Finding Darkness

Episode 5

"El, it’s time for breakfast!" I called out; the sound of my voice, a bright spot in the morning. Today was her birthday, a day that felt sacred, and I was making her favorite: pancakes. A moment later, she ambled in, clutching her most cherished possession, a plush purple dragon with shimmering blue spikes running down its back. She settled into her seat at the table, her small presence filling the kitchen with an unspoken joy, and I served her a plate piled high.

"What do you want to do on your special day?" I asked, watching her intently.

She took a careful bite of the pancake, her blue eyes meeting mine. She didn't speak, not with words, but her gaze held a clear, joyful answer. I knew.

"A walk on the trails, then to the park," I stated, a gentle smile touching my lips.

A slight, almost shy smile bloomed on her face, and she nodded, a silent confirmation. Of course. It was her favorite spot, our quiet sanctuary. El finished her breakfast with methodical precision, and we began to get ready, the familiar ritual a comforting anchor in our otherwise unpredictable lives. El had always loved the winding trails behind our house. She’d walk with a quiet wonder, her small fingers reaching out to brush against the rough bark of trees, the delicate petals of wildflowers, even the segmented bodies of the insects we passed. Nothing seemed to frighten her. Once, we rounded a bend to find a snake coiled on the path. She’d simply crouched down, her curious gaze fixed on it. I swore it looked back at her, a moment of silent understanding, before it uncoiled and slithered away into the undergrowth. Things like that happened often around El.

She had a particular favorite tree, an ancient oak with sprawling limbs, where she could spend hours in quiet contemplation. Often, even on windless days, the leaves of the trees would sway when she approached, a gentle rustling murmur like a greeting. They seemed to respond to her, to be happy in her presence. I didn’t mind spending time there either. This place, our secret haven, always calmed me. I could feel the energy of the earth beneath my feet, a soothing hum that settled the frantic static in my mind. El, holding my hand, suddenly lifted her other arm and waved up at the swaying canopy. The trees seemed to wave back, their branches dancing in an invisible current. I looked down at El, a laugh bubbling up, but she wasn’t there. My hand was empty. Panic, cold and sharp, ripped through me. I whirled around, searching frantically, my eyes scanning every shadowed thicket, every sun-dappled glade. She was gone. My legs gave out. I collapsed to my knees, the damp earth cold beneath me, and a raw, guttural cry tore from my throat.

My eyes fluttered open, slowly, painfully, adjusting to the dim reality of a tent ceiling. Another nightmare. A low groan escaped my lips. Why did these fragments of the past, these visions of what I’d lost, haunt me so relentlessly? I felt a single, hot tear trace a path down my temple, soaking into the rough fabric beneath my head. I didn't cry. I never cried. So why start now? It was Elpis. Always Elpis. She was the gentle light that had dared to pierce the hardened shell around my heart, a warmth that had flowed into my very soul. She had saved me, forcing me to feel emotions I’d meticulously suppressed for years, emotions I rarely allowed myself to show. I needed her back. I craved the simple weight of her small body in my arms, the quiet comfort of her presence.

Lost in the crushing wave of longing, it took me a moment to realize I didn’t know where I was. The last thing I remembered was that confrontation, the blue eyes of that man, Jackson, and the blurring edges of consciousness. I scanned the tent, the unfamiliar canvas walls, the crude cot beneath me. Then I saw it: an IV line, a thin plastic tube snaking from a clear bag to my arm, taped securely in place.

I pushed myself up, a jolt of pain in my shoulder, and reached for the tube, determined to rip it out.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You need that."

The voice, low and gruff, came from the tent's entryway. Jackson stood silhouetted against the morning light, his arms crossed, a wary expression on his face.

"What is this?" I demanded, gesturing to the IV.

"It’s a saline solution and some antibiotics," he replied, stepping further into the tent. "That shoulder of yours was pretty bad off. I managed to stop the bleeding. Cleaned it and your legs up, and restitched them."

I glanced down at my leg. Fresh, clean bandages, expertly applied, covered the graze. He continued speaking as he walked toward me, his movements fluid and confident. "You also had a really high fever." He reached for the IV bag, checking its level, then felt my forehead with the back of his hand. His touch was unexpectedly gentle, and despite myself, a flicker of warmth sparked through me. "Honestly, I didn’t think you were going to make it. The infection was pretty nasty, but by the third day, your fever was finally coming down."

I sat up straighter, my mind racing. "Third day? How long have I been out?"

"Five days," he answered flatly.

"FIVE DAYS?" My voice cracked, raw with disbelief. "I’ve been here for five days?"

"Yeah, that’s what I just said," he retorted, a hint of impatience in his tone.

"No! This is too much lost time. I have to get out of here!" I tried to stand, a surge of adrenaline momentarily overriding the pain, but Jackson moved to block me.

"Let me go!" I snapped, ripping the IV from my arm with a sharp tug. A fresh bead of blood welled up, but I ignored it, already scanning the tent for my pack, my weapons. "I have to go!"

"You’re not strong enough yet. You’re still recovering," he said, stepping in front of me, his posture firm. He tried to gently guide me back to the cot.

"Screw recovering! I need to get out of here. I need to find…" The words choked in my throat. I couldn’t say her name aloud, not yet, not to him.

"To find El?" he finished, his blue eyes searching mine.

I stared at him, baffled. "How did you know?"

"You were calling that name in your sleep. Who is El?"

I glared at him, a protective wall slamming into place. "That’s none of your concern. Where are my things?" I demanded, my voice icy.

Then another realization hit me. "Why am I in different clothes?" I looked down at the loose, neutral-colored shirt and pants I was wearing, so unlike my own practical, dark attire.

"Your other clothes were dirty and covered in blood. We had to change you," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"YOU changed my clothes?" My blood ran cold, a mix of fury and violation. My mind reeled. He saw me naked. Which meant he saw them. My scars. The intricate, horrifying roadmap of my past. My brain felt short-circuited, unable to process the invasion, the exposure.

"Yeah, we had to. My mom and I. It was kind of a two-person job," he clarified, completely oblivious to the storm raging within me.

"Look, you really need to lay back down," he urged, reaching for me again.

"Shut up! Just give me back my stuff so I can leave!" I snarled, pushing his hand away. Suddenly, the tent spun, the air thick and cloying. My stomach churned, and I knew, with sickening certainty, that I was about to vomit.

"Woah!" Jackson exclaimed, rushing forward, strong arms wrapping around my waist, steadying me. "I told you to lay back down. You got yourself all worked up to the point you're about to pass out again. I warned you that your body hasn't recovered yet."

"Don’t talk about my body," I huffed out, trying to wrench free of his grip, but his hold was tight, unyielding. I felt my consciousness begin to fray at the edges. Not again. I have to stay awake.

"Will you just calm down and listen to me!" he said, his voice laced with frustration as he forcefully but carefully guided me back over and made me lie down on the cot.

"I... have... to…" That was all I managed before the darkness consumed me once more.

When I woke again, the tent was quiet, save for the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside. I looked around. It was night.

How long was I out this time?