The Delvil´s Inheritance

Chapter II

"Arthur?" she murmured, sitting up straight. "You're awake. How are you feeling, my love?"

Arthur forced his lips into a smile. It felt brittle, like dried clay, but he held it. "I’m fine, Mum. Just... a little tired."

She squeezed his hand, her thumb tracing the pale, translucent skin of his wrist. "You look better. The color is coming back to your face. The doctors, they always jump to the worst conclusions. You’re going to be okay, Arthur. You’ve beaten the odds before. We’ll get through this, just like we always have."

Arthur looked away, his gaze drifting toward the IV pole.

"I heard the doctor, Mum," Arthur said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "I heard what he said about the systemic failure. I won't... I won't last long this time. We both know it."

His mother’s face tightened, a flicker of genuine fear crossing her features before she masked it with a fierce, stubborn determination. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his.

"Don't say that," she insisted, her voice trembling. "I have faith. If God gave you five healthy years when they told us you wouldn't make it to three, He can give you more. He isn't done with you yet."

Arthur looked into her eyes, searching for that same conviction. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to live in that world of prayer and divine mercy. But he knew what was standing in the corner of his room.

Before he could answer, the door swung open. A nurse stood there, holding a clipboard, her expression professional but firm.

"Mrs. Pendelton," the nurse said, nodding toward the door. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to step out. We need to perform some urgent adjustments to his medication and monitor his vitals in private."

His mother’s back stiffened. "I'm his mother. I'm not leaving him alone."

"I understand," the nurse replied gently, not budging. "But there’s a waiting area just down the hall where you can stay. We have a policy during systemic stability checks. It’s for his recovery."

His mother looked at the nurse, then back at Arthur, her eyes filled with a helpless, burning frustration. She didn't want to go—she wanted to guard him, to breathe for him if she had to—but she saw the firm line of the nurse's jaw.

She turned back to Arthur, her expression softening into a look of such profound, agonizing love that it made Arthur’s throat ache. She leaned down, pressing a lingering, warm kiss to his forehead.

"I'll be right outside," she whispered, her voice thick. "I'm not going anywhere. Just rest, Arthur. Just rest."

She stood up slowly, her hand lingering on his arm for one final, desperate second before she finally let go. She walked to the door, cast one last, longing look back at him, and then the door clicked shut leaving Arthur in the sudden, sharp silence of the room. The nurse didn't move immediately; she lingered by the bed, her expression softening into a look of genuine, practiced kindness.

"Don't you worry, Arthur," she said, her voice dropping to a warm, reassuring hum. She reached out, her hand cool and steady as she smoothed the hair back from his forehead. It was the kind of touch that usually grounded him, but now, it felt oddly heavy. "Your mother worries so much, but you’re a fighter. We’re going to make sure you get exactly what you need tonight."

She turned to the supply cart, her movements graceful and unhurried. She hummed a faint, tuneless melody as she arranged the vials and syringes, the soft *clink* of glass against glass sounding almost like a lullaby. She didn't look at the monitor’s frantic pulse; she was focused entirely on him, her eyes bright and filled with an unsettling, motherly care.

"The vitals look a bit high, don't they?" she murmured, her voice like velvet. She leaned over him, adjusting the drip with such gentle precision that Arthur barely felt the movement of the tube. "We’ll fix that. We’ll make everything perfectly, wonderfully still."

She picked up a syringe, the amber liquid inside catching the soft light of the room. She looked down at him, her smile wide and radiant, a look of pure, undivided devotion. "This will help with the inflammation, dear. It’s a bit strong, but it’s the only way to ensure you can reach that… stillness you’re looking for."

Arthur watched her, hypnotized by the warmth of her smile. He felt a sudden, sharp pinch as she injected the medicine into the port, followed by a wave of warmth that started at his hand and flooded his chest. It felt like being wrapped in a thick, weighted blanket.

"There now," she whispered, leaning down to kiss his temple, her breath smelling of peppermint and something sharp, like ozone. "You’re doing so well, Arthur."

She straightened his sheets with tender, loving movements, patting the blanket flat. She didn't offer a final, clinical assessment; she simply stood there for a moment, admiring her work, her eyes lingering on him with a depth of affection that made Arthur’s skin crawl.

"Rest now," she said, her voice barely a breath. "You have such a long night ahead of you."

She picked up her clipboard, gave him one last, lingering wink, and walked toward the door. She opened it with such care that the latch barely made a sound and she stepped out into the hall.

Then a voice drifted from the neighboring bed, hollow and weary. "It is a pity. So much life, wasted on a failing vessel."

Arthur ignored it, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The curtain rings clattered as they were swept aside. The man sat up, his eyes bright with a sharp, feverish clarity. "I outmatched death, do you know?"

Arthur turned his head. "What?"

"I should have died when I was thirty-eight," The man said, his voice dropping into a low, instructional cadence. "I was just like you. But I learned that death is a door that can be locked from the inside."

He leaned closer, ignoring Arthur’s confusion. "Listen closely. The hospital staff thinks they are keeping you alive, but they are just watching you fade. At exactly 3:00 AM, you must stand in the center of the room. With a piece of chalk—or even your own blood, if the skin is broken—draw a circle around your feet. It doesn't need to be perfect; the intent is in the closing of the line."

Arthur frowned, the words sounding like something out of a storybook. "A circle? That’s just..."

"Witchcraft," The man finished, his gaze intense. "Of course it is. And at 3:00 AM, you face the North and recite the Binding of the Hollow: 'By the marrow and the pulse, by the silence of the frost, I tether the breath to the cage. I am the gate, and the gate is closed.' You recite it three times without breaking your stride. When the final word leaves your lips, the air in the room will stop moving. It will feel like the world is holding its breath. That is when you know the tether has taken hold."

Before Arthur could ask what it meant to "tether" his breath, the door clicked open. A second nurse entered, a cup of pills in her hand.

The man immediately transformed into a quivering, frail patient. "No! I told you, I don't like it! Please, let me be!" He pushed at her hands, his voice thin and panicked.

The nurse didn't stop smiling. She moved with practiced, clinical efficiency, ignoring his struggle and gently but firmly ensuring he swallowed every tablet. She patted his cheek—the smile never reaching her eyes—and exited.

The man slumped against the pillows, his resistance vanishing as the drugs took hold. "They always dull the edge," he mumbled, his tongue beginning to slur. "The ritual... it requires such precision... we can speak more tomorrow, Arthur. If I’m still... still here."

He fell into a deep, medicated silence.

Arthur turned his head toward the window. Outside, the city was a dark, hushed sprawl under the light of a massive, cold full moon. He looked at the floorboards, imagining a chalk circle drawn in the center of the room, and the words of the Binding burned in his mind. He wasn't sure what would happen at 3:00 AM, but he knew the air in the room already felt different—as if it were waiting for him to speak.