doing something wrong? You feel restless and overwhelmed, and lo and behold, once you do something outside of the rules, here's the consequence: there's no right answer. There's no scripture or teacher who can give you the right way. If you don't follow the rules, things will go bad.

Your answer makes Lemuel's face pale, the sparks in his eyes are no longer jumping nervously, worse, they've been completely extinguished. You almost want to turn your head back and wonder if that would be the way it was before, and your bad decision—whatever it was—would go away like it never happened. But Lemuel walks out the door, he stopped saying vague words and just walked out.

In your expectations, this is what should've happened just now. You let him come with you so that you could walk out the door together, plain and simple, isn't it? You shut the door as calmly as you can, pull out your gun and turn to look at Lemuel, who's now looking directly at you again with a certain numb calmness, like a fish on a chopping block looking at the butcher's knife.

You pull the trigger a few times under this unsettling stare with no response.

"Safety," Lemuel says. Then you remember that you've forgotten to unlock the safety, and open it in a hurry. You shoot again.

The prayer just placed at the door could limit the sound of gunfire to a range of only a few meters nearby, the shooting won't alarm anyone. You fire a shot at the closed door, and the bullet slides over it, the case falls to the ground with a clanking sound. You fire one shot at the windows, walls and water pipes of the house, the house is left unscathed thanks to your fool-proof protection. With only one last bullet left, you put the gun in Lemuel's hand.

"You can shoot anywhere in this house," You say. "Any area is well-protected, and lightweight firearms can't do considerable damage."

You've been glancing at Lemuel every time you shoot, and it's nice to see his expressions change, albeit in a direction different than you expected. Lemuel looks more and more surprised, and more and more confused. He takes the gun, looks at the gun and then at you, completely puzzled. You eagerly go to the corner of the garden and pick up the shovel, stuffing it into Lemuel's hands and saying, "You can try this as well."

"...What?" Lemuel finally says.

"There are forty prayers on one wall alone. Each prayer is arranged in a seven-layer structure. It not only provides protection against demons, but also has excellent barriers against high temperatures and physical trauma." You carefully commentate, "Theoretically, it can withstand more than ten rounds under cannons, so in this small town where the strongest firepower is limited to light firearms, no one can enter uninvited, they can't get in, you can try it."

Lemuel starea blankly at the gun and the shovel, and you saw realization climb up his face little by little. He raises his head suddenly, his expression is quite complicated, many emotions are mixed together, like shock, like anger, like hope, you can't tell. Lemuel takes a breath and shoves everything you have given him back into your hands.

"Understood." Lemuel says hoarsely, "Can I go back?"

You nod and open the door.

Lemuel's tense shoulders collapse, and now he looks exhausted out of his life. He gets in as soon as the door is opened, sitting back on the sofa and hugging the cushions like he wanted to take root there. He looks at you like you're going to lounge forward and grab his blanket. You walk around to avoid suspicion, you pick up the mess you left behind, and hear Lemuel muttering softly: "You're sick."

"I'm not." You retort, "I'm healthy."

"You're definitely fucking sick." Lemuel replies, his voice a little louder.

He didn't look angry or scared, and his voice trembled a little, but anyway, it was much better than before. That unknown mistake you've made seems to pass without your knowledge. You breathe a sigh of relief and didn't make any more excuses about your health.

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PastTimer: In case you didn't read, updates will now be moved to Friday. The only issue I had was the inexplicable 'for the rest of his life' that been popping up, idk what it means and it doesn't seem to contribute much (?) so I just weeded it out.