Greystorm Chronicles 3

    Dorean sat in his favorite pub watching the people that passed by.  This was the safest way for him to interact anymore.  To many tragedies had befallen those who befriended the immortal over the millennia.  He couldn’t afford to ruin anyone else’s life.

    “Is this seat taken?”  The voice startled Dorean, who jumped as he turned to see who spoke.

    “Sorry, not really looking for company friend.  Just here to have a pint in peace and quiet and then be on my way.”  Dorean lowered his head to gaze at his beer.  He really didn’t need this right now.

    “Nonsense, everyone is in need of good conversation every once in a while.  The name’s Oscar, Oscar Wilde.” The little Irishman held out his hand for Dorean to shake.

    Reluctantly, Dorean shook Oscar’s hand.  “Greystorm, Dorean Greystorm, by all means pull up a chair.”  Dorean had heard of this budding writer, both good and bad.  Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to get to know him.

 

    As time passed, Oscar was out drinking Dorean two to one.  “You better slow down Oscar, you’ll need to walk home soon.”  Dorean patted Oscar on the shoulder as he spoke.  He acted drunk, but like everything else in his life at this point.  It was just an act.

    Oscar sputtered and tottered his head.  He smiled a half smile and started to slide out of his chair.  It was time to get him home.  Dorean gave a small fortune to the bartender and carried Oscar out the door.  Since Oscar was pretty much incoherent, Dorean decided it best to go back to his flat downtown.



    Oscar began to get heavy in about five blocks.  Dorean hadn’t carried this much dead weight since the American Revolutionary War, and those yanks were in cotton uniforms.  He decided to take an alley as a short cut.  It would shave off about ten minutes.  He didn’t see the small gang of undesirables sitting in the middle of the dimly lit cobble stone path.

    “Ain’t that sweet boys, this aristocrat is takin’ his boyfriend home.  It just tugs at your heart strings.”  The leader of the gang chuckled as he spoke.

    Dorean looked around at the rogues’ gallery.  “I don’t want any trouble gentlemen, I just need to get my friend here home.  What monetary value can we place on tonight’s encounter?”  Dorean calmly rested Oscar against the building wall as he spoke.  Oscar slowly slid down to a sitting position.  As he slid he mumbled something incoherent.

    “Everything you have gov’na,” the leader grinned a rotten grin.  “And everything your friend has to,” The leader winked at his prey and smiled.  They were going to get a good haul out of this one.

    “Well, I can give you everything I have, which, gentlemen, is a considerable amount.  But my friend here is a struggling writer so he has nothing but the clothes on his back.  I’m afraid what I have will have to do.” Dorean spoke quickly and matter-of-factly.  He was really hoping this wouldn’t end in blood shed.

    The leader of the gang scratched his beard.  “We’ll take what you got, then check your drunken friend to see if you are telling the truth about him,” the gang leader barked as he snatched the money from Dorean’s hand.  He motioned one of his cronies to search Oscar.  Dorean promptly blocked the hoodlum’s path.

    “I’m sorry friend, I can’t allow you to search him.  It would behoove you to take the money that was given to you and call it a day.  You are trying my patience.”  Dorean squared off against the gang as he spoke.  He had hated this part.

    Without a word the leader of the gang flipped out a straight razor.  It gleamed menacingly in the moonlight.  Dorean smiled and laughed, much to the confusion of the gang.  The leader looked around uncomfortably.  Was this guy as crazy as he was coming off?  With a shrill ringing, Dorean explained his strange behavior as a sword sprang from his sleeve.

      “Mine’s bigger, mate, do you still want to dance?”  Dorean seethed as his eyes narrowed on the gang leader.

    At that moment, he felt the sharp pain in his side.  One of the gang members had gotten behind him and stabbed him in the kidney.

    “Ouch!  Dammit, this is a brand new shirt.”  Dorean sliced open the gang member behind him as he spoke; the rest of the gang, including the gang leader took a step back in disbelief.

    Dorean removed the knife from his back and threw it on the ground in front of the gang leader.  “Are you still so certain you want to go this route friend?” Dorean mused.

    The gang leader looked around and started to back away.  The rest of the gang followed suit.  Dorean picked Oscar back up and began to drag him home again.

    “You should be dead,” Oscar mumbled as he tried to get his feet under him.

    “Yes I should, but I’m not, that’s all that matters,” Dorean snapped.  The last thing he needed was for Oscar to remember that he didn’t die from a mortal wound.

    Oscar examined the tear in Dorean’s shirt where the knife wound should have been.  There was nothing but flawless skin.

    “I know he stabbed you, I saw him do it.  Are you some sort of witch or something?”  Oscar took a few steps back from Dorean.  This was making the drunk, little Irishman nervous.

    “No, just lucky, the hooligan missed anything vital, just grazed me.  There is a scratch there, you’re just to drunk to see it.” Dorean answered quickly.  He needed this topic of conversation to end now.



    The rest of the walk home was quiet.  Oscar slowly sobered up and slept on Dorean’s couch.  Dorean watched over him like a mother hen.  He hoped beyond hope that Oscar would forget what had transpired the night before.



    In the morning, Oscar awoke and thanked Dorean for keeping an eye on him.  He explained that he was on his way to the Americas today, but would like to see Dorean when he got back.  Dorean smiled and shook his hand, telling him “If I’m still in town, look me up.  Be careful in the Americas, it’s a whole different world over there.”

    Oscar smiled, and walked out the door.  Dorean watched Oscar walk down the street to the docks.  This was good, nothing major happened, and he made a good friend.  Dorean just hoped he didn’t see the same fate as the last few people he’d befriended.



    Several months later, Dorean received a package in the mail from Oscar.  The card on it read, “Dear Dorean, your secret is safe with me, but I had to use it in a story.”

    Dorean quickly opened the package; this is why he tried not to make friends anymore.  The book he held in his quivering hand made him angry.  “The Picture of Dorian Gray…how quaint.”  Dorean threw the book onto the table.  So much for Oscar not remembering anything.