In-Between

:warning: Trigger/content warning :warning:

Mild blood, death

Word count: 3215

    The room was small but didn't feel suffocating. Most people would probably call it comfortable. A single window on the back wall was an illusion of freedom, the gray clouds lazily slipping past. No curtains obstructed the view of the city beyond, allowing the dim light from the mostly hidden sun to illuminate certain parts of the boring beige walls. A clock ticked away nonstop, a reminder of the wasted hours spent here. The faint smell of lavender from the diff sitting on an otherwise empty shelf was meant to calm, but the smell made his stomach twist.

    Dr Harper was in her late forties, a few gray hairs sneaking in here and there, almost hidden in her perfect bun. She looked composed, and professional as she attentively watched him.

     Dr Harper looked down at the folder in her hands and read softly, wanting him to hear her, but pretending as if she didn't.

     “Isaac Thorne, twenty-two, lives alone in a one-room apartment, works at Smitty's as a server, back at home with his parents as he recovers.” Her gaze came up to meet his. His hollow eyes locked onto hers as he tried to understand what she wanted and why he was there.

      She'd seen plenty of survivors from numerous accidents, but something about the way he looked at her sent a chill down her spine. His dark eyes were haunted, filled with things she couldn't understand, but they also held something else, something that felt ancient.

     “Your parents say you're having trouble ing…most things. That you're calling yourself by another name?” She broke eye as hers drifted to his neck where his skin on the left side was tight and scared from the fire. His trauma was real. The rest…well, that's why he was here.

     After what felt like far too long, he blinked slowly as his focus moved to the window again. When he spoke, his voice was low, sad. “They mean well. They loved him. But I'm not Isaac.”

    “Isaac…” She began but was cut off.

    “I'm not Isaac.” His voice was a bit louder now, a tinge of annoyance hanging on his words.

     Dr Harper hesitated then scribbled something in her notebook. His voice stopped her mid-writing as she looked up again.

     “He died in that building. The fire, the smoke. It overtook him. He ran into the flames without a second thought. When that little girl screamed, everyone froze…everyone except him.” He talked as if he were speaking about someone he didn't know, like he was just a witness to what happened, not the hero.

     He closed his eyes as images flashed behind his lids. Smoke coiled like snakes in the hallway, climbing the walls. Screams echoed through the thick heat. Alarms wailed, shrill, and panicked. Isaac stumbled forward in nothing but his pajama bottoms, his arm draped over his mouth, choking.

     People were running down the hall, tripping over each other in their haste to escape. A scream. Everyone stopped and looked back at the closed door. The scream of a terrified child split the air again. Fire licked the door as if tasting it. Someone said it was too late. Isaac bolted towards the screams, through the intense flames. Inside, a small girl of maybe four or five was huddled behind a couch, a stuffed rabbit clutched to her chest. She didn't respond when Isaac called to her. She was frozen in fear.

     “She was crying. He couldn't leave her.” His voice was far away, soft, almost hypnotic.

     Isaac pushed the couch away and scooped her into his arms, yanking a small blanket from the back and draping it over her. The fire seemed to come to life behind him. Angry. Vengeful. The ceiling groaned, a mournful cry of its imitate demise.

     Isaac ran back through the flames hiding the door, ignoring the searing pain as the heat bubbled his flesh. The hallway collapsed behind him as he held the girl tight, shielding her. A burning beam slammed into his back, sending him to his knees. So much smoke. He couldn't breathe. Like drowning on dry land.

     Somehow, Isaac pushed to his feet, and stumbled to the stairs. They were gone. Fallen victim to the hungry inferno. A fireman on the landing below him called to Isaac, hands reaching up for the kid. He had no choice. Isaac tossed her down and across the burning void. Then the floor gave out and took Isaac with it.

     “He saved that little girl. He couldn't save himself. He was broken by the fall.”

    Silence. Darkness. And then…a pulse. A soft light flickered in the deep, pale, and cold, like a star ed from a dream. A stone cracked open under Isaac's body.

     “I felt him die. Not with fear, but purpose. In that moment…I was unbound.”

    A low chant drummed through the air, there but not. Like a memory of a memory. Candles sat around the broken stone, somehow undisturbed by the chaos around them, their flames flickering wildly.

A dark shadow emerged from the crack in the stone, gliding upwards towards the scorched body of Isaac. Not violent. Not cruel. But ancient. It touched the burnt body of the boy and paused, listening.

     ‘Not taken.’ The shadows' thoughts echoed.

     “When his soul let go… I…stepped in.”

    “And who are you then?” Dr Harper asked as she leaned forward a little.

     His eyes locked onto hers again, and just for a moment, his eyes shimmered. Not glowing, exactly, but lit from within. A pale, silver flicker, like moonlight skimming across deep water. His voice was just above a whisper, but clearly heard. “I am Noctavian.”

    Dr Harper's breath caught in her throat before she pulled herself together, telling herself that it was a trick of the light. Ignoring what she just saw, repeating over and over that people's eyes don't glow, she continued with her questioning.

     “That's a different name. Where does it come from?”

     “From those before time.”

    “Are you insinuating that you're some ancient being? An angel perhaps?” Dr Harper asked as she leaned back and crossed her ankles, her brow raised.

     “I am neither angel nor demon. I am what lies between.”

     Dr Harper studied his face. He sounded convincing as if he truly believed his own words. “Then what are you?”

     Noctavian tilted his head to the side just a smidge, his eyes darkening. “Hungry.”

    Just as the words ed his lips the timer went off, ending their session. Dr Harper blinked as she nodded, a fake smile playing on her face. “I guess it is about lunchtime.”

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    “So? How'd your first session go? Do you like Dr Harper? Is she nice?” Valerie asked as she navigated the SUV down the wet roads of downtown Bridelville.

     Noctavian watched as shop after shop whizzed by through the rain-spattered side window. “We'll see.”

     Isaac's mother, Valerie, glanced at him when he didn't say anything more, then her gaze shifted to the rearview mirror, where she exchanged a glance with her daughter, Page. Page shrugged.

     “Let's grab some lunch. Page and I have worked up quite the appetite.” Valerie’s chucked sounded too high-pitched as she glanced at Noctavian again.

     Noctavian pretended he didn't notice how many times she checked on him, or the way he could feel Page's eyes boring a hole through the back of his head. He knew they were worried, and rightfully so. He wasn't who they thought. He was an imposter. He tried to tell them, he wasn't hiding anything. They just weren't listening.

     They called it shock, trauma, PTSD. They had many names for what they thought he was suffering from. The doctors said he was disassociating. A way of coping with the tragedy of all the lives lost, a way for him to manage the horror of his own close call with death. The memory loss was blamed on the head injuries sustained in the fall.

     He wasn't crazy. He knew what he was, and who he wasn't. He wasn't Isaac. Never had been. But they were hell-bent on making him think he'd lost his mind. Everyone insisted he was this hero, a man who risked everything to save a child. No matter how many times he argued that he saved no one, it fell on deaf ears. Survivors' guilt. Another word often used to describe his condition.

     “Isaac? Are you okay?” Valerie was crouched down beside the open door of the car, gently shaking his shoulder.

     Noctavian shook his head to dislodge the thoughts swirling inside. “I'm fine.” As badly as he wanted to correct the name she used, he held his tongue.

     The restaurant was crowded. It seemed the whole town was hiding there, waiting out the storm. The smell of cooked meat with an overbearing amount of seasoning filled the air. The place buzzed with conversations and the clanking of dishes.

     “Wow. I guess we picked the most popular place, huh?” Page wrapped her arm around Noctavian's as they followed the hostess to the last avaliable table.

     Noctavian excused himself as the girls sat, claiming he needed the restroom. The place was too loud, and the smells nauseating. The constant gazes from Isaac's family on top of the knowing glances from the strangers had him on edge. The town was small enough that his face was recognized as “the hero”, but large enough that no one actually knew him. The whispers, the way people looked at him and then quickly looked away were driving him crazy. He splashed cold water on his face and then looked in the mirror. His golden brown hair was disheveled from the wind. His dark chocolate eyes looked tired, and timid. He was too thin, a result of the long hospital stay. He wasn't the man the world saw. He just wanted to be left alone. Or believed. He sighed as he turned away.

     Noctavian returned to Isaac's mother and sister, sitting across from them as they both sat on the same side. So they both could watch him, he assumed.

     “I went ahead and ordered your favorite, hope you don't mind. I figured the sooner we ordered the sooner we got to eat.” Valerie smiled as she looked around, pretending she wasn't keeping an eye on him from her peripheral.

     The women talked nonstop about things Noctavian didn't care about. Clothes, what shops they wanted to hit after lunch, about what sales what store had at the moment. He tuned them out as he closed his eyes and placed his head in his hands, elbows on the table. He needed a nap.

    “Isaac? Sweety? Are you feeling okay?” Valerie was on him within seconds, as if she feared he'd kill over if she wasn't constantly on his case.

     “Noct…” He paused and inhaled deeply. He didn't have the energy for this fight right now. “Just hungry.” He mumbled without lifting his head.

    A few tense moments later the waitress arrived with their food, setting their plates in front of them with such flair you'd have thought she was serving a grand feast to the queen herself.

     Noctavian looked at the dish in front of him in disbelief, his body automatically pushing away from the table as far as the booth allowed. When his heated gaze slid up to meet Valerie's, a subtle flicker of silver danced in his eyes. “You wish for me to consume the carcass of the slain?” His voice was low, a mixture of confusion and accusations.

     Most of the time, Noctavian spoke like Isaac, instinctively structuring his sentence as the young boy would have, but in times of distress, he unconsciously reverted to his old ways.

     Page choked on her drink as her eyes darted from Noctavian to her mother. She grabbed a napkin and held it to her lips as she tried to recover.

     “Isaac!” Valerie scolded as she leaned forward and pointed at the plate. “It's steak. You love steak. You eat it all the time.”

     Noctavian scrunched his nose as he shook his head. “I do not consume carcasses, nor have I ever.”

     “Stop calling it that. It's steak, Isaac.” Valerie feigned patience as she tried to ignore the strange, annoyed looks they were getting from the people closest to them.

     “I am not Isaac!” He yelled as he shoved the plate away in disgust. “And I do not put such foul things into my mouth!” Noctavian stood up as he glared at Valerie, daring her to push the subject.

     Whispers broke out, all eyes were on the angry young man. Even the staff had frozen to watch the show.

     Valerie cleared her throat, then nodded toward the empty seat across from her, her voice low and laced with urgency. “Sit down. You're causing a scene, Isaac.”

    The name being repeated struck like a fist to the gut. Noctavian froze. His eyes ignited, molten and sharp, like twin moons eclipsed in fury. His jaw tensed. The muscles in his neck corded as he inhaled, slow and deliberate, preparing to correct her for what felt like the millionth time.

    “I AM NOT…”

    The front windows exploded. A thunderclap of glass tore through the room like a bomb had gone off. Shards whipped through the air in glittering waves, slicing through furniture, walls, and flesh alike. Screams erupted, raw, animal, panicked, as people ducked, covered their heads, or fell from their chairs in chaos.

    Noctavian didn’t move. Time stuttered. Splinters of glass whistled past him. It felt like thousands of tiny knives attacking his face and body at once. A large chunk was embedded in his left shoulder, but he hardly flinched. His mind lagged behind the violence, stunned, as if reality had buckled beneath his feet.

    Warm blood. Voices to shrill. The taste of ozone in the air. But all he could hear was her voice echoing in his skull.

    Isaac.

     After a few long seconds, he staggered back a step, breath shallow, his eyes still flashing silver, wide and wild. His heart thundered. The air was thick with dust and blood and the sharp, sterile tang of fear.

    ‘Did I do that?’

He looked down at his hands, trembling, cut, and stained red. There was no power crackling through his veins, no pulse of energy in his chest. Just pain. Confusion. The echo of rage.

    ‘No. No, that wasn't me. It couldn't be.’

    “Isaac...” Valerie’s voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper.

    He flinched. Her eyes locked on his, but they weren’t stern or concerned anymore, they were terrified. She was pale, the right side of her face had multiple cuts and blood ran freely, her shoulders were rigid, knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

    “I told you not to call me that.” He said in a low, hoarse voice. But it lacked heat now. It sounded broken. Unsure.

    Page slowly crawled out from under the table, her eyes glued to Noctavian. She glanced back at her mother and then at him again as she backed away. “What did you do?” She looked at him like he was some sort of monster.

     Noctavian shook his head, his eyes pleading for them to believe him this one time. “I…I didn't.” He stammered as he looked from Page to Valerie then back. “I was mad, yes, but I didn't do anything. I wouldn't. I can't.”

     When Noctavian glanced around the room, all eyes were on him. Afraid. Accusing.

     “I didn't…”

    Sirens started in the distance, cutting the silence that felt suffocating. He felt trapped. He couldn't breathe. His heart pounded in his chest so hard it actually hurt. He took a step back, glass crunching under his feet as he looked from one horrified face to another. Then…he bolted.

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    Noctavian sat on a weathered bench under a skeletal tree, his red-stained hands in his lap. Blood dripped onto his pants from the various wounds on his face. His shoulder ached something fierce from the thick piece of glass still embedded in his muscle. But at least the park was quiet. Free from accusing eyes.

     Without conscious thought he'd fled from the carnage at the restaurant, fear and confusion overwhelming him. He had no idea what to do now. Where to go.

     He couldn't go back to Isaac's parent's home. Not after the way Valerie and Page had looked at him. He'd caused them enough grief. And now they were scared of him.

     He didn't causing the explosion. Didn't feel the surge of power, no force pulled from beyond. Just... emotion. Anger. Frustration. And then destruction.

    ‘Was that me? Did I do it?’

    He was never meant to harm. He was supposed to guard. To protect. He'd never been feared before. He hated how it felt. He could see Valerie’s face in his mind, as she watched him, trembling. The way Page backed away from him, accusing him. He could smell the terror that filled the restaurant.

     Noctavian balled his fists, his nails digging into his already battered hands as he growled. ‘They should be afraid.’

    He wasn't Isaac. He wasn't the sweet, timid boy who sacrificed himself for another. That boy was gone. Consumed by the fire. All that remained was him. A being finally unchained, stranded in a world that didn’t want him. That didn’t understand him.

    He looked down at his hands again. At the blood. At the trembling.

    ‘If I didn't do it…then who, or what did?’

    A sudden wind kicked up dirt around his feet. He blinked and looked up, catching a dark figure standing across the street, mostly hidden in the shadows of a large tree. Even though Noctavian couldn't see the person clearly, couldn't even tell which way they were facing, he knew. They were watching him.

     Noctavian's eyes narrowed. Whoever that was, they weren't a friend. He felt it in his bones. They were trouble.

     The shadow moved behind the tree, out of sight. Noctavian sighed and decided it was time to go.

     He wandered the town until the street lamps came on, still having no idea where he was supposed to go. Every now and again he felt the prickling sensation dance across the back of his neck. An instinct. He was being watched.

     When he would turn around, there was nothing. Just empty yards and heavily curtailed windows.

     His shoulders dropped as he took a deep breath. Paranoia. That's all it was. The aftershock of all that happened.

     “I didn't want this.” He whispered to himself as he continued down the street. “I never asked for this.”

    He hadn't chosen the boy. Not really. Isaac's body was practically delivered to him, his soul already gone. And Noctavian, forgotten, trapped, and buried for who knows how long, had awoken to find the body empty. Broken, yes, but salvageable. A vessel. An invitation. But now he was trapped. Confined to flesh. Haunted by memories that weren’t his. Emotions that bled over into his own.

    Noctavian stopped and spun around as something rustled in the bushes behind him. Tired of the cat-and-mouse game, Noctavian walked purposefully to where the noise originated. “You may as well come out. You've been compromised.”

    Nothing. Not even a single leaf moved. Noctavian kicked his foot into the bush a few times, never connecting with anything. Sighing, he backed away as he scanned the area.

     Then, he felt it. Something not human. Not of this world. Something like him…but not. Somewhere out there, something had stirred when he awoke. And it was watching.

Cover pic credits:

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