Beyond The Lost

4

The walk to his home was far. Farther than expected. Jeers followed my heels as I walked alongside him, fidgeting as he fell slightly behind me.

After about twenty minutes, he grabbed my sleeve. "Why are you anxious?"

"I'm not anxious."

"Then is something bothering you?"

"Is something not bothering you?" I glared at him. "People are staring."

"Yes, what's your point?"

"Excuse me!" A tall woman ran over to me and grabbed my arm. "You're the witch, aren't you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"My daughter is in pain."

"Then take her to a doctor." I yanked my arm back from her but she only grabbed it again, desperately.

"A doctor cannot fix this. She's fallen terribly ill." Braids fall down her dark shoulders, skin nearly breathtaking in the cool air. "I fear it's the cause of something darker than any infection."

"Could you be more specific?" He spoke up, making me flinch. Id nearly forgot he was behind me.

The woman looked up at him, eyes widening in what seemed to be fear. "I...I didn't see you there, I apologize."

"No need." He smiled to ease her mind, though his shadow covering me didn't help. I'll admit, he looks mildly intimidating. "I must tell you though, this problem is beyond us."

"But-!"

"Your child has been dead for months. She cannot bring back the dead." He stood up straight, his shadow reaching her feet. "Don't bother her again, we have more important matters to attend to."

"Well I-"

"I'm sorry for your loss and I pray God will help you grieve." He led me back toward the right direction and sighed. His feet hit the ground harshly, almost as if he's angry, but his  face doesn't show it at all.

"Did you know that woman?"

"No, but her daughter follows her around town. She's been dead since July. Died from pneumonia."

By the time we made it to his house, my legs burned and the sky had fallen dark. As soon as I saw the building, I felt as if I was being warned to stay away from it. Still, I followed him inside and watched as he pulled his coat down his shoulders. "What lives here?" I asked quietly, watching the hair on his arms stand up. Broken picture frames hang from the walls, no trace of human life in the house.

Smoky black handprints littered his arms, clearly visible to him as well. He brushed them off as if they were printed with soot, leaving smears of black across his snowy skin. "If I told you that, you'd leave. I feel safer with you here."

"If I'm unaware of my surroundings, I can be in danger. What lives here?"

He smiled anxiously, leaning against the wall to hold his balance. "You don't see them?"

"No. I can only see those tied to me."

He moved further into the house, more handprints appearing on his skin until one specifically larger than the rest covered his mouth and neck. Tears welled in his eyes but his smile remained. "Only one is dangerous, don't worry."

"This isn't what I signed up for." I shook my head. I can't cast out so many-"

"You have to help me." His tears fell, legs beginning to shake as heavy hands clasped his hair and began to tug it to the left. "I need to wash the hands away from me." More handprints began to rise on his face and neck, now blood red as if they burned.

I quickly ran to him and pulled salt from my back, drawing a circle at his feet and burning incense around his body. They stopped appearing on his body, but one set of handprints refused to leave after id already scrubbed a few off with warm water. "Whose are these?" I asked him, careful not to break the ring of salt around him.

"My mother believed it was the devil's handprints." He traced his arm with his own fingers, feeling the red and irritated skin. "They've never left my wrists."

I unbuttoned his shirt to wash the handprints from his back, eyeing the scar printed down his spine. "Have you ever been in an accident? Something deadly?"

His shirt sunk down to his elbows. "No."

"What's your name?"

"Victor."

"Your full name. It could be related to your bloodline."

"Victor Claude Hullan. It was my father's name." He shivers as streaks of water fall down his back. I'm scrubbing at the black handprints, watching them fade little by little.

"It doesn't sound familiar. I'll have to do some research if you want my help to be effective. Get a room somewhere, just not here. If this many spirits are latched to your home, it can't be good for your mental state. Once your mental has collapsed, your body will too. It's no good to be in a place like this. Especially not when they've discovered they can touch you."

"I have nowhere else to stay. It's not like I have any money and if I did, I would use it to pay you."

"I don't need money."

"I want to repay you."

"Repay me by considering my advice. Don't stay here until I can fix this. I might even need to get a priest."

"You're religious?" He laughed at that, feeling the wet rag move from his back to his shoulders and neck. "I've never heard of a witch who doesn't follow religions related to it."

"I used to be religious. I believed Christians. That's why I think an exorcist might actually help. I can help you, but they could defend you."

"Good luck. Dad was a priest."

Beneath the soot on his neck were bruises. Not the kind of bruises I'd seen on myself, but the kind people see on murder victims. Deep fingerprints tugged at his skin, leaving it with yellow edges in the process of healing. "They can cause you harm?"

"Do they not do that usually?"

"No." The fingerprints feel desperate. As if he wasn't the only one who needed help. "Can you hear them?"

"Not often."

"What have you heard?"

"It's never easy to understand." He shrugged, pushing his hair back. "I'm sorry that I put you in danger here."

"So far, I've still got my limbs." I began to feel bad for him, finding more and more bruises as I washed his arms. "How long has this been happening?"

"Which part?"

"How long have they been hurting you?"

"A long time."