Between Lines

The Dots

Nearly five years had passed since Abigail assumed the role of a mother figure, stepping in for her brother. Their own mother's undivided attention had shifted entirely towards Celeste, who now lay confined to a sterile hospital bed, mostly treated at home and, in some cases, at the hospital, her condition appearing increasingly bleak and devoid of hope.

In her bedroom, she is standing before her open suitcase, a battle of wills raging within her. Her clothes lay strewn about, scattered haphazardly like fallen soldiers on a battlefield. With each inhale and exhale, her breaths came at a rhythm that betrayed her reluctance to pack. The air hung heavy with the weight of her indecision, as if the room itself held its breath, waiting for her to make a choice.

When she retreated to her bedroom, her uncle had quietly trailed behind her and was now gazing fixedly upon her with a perplexed yet compassionate expression. There was something in his eyes that seemed to convey a deep understanding. As she locked gaze with him, she pressed her chest with her right palm, standing there, her eyes gently closing as she sought solace in the darkness behind her eyelids. Every time Celste's irresponsive body undergoes an episode, they have to go stay at her uncle's place as her mother would be at the hospital with Celste, and she hates this arrangement.

The weight of the world seemed to press upon her shoulders, threatening to crush her spirit. In that fleeting moment, Abegail yearned for a breath of air—a precious inhalation that could bring her the calm she so desperately sought. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she willed herself to find composure before allowing any words to escape her lips. The weight of caution hung heavy in the air as she hesitated, unwilling to utter anything that might be misconstrued.

"You know," she murmured, her mind racing, her voice tinged with a sigh that escaped her lips like a gentle breeze. With a subtle shake of her head, she expresses her disbelief. Her room is suddenly cloaked in a sombre silence. "I want to understand her, Uncle Roge. But I cannot explain to Dion why she’s hardly here anymore." She sinks to her bed as she fights to hold her tears in. "I can't do this anymore. It's too much to handle," she says, shaking her head as she sits by the edge of her bed.

"What's all this about?" Roger made his way towards her, his face a mask of calm despite the worry that gnawed at his insides. He attempted to conceal his unease beneath carefully chosen words, hoping to maintain an air of composure in her presence. He possessed a demeanour that did not typically exude a soothing presence, yet deep within his heart, he yearned for her to understand that he stood by her side, ready to offer solace and support. "Aren't you excited that you're coming over? We love having you." With a forced smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he gracefully settled on the edge of the bed beside her. In response, she eagerly scooped him aside, making room for herself under the protective embrace of his left arm.

"It feels like we're troubling you with our bullshit." Abi's voice trembled slightly, betraying a hint of vulnerability. She could no longer contain the tears that welled up in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks like torrential rain. She nevertheless confessed the haunting notion that had plagued her for what seemed like an eternity.

"Not at all," he replied, his voice filled with warmth. With a gentle touch, he tightened his embrace, his arms enveloping her in a warm cocoon. As he held her close, he softly patted her back, a comforting gesture to ease her breathing. He found himself grappling with the enigma of his sister's unwavering optimism, and he was unable to contain his admiration. "She's strong," he whispered, his voice escaping his lips before he even realised it. He sighed, his voice tinged with sadness. "I mean, you don't know how many times I've attempted to step into her shoes," he disclosed, his eyes touched with self-doubt. "And every time I see myself failing to keep up with everything that she is doing now," Abi delicately brushed away the tears that had gathered on her cheeks, her movements filled with determination. With a graceful motion, she brushed her soft, straight black hair back, revealing her face as she positioned herself to face him.

"I also wonder." She nods, and she stands up, her movements deliberately transmitting the message that she is, anyway, tired of the situation. She set about the arduous task of packing her clothes. "I always wonder what she would have done if it wasn't for that fancy man who came to the rescue just when we needed it." Her mind focused on the depths of her thoughts. The circumstances were dire, the stakes were high, and hope seemed to be slipping through their fingers like sand. But just when they needed it most, like a beacon of light cutting through the darkness, he appeared. A man of refinement and elegance, his mere presence exuded an air of confidence and assurance. It was as if fate had conspired to bring him to their aid and offer a solution to their predicament. "More questions after that: what would mom have done without him? Would she have found the strength within herself to proceed like she is now, or would she have decided to let her go? Or, who knows, we might be on the street as well."

"Don't say that," Roger murmured, his voice tinged with sadness. Though he thinks she is right, he doesn't want to feed her thoughts. He also wondered the same thing, but he never dared to ask his sister directly. He knew, deep down, that she possessed an unwavering resolve, capable of moving mountains if need be. He suddenly began to make his way out of her room, as if with an idea. "You know what?" He raised his voice from the corridor, his thoughts consumed by their conversation. "I'll bring Dion home today; you should make your way there now," he thumped, his footsteps resounding as he descended the staircase, his departure imminent. He yearned to grant her a precious moment, a chance to shoulder the weight of Dion's responsibility, if only for a fleeting instant.

"s**t!" She threw her luggage to the ground as she bit her lower lip, rolling her eyes, and took moments to think about what her next move should be. "Okay, mom," With a flurry of nervous energy, she nodded in agreement, her eyes darting back and forth as she pondered the situation. "Let's have it your way." Abigail heaves a sigh of relief. She walks to the bathroom. The dim light cast a faint glow, barely illuminating the space. As she reached the sink, she turned on the faucet, allowing the cool water to flow freely. Cupping her hands, she scooped up the refreshing liquid and splashed it onto her face, feeling the droplets fall down her skin. With a deep breath, she lifted her gaze and met her own reflection in the mirror. "Calm down," With delicate precision, she moulded her lips into a serene smile, its rosy hue adding a touch of warmth to her countenance. Seeking solace, she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, as if to shield herself from the tempestuous emotions swirling within. "You'll be eighteen tomorrow." She pulled out a lip gloss from her right pocket, glossed her lips, and pulled her hair back into a low ponytail. "Now let's go see mom." She rushed to get her backpack.

Three long years had passed since she had last checked on Celeste. The once vibrant connection that they shared had slowly withered away, like a delicate flower deprived of sunlight and water. In the beginning, she had been diligent in her efforts to ensure that Celeste was safe and well. Now, she harbours a profound sense of blame for the widening chasm that now separates her from her mother. Every passing day brings with it a deeper sense of sorrow and regret.

As she gazed through the helping hand's calculating eyes, she couldn't help but discern the glimmer of opportunity that lay within his offer to assist them. After all, the shrewd owner of a prominent pharmaceutical empire surely understood the immense advantage he could gain by ensuring her survival. In his eyes, she was not merely a person in need but a potential asset—a living lab rat, ready to be utilised for his own scientific pursuits. The perplexing nature of her mother's actions over the course of nearly five years weighed heavily on her mind. It was a bitter pill to swallow, leaving her with a lingering sense of confusion and disbelief. The question of why her mother would engage in such behaviour remained a haunting enigma, casting a shadow over their relationship. Why would she subject Celeste to such a gruelling ordeal?

***

As he ventured deeper into the woods, a sense of purpose filled his every step. The dappled sunlight filtered through the thick canopy above, casting an ethereal glow on the forest floor. His eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for any sign of the elusive angel he had been told about.

The angel, a celestial being sent to aid those struggling to cultivate their land, was said to possess profound wisdom and otherworldly grace. It was whispered that its presence alone could bring forth bountiful harvests and restore hope to weary farmers.

It was a time of unyielding conflict, where the clash of ethereal forces reverberated through the heavens. Yet, amidst this chaos, a single angel was dispatched on a mission that would forever alter the course of destiny. Given the continued conflict, the solo mission for some of the broken angels is a bit confusing and, for some, interesting, especially for one of the broken angels who referred to himself as the nameless one.

With each step, the nameless one could almost feel the angel's presence—a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves and whispered the secrets of the land. The very air seemed to hum with an energy that spoke of divine intervention. His footsteps were careful and deliberate as he followed a faint trail that wound its way through the ancient trees. With each footfall, his anticipation grows as he can feel its presence close by.

The broken ones had grown accustomed to the relentless cycle of war; their fights were shattered by the wings of the seraph's divine wings and presence. In this realm where fragments of celestial beings lay scattered across the ethereal plane, the nameless one felt a stirring within his fractured essence. A matter of great importance had arisen, beckoning him to venture forth and seek answers to the vast unknown about this angel. With resolute determination, he made the decision to embark on this perilous journey alone. He, too, didn't want to show any sign of weakness towards his enemy.

His ears suddenly welcomed a pleasant, distant giggling and a playful scream from the depths of the woods. The melody of the sound guided him, like a siren's call, until he found himself standing at the edge of a serene river. There, amidst the gentle flow of the water, stood a figure that seemed to have emerged from a dream. She stood with an ethereal grace, her delicate form adorned in a flowing white chemise that billowed softly in the breeze. Her golden locks cascaded down her right shoulder, intricately braided to one side, adding an enchanting touch to her already captivating presence. There was an air of mystery that surrounded her, as if she held secrets that the world had yet to discover. At that moment, time seemed to stand still. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her. As the sun beat down upon her, a rosy hue began to bloom upon her cheeks, the heat causing her skin to flush with a delicate shade of pink. The water, playfully splashed as she washed a garment on a stone, found its way onto her chemise, revealing the warmth that lay hidden beneath. Her body responded to the cool touch, her n*****s standing proudly against the fabric, a testament to the sensations coursing through her. With her legs gracefully extended, she continued to splash the water with relentless fervour, diligently washing the garments beneath her feet.

The very angel he had heard whispers of approached her, his arms encircling her delicate waist from behind. As she leaned back, her body finding solace against his strong chest, she tilted her head to the right, inviting him to lean down and grace her neck with a tender kiss. It was as if she held the power to dictate the course of action, as if she were the puppeteer pulling the strings of destinies, and that angel seemed to love it. As his gaze fell upon the breathtaking scene before him, a gasp escaped his lips, caught in the awe that enveloped his senses. Instinctively, he took a step back, seeking refuge behind the sheltering embrace of a nearby tree. Yet, even as he sought solace in the shadows, his eyes remained fixated on the captivating panorama that was taking place before him.

He, too, yearns for this life. He, too, could feel the undeniable allure emanating from her, as if he were ensnared in a celestial enchantment. This is the first time he has laid eyes on her or felt something entirely different. The air seemed to be still, as if the universe held its breath in anticipation of what was about to happen. Her presence held a depth that seemed to reveal a thousand untold stories, and he couldn't help but be enamoured with it. At that instant, his heart skipped a beat, as if recognising his lost lifetime duty. Strangely, he can feel, and he just found out.

The realm he once knew became a burden, and he embarked on a new mission. His purpose now was to follow her, the object of his affection, from a safe distance. Like a shadow, he followed her every move, careful not to reveal his presence. His heart, aching with longing, yearned for her companionship, yet he knew that to approach her directly would risk shattering the delicate balance of their connection. Besides, every time he was near her, he could feel the ethereal presence of the angel. It was as if a gentle breeze whispered against his skin, a subtle reminder of the divine being that lingered in their midst. Deep down, though he never acknowledges it, he knows the angel too might have already picked up on his presence, but it's obvious they both don't want to make a scene in front of her.

Following her around seems to grace him with a new sense of purpose; it's not about her captivating look commanding attention, but there is something beyond explaining that can do just that. He simply longed for her to acknowledge his presence. He just wanted to find that one moment to introduce himself to her so she would see him eye-to-eye. That was all he needed to do, for the rest would effortlessly align in his favour. With unwavering confidence, he was well aware of the enchanting allure he possessed. It was a power that could captivate the hearts of any mortal, leaving them utterly spellbound. And so he harboured the belief that he alone could possess her, keeping her sealed away from the remainder of the universe.

On this particular day, much like countless others, he found himself discreetly trailing her through the bustling market. Every step she took, he mirrored, his fingers grazing the very items she touched. His gaze remained steadfastly locked on her, his intense eyes never wavering. A subtle, involuntary movement caused the corners of his thin lips to stretch, revealing a hint of a mysterious smile. Amidst the cacophony of sounds, her melodic tones reached his ears with an ethereal clarity, as if the world around them had faded into futility. In that fleeting moment, it was as though they existed in their own private universe, shielded from the prying eyes and curious whispers of the crowd. In a sudden, swift turn, she accidentally bumped into him, making him realise how close he was following her without realising it. And as if jolted out of a dream, his eyes widened, looking at her dumbfounded.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed, her hand instinctively finding its way to her chest. Her lips parted, revealing a dazzling row of pearly whites. As she stood there, her emerald-green eyes seemed to come alive, flickering with a mixture of excitement and worry. Up close, he couldn't help but notice that she was shorter than he had imagined. Yet, at that moment, it only added to the enchantment of the scene. There was something undeniably captivating about seeing her gaze up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity. "I'm so sorry," she murmurs, her voice tinged with regret as she shakes her head in disbelief at her sudden, impulsive action.

"Um, it... you..." he stammered, his words trailing off as confusion clouded his mind. He stood there, at a loss for what to say, his thoughts jumbled and his tongue tied. He couldn't help but notice how she seemed utterly disinterested in him. Her eyes darted around, barely acknowledging his presence, as if he were just another face in the crowd. It was disheartening, to say the least.

"Your clothing seems very delectable; please forgive me." She gingerly tugged at her dress sleeve, pulling it down to cover her hand. With a determined look on her face, she began to delicately wipe away the remnants of the flower petal that had inadvertently been crushed against his chest during their accidental collision.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his gaze locked with hers. She gasped, completely awestruck, and returned his intense gaze.

"Oh my," she said, her voice filled with astonishment as she shook her head in disbelief. "You're the kindest man," she murmured softly, her gaze drifting down to her own reflection before returning to meet his eyes. "I just ruined your clothing, and you still check if I am well?"

"Oh," he said, his brow furrowing even deeper. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe that his power had indeed taken hold of her. There's got to be something wrong with me or her. He wonders as he inspects her in complete surprise.

"There you are," the angel said, walking to her from behind her, his voice carrying a gentle yet commanding tone but directing the conversation to him. "I wondered when you would show up," he added. She glances up at the two of them, her expression a mix of astonishment and curiosity. As the angel's eyes narrowed, the broken one discreetly sent his right hand to his left side, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword under the shadow of his cloak. His heart pounded with expectation, ready to face the unphased angel in a battle that would test his very essence.

"You know him?" she asked, her voice filled with surprise and a hint of laughter.

"Just a nameless lost soul," he answered, his voice filled with a hint of melancholy. He gently planted a tender kiss on her head, his touch offering comfort in the midst of their conversation.

"Please forgive my husband," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of shock and disbelief. "He tends to be a little too protective of me at times." She tried to cover up his statement with her explanation.

"As you wish, my lady," the nameless one replied, his voice laced with resignation. Yet his gaze remained locked on the angel, and his heart was heavy with a profound sense of letdown as he observed the way she was being caressed by him, scorching from within that it was not him by her side. "We are all, after all, a little lost," he says, his voice filled with a hint of gloom. The words hang in the air, lingering like a wistful sigh.

"Indeed we are. But it is good you know him," she said, clasping her hands loudly as she looked up at the angel. She leaned back towards him as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. It is clear she doesn't know what they are talking about, as she doesn't seem to know what they really are. "I would like to apologise to you properly; join us for dinner."

"My love," he whispered to her, his voice filled with concern that her kindness might bring trouble to their home. "Perhaps it would be best if we didn't disturb the stranger." The angel, with a gentle touch, attempted to halt her racing thoughts.

"Hadad," she said, her voice soft and gentle as she mentioned his name for the first time. "Padrone, my husband, he has an awful relationship with words." She breathes a smile as she tries to clear the air between them, her voice filled with affection as she playfully pats Hadad's forearm resting on her shoulder. "It would be an absolute pleasure to have you join us for dinner," she assured him with a warm smile. "Our house is the one past the corn field."

"He won't miss it," Hadad said with a subtle smile. His voice carried an unmistakable undertone, a hint of knowingness that conveyed his awareness of being pursued.

"Indeed," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of intrigue. The nameless one took a step backward, and he turned to face the path ahead of him.

"But you didn't say your name," she gently reminded him, her voice filled with curiosity.

"Like he said," he responded, "I don't have one."

"May I call you Avram? It sounds like music to the ears." He turns to see her, and she flashes a beautiful smile that radiates. He couldn’t resist the impulsive smile back at her, and his intention was clearer than ever for Hadad.

"Then Avram will be at your dinner table tonight," he said. His eyes shimmer with unexplainable emotions that are strange to him as he looks at her, searching for a glimmer of understanding. He then walks away with heavy thoughts possessing his mind. As if he just lost the puppeteer over his will. As if he pledged his soul to her in a language he never thought existed. He wanted to know her more, keep her, and be part of the mystery that he couldn’t understand.

***



The passage of time had wrought its inevitable transformation, leaving behind a world vastly different from the one that had come before. Countless years had slipped away, their weight etched on the face of existence. In his world, knowledge is power, so he doesn't like to be kept in the dark about what's going on.

Something had shifted—a subtle yet undeniable shift in the very fabric of reality. He had always been one to despise being left in the shadows, unaware of the events unfolding around him. The feeling of being kept in the dark, ignorant of the truth, was something he found utterly intolerable. But now, it was as if a veil had been drawn over his eyes, obscuring his vision and leaving him stumbling blindly through the labyrinth of uncertainty.

As he stands by the window, his gaze is fixated on the sprawling jungle of buildings that stretch out before him. Each towering structure seemed to hold within its concrete walls a multitude of secrets, hidden from prying eyes. From his vantage point, he could almost feel the pulsating energy that emanated from within those structures, as if they were living entities harbouring untold stories and mysteries waiting to be unravelled. His tall and fit body created a picture-perfect structure to look at. Nothing seemed to be of interest to him except the worrying thought in his mind.

His tall, chiselled frame commanded attention. Every line and contour of his body seemed to be meticulously sculpted, creating a picture-perfect structure that was impossible to ignore. The way he carried himself with confidence and grace only enhanced the allure of his physicality. It was as if he had been plucked from the pages of a romance novel, a living embodiment of the ideal masculine form. His interest may have been one, but his worry divided his focus. He was clad in black trousers and a matching shirt; the upper three buttons of his attire were left undone, revealing a hint of the enigma that lay beneath. The fabric clung to his form, accentuating his lean physique, while the absence of colour only served to enhance the air of mystery that surrounded him.

The office is very quiet; the desks, once mere pieces of furniture, have now transformed into altars of knowledge and discovery. Piles of papers, carefully stacked, revealed glimpses of forgotten civilizations and lost treasures. The pictorial documents, adorned with vivid illustrations and intricate sketches, brought to life the stories of these ancient relics. In the expansive office, the left side beckoned with a purposeful air. It was a space dedicated to the noble task of restoration, where fragments of ancient artefacts lay strewn about, waiting patiently to be resurrected. But it is clear that there are many missing parts to the project. He walks gracefully back to his desk and looks down at the papers, then at the artefact he couldn't reassemble with an arched forehead. There is a long way to get to what he needs. Time is of the essence, and for the first time, he has to be worried about it. He picks up the name plate on his desk and holds it closer to his chest.

"Say something; call for me," he whispers in his strikingly stern voice. "Where are you?" He closes his eyes as he tries to listen attentively, but to no avail. "f**k!" He threw the plate against the wall and took a moment to think. Suddenly, the landline on his desk rings, and he gets it. He was waiting for this.

"Sir," his secretary's voice said through the line. "Dr. Keven is here; he is waiting in the lab," she informs him, straight to the point, and he hangs up the phone. His face suddenly lights up in hope at the news. He walks around his desk and squats to pick up the name plate from the ground, wipes it, and once again presses it closer to his chest.

"I'll find you; hang in there," he utters, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wherever you are, I'll come get you." He whispers as he stands up. He walks back to the desk and places it properly. He then walked out of his office, grabbing his coat from the hanger. That is the only thing he is left with. The most precious thing in his life was his name, and it would soon be meaningless if he couldn't do anything about it. His name was imprinted on the name plate in bold and golden ink, reading Avram.