And So He Ran.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Wet grass hitting my feet, the bright sun hitting my skin, forcefully wind hitting my very being. I feel free, alive.

"Enter," My voice rang when I spoke.

There at the door standing, her hair tucked in a low bun. She looked nervous like the first time I met her. She looked metaphysical.

"I'd like to apologize for what happened days ago." She tautly uttered.

I let her sit in front of me, head bowed low still, her eyes red, as I scanned her, seeing the marks of restless sleep on her face. She is tired. Her mind is floating, raging elsewhere. As she talked with me, her hands tight by her side, I reached to her. Now we are standing by the windows. The cars, horses, and houses are all visible in the view. We talked for hours till the afternoon plunged into the stars. I felt her voice, touch, her scent. Facing her, I kissed her, hoping she'd pull away to stop me.

She didn't, except she pulled me closer, like fire burning dangerously in the woods. The room somehow felt thick, small, and narrow for the two of us. Breathes raging, minds clouded, skin touching. And I don't know how to stop.

I left early morning, clothed myself, and rode to the only place I could truthfully find peace. Mount Erphai is an unpopular mountain. A mountain lost in history to most, forgetting its wide and high breathtaking view. The trees danced with the wind. The birds nesting, the deers, and horses prancing. It was peaceful, something taken and made real from the pages of fantasy. And you can see it all, absolute and tangible.

Last night in the arms of Matilde was a haze. Her red hair grazed my face, her face glowing with desire. And up till now, I can feel my body ache.

"Well, Mr. Crofton, it seems like our paths just kept on crossing, hm?

A voice spoke behind me. Then in seconds, beside me.

"You are quite a mysterious person," She sighed. "I know it. I just can't put my finger on it."

"Then maybe I'm just your average man who kept on running your mind." I smiled at her, watching her brows crease her forehead. Frustration bubbling fresh in her, she looks like a grumpy cat, and I heard myself chuckle with that in mind.

"Mysterious people are dangerous animals. And you're no exception." She declared clear as any day. I didn't tell her directly that she looked like a grumpy cat. Still, I wonder if I did.

My emptied desk sulk in the middle of the room. Letters and papers all cleared, leaving a rusty key behind. I called for Matilde, asking about the key at my desk, which she answered with a shake of her head.

Driving a car, I decided to visit an old man near the Qoar docks, famous for his knowledge of keys. Breil Locke. Hours seemed to pass by in a blur, the road busied by crowds, cars, and horses. The chatters pass through the sealed doors of the vehicle.

Upon entering, the bell rang, colliding with the old wooden walls of the store. The dust evident, keys of sorts framed at the counter.

"Hello? Is anyone present?" I questioned the room, seemingly still and empty. Again I asked, but louder. The room remained motionless, taking my chance. I searched the room, looking, searching for something that might hint to me about the key. Opening drawers, papers, and keys jiggle with each close and open movement of their boxes.

"Help."

The man has a heart attack.

Racing with time, I carried the man. His arm hung around my neck while the other was swaying as we exited the door. I found him earlier asking for help, his body laying on a dust-covered floor, his eyes flickering, his voice stuck in his throat, unable to open his mouth. He would have died as a rug in that old box. Glimpsing at him through the rearview mirror, he looked like someone around the age of 70. 65 perhaps. He is married, stated by the golden ring on his ring finger, his clothes old, rumpled from work.

The hospital turned heads as the doctors rushed us to the emergency room. A tear fell down his cheek as he lay silently on a stretcher, his life depending on the hands of the professionals handling him.

Waiting outside, a woman approached me, urging me towards the doctor's office. To which I silently obliged. Inside they gave me a handful of medications, receipts, and notes in a paper bag.

"What are these?" I pointed at the bag handed to me. The doctor laughed in humor.

"These... is a paper bag." He smiled apologetically, holding his laugh by the look of his reddening skin.

"I know that it's a paper bag. But why hand it to me?" I asked intentively. To which he explained to an extent. I brought the patient to the hospital, so I'll be the one who'll take him back since there are no contacts or records that can pick him up, explained the doctor.

"This is not how hospital etiquette works."

"Really?" The doctor answered, his head tilted to the side, eyes narrowing.

"I was a doctor. The hospital will take the patient." I stubbornly replied, my voice starting to rise, my throat drying.

"Well, as a fellow doctor, I ask you to remember your oath. It is there, for a reason to be fulfilled, ex-doctor or not." And they sent me out with a piece of manned baggage and a bag of medications. Doctors.

We came to my house, his body lying still on the couch as I ordered Matilde to prepare the room near the east wing. While I waited, I called on Anarie, her hands covered in paint. Asking about the man lying on our couch, I held her on my lap, watching her bloom curiosity. It was near night when Anarie finally fell asleep, mumbling her dreams. And I was struck by the point that I needed to focus my time on my child. Anarie will soon grow, standing on her feet like the lioness she was meant to be.

A grunt took my attention. The man from the store was now conscious, terminally ill, but alive.

"This ain't heaven." he abrasively spoked, directing his head from both directions.

"Eager to die?"

He scoffed, coughing the phlegm caught in his throat.

"Thank you," he blandly whispered as he held the glass of water in his shakey hands. "To answer your question, sir. I am not eager to die. I just preferred to stay dead."