Midnight

Chapter 5

Desmond     

     Screams, explosions, crumbling buildings.

     Desmond's eyes abruptly snapped open and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was not dead, which was a good sign, but at the same time he was hurting all over. His side felt like someone had stabbed him but left the blade inside, and he felt a set of thick bandages covering his bullet wound. Desmond shifted and sat up, surveying his surroundings.

      He was situated in a cavernous room with high ceilings and delicately crafted walls. Everything around him looked centuries old, and it definitely showed wear and tear from being in the mountains for so long. Desmond traced his fingers along a spidery crack on the wall and could practically feel eons of history resonating through the structure.

      "Whoa," he breathed.

     At the far end of the room there was an archway with stairs spiraling down towards a lower level.  He got up, leaning on the wall for support while also clutching his bullet-wound. After a moment of pulling himself up from his stiff bed, he staggered over and descended the stairway. Desmond painfully walked down the steps, cautious and hesitant to what he may find. He traversed the corridor leading down, clutching his side the whole way.

     "H-Hello?" called Desmond, his voice echoing through the ancient structure.

     He came to the bottom of the stairs and paused, looking down a cavernous hallway. The ceiling arched high above him and Desmond's shallow breathing bounced off of the walls in echoes. He walked further on, carefully analyzing everything before him. There was movement behind him and he stopped.

     "Hey!" Desmond cried, pushing his back against the wall.

    He looked around and licked his chapped lips. When there was no more movement he cautiously continued onward. He wondered where he was, or who he might have been with. Desmond made his way down another hallway and out of a huge doorway. He paused at the opening, taking in the limitless perspective of the mountains. Desmond leaned against the wall and took in several breaths, holding his wounded side. He closed his eyes for a moment and began to relax.

     Somehow, someway, he had survived the catastrophic bullet-wound that had nearly ended his life. How he had, or who had done it, was a mystery to him. At that present moment he felt more curiosity then fear.

     "O-Olivia?" Desmond called out. "Hello?" 

     "Mr. Pierce," an aged voice whispered from behind, startling Desmond. "I'm glad to see you've adjusted well."

     Desmond's eyes snapped to the side and he beheld, in front of him, an aged man. He observed the old man's characteristics: his hair was thin and his appearance suggested a Tibetan descent. He spoke good English, but some of the original Tibetan could still be heard in a few of the vowels he spoke. The man's skin was worn, possibly due to several years of inhabiting the mountainside.

     "You are very fortunate to be alive," the old man continued. "You lost a lot of blood."

     "Who the hell are you?" replied Desmond, getting defensive. He felt vulnerable because he had no weapons.

     The old man smiled, "You can call me Sensei," he paused as he looked at Desmond's side.

     "Sensei?" Desmond asked. "W-What? Why?"

     "I have trained generations of soldiers," Sensei explained. "They called me Sensei, because I was their teacher. I have been, and always shall be, a teacher."

     Desmond opened his mouth but shut it, confused and in pain.

     Sensei took a step forward and he rested his hand on Desmond's shoulder, "I know you have many questions, and I understand that you are very afraid. Your accomplice told me much about you."