Alexander Immortal: Chapter One

Chapter One

The Beginning

         “…then someone should inform the Master.”

         “Of course…”

         “Is she stable?”

         “…too soon, she might fall into shock.”

         “He’s coming quick ladies!”

         Black spots form into my vision when I open my eyes; I quickly shut them closed due to the flash of white light that penetrates my weak eyes. It takes me a couple of seconds to recover. As I do, I absorb all the sounds coming from the room I am in. Women, there are women talking, and bottles being moved and clanked with each other, the sharp noises being created by them, add more pain to my already pounding headache. As I reach for my head I feel gauze wrappings all over it and I quickly shoot my eyes open. Where am I? Who are these women? I look at my hands and notice they are filled with scratches and blisters, some of them seem to be healed, but others are just starting to scab. I then notice the bandages on my arms. What has happened to me?

         I begin to feel anxious and desperate. I am about to ask for answers when I fell pressure on my right hand. I quickly look down to see what the cause is, but then realize there is a cold hand on my arm. A gloved hand, I look up the stranger’s arm, which is covered by a black long sleeved coat it seems, to the face of the person. My heart stops for a split second and I have the terrifying need to run out of the room to a dark closet and never come out. The stranger doesn’t have a face, rather a mask that hides his appearance. The mask is black and fits perfectly with the form of the face. Oddly the light from the room does not reflect from it, it seems more like a shadow, which creates a more haunting ghostly illusion; like there is no substance in the world that could make a mask like that, like it isn’t real. I seem to get lost the more I stare at the haunting thing. When I finally look away I notice not one piece of flesh is visible on the person who sits in the chair, next to the bed I am in. Is he real? I think. It is as if the fact that I cannot see skin further implied the actuality that he might not be real. He scares me, I think. All I want to do is slide away to the other side of the bed, and close my eyes until he disappears.

         “Be still, I won’t hurt you,” the deep sound of his voice brings me back to reality. It is surprisingly clear under his mask, and I close my eyes to focus on what is happening to me, and to ask the questions I want to ask, because it seems this dark masked man is taking responsibility of me.

         “Wh- Where,” I stumble with my worlds, and I notice how foreign and strange it is to hear my voice, as if the one who is speaking isn’t me. How long was I asleep?

         The Masked Man puts his cold gloved finger under my chin, and turns my face over to his. It takes all my strength not to fall under his grasp. I am falling, but I have to get my questions answered, I cannot pass out now. What is happening to me?

         “Hey, I need you here with me sweetheart, can you hear me?” The Masked Man’s voice is calm and assertive, he stares at me, and all I see are pitch black eyes behind the mask.

         “Uh-huh,” I manage to barley breathe out.

         “I’m not sure what happened, but one of my men found you out by my house all shattered up,” he starts to say, “Do you remember what happened?”

         I break away from his gaze, and I start to rake up anything that can answer his question. What I find scares me. I feel myself trembling and a burning sensation arises from my chest. Then I feel the warm tears run down my face. I start to breath heavily and The Masked Mans grip on my arm grows cold and hard.

         “I- I- I don’t, I don’t remember my na- name,” I say through my sobs.

         The Masked Man stands up from his chair and sits on the bed, his thigh grazes my waist, and I become increasingly aware of him, he takes my mangled hands in his large and gloved ones, and looks at me when he says,” You don’t remember anything?”

         I shake my head

         “Nothing, nothing at all, not even your age, where you were born?” he asks.

         “No I don’t remember anything!” I cry out. I feel so empty, so lost, and so…misplaced.

         The Masked Man lets out a loud and tiring sigh. “Not even me,” he says. “You don’t remember me then?” It sounds more like a statement then a question addressed to me.

         I don’t know what to say, because in reality I don’t know who he is, only that he creates a presence in the room, and it is a dark and frightening one. So I stay silent, and so does he.

         “So you know me?” I finally ask.

         The Masked Man looks at me in a way that makes me feel so exposed it unsettles me. Deep down I don’t want to know who he is to me, or if I am anything at all to him.

         He only continues to look at me and I feel my breathing catch in my throat. What is he thinking? Is he debating whether or not to answer truthfully?

         “What am I to you?!” I ask persistently this time.

         At this, he lets go of my hands and reaches for my face. Suddenly my headache begins to subside. Maybe it is his now strangely warm hand that distracts my mind from the pain, and the only thing I want to do is fall asleep. My eyelids start growing heavy and I let myself fall away. But before I do, I hear his last words; they are slow and full of sadness when he speaks them, “You are my lover. That is what you are to me.” And I fall away from him, from myself, feeling more lost than ever.

To be continued in Chapter Two: Effects of Broken Glass