Nathaniel finally arrived at Mabel's foster home after catching a free ride in a truck. The driver had talked nonstop about his grandkids, a monologue Nathaniel found both odd and intriguing.
It was 9' O clock.
I'm late. She's going to be mad isn't she? He smiles inwardly. He rang the bell. An old lady he struggled to remember opened the door, and he began a frantic yes/no marathon in his mind—Mrs. Ariel? Daviel? Daniel? No, no, and no..
The old lady looked at him as if he was a weird zoo creature, then sighed. "Mr Alden you are very late, we expected you to come in the morning. Mabel's sleeping and she has been up all day. It would be better to let her sleep today, why don't you come in?"
Nathan hated people who talked a lot. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to hate the old lady because she was oddly familiar and exuded an aura of warmth and kindness. Her auburn hair was greying at the sides, maybe she was dying it regularly. She had bright brown eyes that seemed to see through everything. She wore a green dress and had apron tied around her waist
"There aren't any hotels around here. You can sleep on the bench. I will bring you a blanket" she continued.
Then she looked him straight in the eye and asked, "Are you an addict?"
Nathan was puzzled, "Uh no. I was in an accident yesterday. I lost a lot of blood. I might seem a little drowsy"
Her eyes traveled over his suit, and her frown deepened. He could almost hear her thought: He was in an accident yesterday? Dressed like this?. She let out a final "hmph," deciding not to pry any further.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" She enquires
"I think I'll be fine. Thank you."
"I'll go get you a blanket then." Saying that she disappears behind one of the doors in the hallway.
He took in his surroundings, then made the laborious journey to the offered bench. Red walls, romantic and christian paintings and beautiful furnishings. The air smelled like cocoa. He takes in the scent and lets out a sigh.
What do you mean?
What's with the "ours" I was christened you non-believer.
The old lady returned, her steps quiet on the polished floor. She held a thick, hand-knitted blanket that looked surprisingly heavy. She didn't just hand it to him; she placed it over him, her movements efficient and strangely maternal.
"The children make them," she said, her voice softer now. "It gives them something to do with their hands."
"Thank you," Nathaniel said, the genuine weight of the blanket a small comfort.
She paused, looking down at him. Her sharp, knowing eyes seemed to see past the suit, past the drowsy act, and for a fleeting second, he felt utterly transparent.
"The body can heal from almost anything, Mr. Alden," she said, her tone low and deliberate. "It's the spirit that often needs the most mending. Sleep well."
She turned and left him there, her words hanging in the cocoa-scented air. Nathaniel stared at her.
She was talking about grief, he told himself. For Ruan. But for the first time, he wondered if the wound the voice kept hinting at was something else entirely.
The weight of the blanket became the weight of stone. The scent of cocoa twisted into the smell of cold, dry ash. He was no longer on a bench, but kneeling in the vast, silent hall of a temple under a foreign sky. The four interlocked circles from the painting hung above an empty throne, pulsing with a light that felt like a reprimand.
The woman from his dreams stood before him, her face not angry, but profoundly disappointed. She wasn't weeping here. Her voice was as dry as the voice in his head.
"You chose to forget. You called it a burden. You labeled our oaths 'a hassle.' You are not wounded, Keeper. You are a deserter. And that is a choice."
The foster mom's voice cut through the dream, not as a sound, but as a concept: "It's the spirit that needs the most mending..."
Nathaniel opened his eyes. The red walls of the foster home swam back into focus. The blanket was just a blanket. But the ghost of the room lingered, and for the first time, the voice in his head was silent, as if waiting for his response.