Scent of silk

14| Vestige

My mind wandering off to every event that had occurred after meeting him. Once again the vivid images of the black wolf ran through my mind, this time I tried to push past the fear that had bottled up inside me and tried to really observe what the universe was trying to tell me.

Images of the scar held my focus for the longest as I made a mental note to look into that. The contradiction to reality, scar on right side of his hip, and vision, left side of his hip dawned on me. Like earlier, when I'd tried to ask him about his scar. Surely Gaetano was in no position to tell me, he'd rather die before he'd told me the truth I assumed, but somehow his reaction to my question hadn't sit right with me.

It wasn't just the fact that he appeared to be in shock once I'd asked about his scar. It had more to do with the fact he didn't pursue on questioning me about my dreams or the reason behind my question. When in the past, he was more than eager to find out all and every detail about my dreams. He also expressed his fear of me leaving him, when he would spill his secrets. Not knowing sooner or later the truth will be revealed. Wether in vision or in events. It always does.

An unexpected breeze managed to awaken me from a blissful state of mind. Even though the mystery had yet to be unraveled, somehow I'd felt like I was on the right track.

An object, scudded along with the wind, had caught my eye. The ceasing of wind caused the object to lie right before my feet. Out of curiosity I'd bend down and grabbed a hold of it.

I had felt it, the sudden shift in air, the eerie feeling of a presence near me. The shivers that ran up my spine made it impossible to ignore. I turned around frantically, searching for the intruder. Part of me wanted to shit my pants out of fear and the other part of me needed to find out. Fortunately, I couldn't see it. But I could sense it, something was making its way towards me.

Holy Fucking Shit.

Needless to say, I ran like a bitch. Under no circumstances I was willing to get caught again.

Once I was back in the house, I'd locked the door behind me. When doing so, something shimmery in the garden had caught my attention, unwillingly my gaze rested upon a shimmery indigo light, its movements swiftly and fast. Reforming into purple eyes matching my gaze. In fear, I stepped back, as I leaned against the door as I tried to catch my breath. My heart rapidly slamming against my chest the anxiety still present.

Paralysed, I just stood there, hiding behind the thick grey curtains, shielding myself from whatever was out here. Racing thoughts about whoever it could be, whatever it was completely consumed my mind.

Shaky hands held on to the object even tighter. The rough edges almost caused a paper cut in my hand. Carefully, I examined it, my eyes traced the lines of a vague almost faded, residue of a handwriting.

urgery Gaeta, 1998.

Upon studying it even closer, turning it around, a little boy, dressed in a blue pants and white t-shirt was standing in front of an elderly male. It appeared to be an old ruptured family picture, evident, the vestige of a torn family.

The grin plastered on the little boys face seemed kind of familiar, though I couldn't grasp who I was looking at that point in time. Something odd that caught my eye was the third leg next to the boy just along the side of the ripped edge. I was convinced the leg belonged to another child.