Ansel opened the door quietly, his voice gentle but firm as he spoke to Heka. "For a while, you stay in this room. If you need something, just say it, you don't have to hesitate."
His eyes searched Heka's face, trying to reassure him despite the gravity of what was about to happen.
The room was dimly lit by the fading light of dusk filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows on the walls. This was the right time to prepare for the Soul Delivery. A delicate and dangerous process that required precision and care.
Ansel moved methodically, cleaning each tool with practiced hands. The instruments gleamed under the soft light: syringes, tubes, and bowls, all sterilized and ready.
As Ansel worked, he noticed Heka's gaze drifting toward the door of the adjacent room. His eyes lingered on a framed photograph. He said quietly, his voice tinged with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "That's my brother, Hansel."
"Where is he?" Heka asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ansel's heart clenched. He had anticipated this question. He replied simply, the words heavy with unspoken memories. "He passed away."
"Sorry." Heka murmured, his expression softening with empathy.
"It's okay. Here, lie down in bed." Ansel assured him, forcing a small, grateful smile.
Heka obeyed silently, settling onto the crisp white sheets. Ansel took his hand gently, the warmth of his touch a small comfort in the cold, clinical room. He reached for a bottle of alcohol and carefully smeared it over Heka's wrist, the sharp scent filling the air.
With steady hands, Ansel inserted the hypodermic needle into Heka's vein. Next, Ansel connected a thin, transparent tube to the needle. A channel for the blood that would soon flow out of Heka's body.
The first drops of blood appeared, dark and vivid against the pale skin. Ansel guided the tube so that the blood collected into a large, ornate bowl placed on the table beside the bed.
Ansel learned that from Hansel. He used to work as a nurse. He also taught Ansel all about nurseries that he had studied.
"I'll take your blood out. Usually, it's the same as for blood donors. It's the only way to be safe enough to make your body feel weak and helpless. Don't be afraid, it won't be long, maybe about half an hour. Tonight there will be someone who will come to you. He will give a dead human soul. Then your body will absorb the soul. Afterward, your acute insomnia will break over."
Ansel's voice was calm but carried an unsettling weight as he explained the procedure to Heka.
Heka just listened to it. He knew Heka was very quiet. At least he hoped that a word or two would come out of his mouth.
Nevertheless, Heka's lips twitched slightly, but no words came out. Ansel wished for even a whisper, a sign that Heka was still there, still fighting. The quiet was heavy, almost suffocating.
"When it's full, just say it. You don't have to scream. Just call me. I'll also check it out often. Is there anything else you need?" Ansel's tone softened, trying to offer some comfort in the midst of the unknown.
"Nothing." Heka finally said, his voice barely audible but clear enough to bring a flicker of relief to Ansel's chest.
Ansel was quite relieved after hearing one word that came out of Heka's mouth. "Okay then I'll leave you alone." He said, stepping toward the door. The weight of the moment pressed down on him as he reached for the handle.
Just as he was about to leave, a sudden voice stopped him. "Ansel!!!"
"What's wrong?" He turned sharply.
"Thank you." Heka said, his voice trembling with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper. Perhaps it was fear, hope, or resignation.
"You don't need to thank me. I don't do anything." Ansel shook his head, trying to dismiss the thanks.
That was right, he didn't do anything for Heka at all.
But the truth was harsher. He hadn't done anything for Heka except place him into a dark and terrifying ordeal. Ansel couldn't even begin to imagine the pain and uncertainty Heka would endure in the hours to come.
***
Fifteen minutes later, Ansel quietly pushed open the door to Heka's room. Ansel's eyes immediately went to the bowl beside him. "Your blood that comes out has reached half a bowl. How about your body? Are you okay? Your hands must be sore."
"I'm fine. Literally, I'm just laying down. Nothing else I do." Heka's voice was soft, almost detached.
Ansel's frustration bubbled beneath the surface. He wanted to scold Heka for downplaying his condition, but seeing him so limp and vulnerable made it impossible. "You don't have to lie. How could someone who lost blood be fine?"
Heka remained silent, his eyes closed, his breathing steady but faint. Ansel leaned closer, watching the slow drip of blood into the bowl.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. He tried to discern if the blood was purely human, but something about it felt off, as if something else was lurking beneath the surface.
He strained his eyes, searching for any sign of the unnatural, but saw nothing. "Well, I will leave. I'll be here in fifteen minutes."
Ansel quietly left the room and made his way to the back porch where Mr. McVeigh was seated, brush in hand, painting with deliberate strokes. The paper revealed the outline of a sword, sharp and majestic.
"What are you drawing?" Ansel asked, his voice low.
"This is a sword." Mr. McVeigh replied without looking up. "What about Heka? Is the bowl full?"
"That's half of it. But I feel something strange. I couldn't see anything. Fair, there is a spirit under the bed." Ansel muttered, unease creeping into his tone.
"So the spirit hasn't left yet. Probably, it is in there to protect him." Mr. McVeigh nodded knowingly.
Ansel frowned, trying to piece together the puzzle. "No, that spirit is not like a Guardian spirit."
"It appeared right here when he set foot in the house. Give this to Andrew." Mr. McVeigh said, handing the sword sketch to Ansel.