Stepping into Clivilius, the abrupt transition from the dimly lit room to the brilliant outdoors was jarring. My hand shot up reflexively, a shield against the harsh, unyielding sun that seemed to scrutinise my every move. The sand beneath my feet offered an uncomfortable welcome, each step producing a distinct squelch as my shoes protested against the dry, coarse grains.
I moved with purpose, distancing myself from the Portal, my eyes scanning the translucent screen that flickered with location images, finally securing a mental image of my destination: Luke's house. It was a new routine that was still a little jarring, yet the ease of the practice did little to ease the sense of urgency that thrummed through my veins.
"Hey, Beatrix!" The voice, unexpected and intruding, shattered my focus. I cast an irritated glance over my shoulder, only to find Kain Jeffries anchoring himself to the scene, an unwelcome distraction. Recognition dawned; not only had our paths crossed at the morning's campfire, but our acquaintanceship, courtesy of Jamie's familial ties, had laid a foundation for this interaction.
Kain's posture, casual as he lounged against the dune, contrasted starkly with my internal tumult. His legs stretched out before him, he seemed almost part of the landscape, a figure painted against the backdrop of ochre dust.
Internally, I groaned. Time was a luxury I couldn't afford, yet there was Kain, beckoning me over with a wave that suggested a conversation I was keen to avoid. Opting for a diplomatic approach, I feigned misunderstanding, offering a wave in return that I hoped conveyed cordiality rather than invitation.
Turning back to the task at hand, my focus narrowed on the Portal's screen, now a gateway not just to a location but to the next chapter of this unfolding saga. Luke's house materialised on the display, demanding my concentration. With a final, resolute look, I committed the image to memory, the screen before me transforming into a whirl of colours and energy, a visual echo of the turmoil brewing both within and around me.
The study, enveloped in a quasi-darkness, felt almost alien; the blinds were still a firm barrier against the outside world, casting long shadows that danced across the room. As I stepped in, the crunch of the shattered light globe underfoot echoed ominously. That unsettling sound sent a shiver racing down my spine, a visceral response to the memories it evoked.
My gaze drifted, landing on a dark, ominous smudge on the door—a bloodied handprint. For a heartbeat, the sight jolted me, until the realisation dawned: the blood was my own, a macabre token of my earlier ordeal. The hallway extended before me, no less foreboding, marked by the grim path of dried blood smears that adorned the walls, a visceral breadcrumb trail of the night’s horrors.
With a hesitant pause, I stilled, straining my ears for any hint of the shadow panther's presence. The silence that greeted me was profound, almost tangible, heightening the sense of isolation.
"Leigh?" My voice broke the silence, a mix of hope and apprehension lacing my words as I edged forward. "Leigh, are you there?" I needed the reassurance of his presence, a lifeline amidst the palpable remnants of fear.
Then, without warning, a figure materialised in the doorway at the hall's end. The shock of it—a dark silhouette framed against the dim backdrop—wrenched a loud gasp from my throat as my body recoiled instinctively. Every nerve was alight, the sudden appearance igniting a fresh surge of adrenaline.
"Leigh," the word emerged as a half-whisper, half-sigh, relief flooding through me as I clung to the familiarity of his presence. My breath, stolen by the shock, gradually returned as I steadied myself, grounding my presence in the here and now.
"What the hell happened in here?" Leigh's inquiry came from the living room, his figure momentarily vanishing from the doorway.
"I told you. I was attacked by a shadow panther last night," I called back, my voice steady despite the rapid drumming of my heart, as I hastened down the hall to join him.
Upon entering the room, a groan escaped me involuntarily. "Shit," I muttered under my breath, my eyes sweeping across the disarray. The living room, now a graveyard of camping supplies, seemed to echo the turmoil of the previous night.
Leigh crouched to examine a shattered camping light, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern. "It really is quite the scene in here."
His words lingered in the air, a heavy understatement of the night's horrors. My brow creased slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the ordeal he had yet to comprehend. You really have no idea, I thought, my gaze drifting to the tiles that now bore the gruesome imprint of the night's events, their pattern reminiscent of a grotesque boysenberry swirl.
Pulling myself from the grim tableau, I addressed the immediate, pressing matter, "I should really take all this gear to Clivilius first. I did promise Paul."
Leigh's query followed, "What about Jarod?"
"Jarod will wait," I asserted. His expression, a blend of concern and skepticism, seemed to question my priorities.
Leigh's eyes stared at me with disbelief, and his furrowed brow urged me to reconsider.
"I know Jarod. Trust me, he'll wait for me," I reinforced, my voice carrying a strong assurance.
Leigh's gesture, offering me a sleeping bag, was a silent show of support. "I wish I could help you," he said, his tone laden with genuine regret.
"It won't take me long," I reassured, more for my sake than his, as I prepared to transport the gear. "I'll just leave it all beside the Portal.”
With a final glance at the disarray, I summoned the Portal, the living room wall igniting with its vibrant hues. Stepping through, I embraced the warmth of Clivilius once more, the realities of both worlds weighing heavily as I navigated the fine line between duty and personal allegiance.
"Beatrix!" Kain's voice cut through the air, laden with urgency, as he made his way toward me with a determination that matched the harshness of the Clivilius landscape. “I need crutches.” His sudden approach felt like an ambush just as I set foot on the dusty terrain.
Waving him off with a hint of impatience, "You'll have to talk to Luke," I said, my focus divided as I placed the sleeping bag beside the Portal.
"But look at my leg," Kain pressed, drawing near with a limp that underscored his plea.
Glancing at his leg, the pragmatist in me responded without sugarcoating, "Looks like it's bleeding." My tone was detached, a defence mechanism against the day's accumulating stresses.
Kain's gaze followed mine, a mix of resignation and frustration in his voice as he acknowledged the wound, "Not again."
The mention of Glenda was instinctive, a logical suggestion in a world that seemed increasingly devoid of logic. "You should probably go and visit Glenda."
But Kain's response was unexpected, his words hitting me with an unforeseen weight. "Glenda's gone."
The words sent a shiver through me, the implications unsettling. "Gone? Is she—" I paused, the question heavy on my tongue, "Dead?"
Kain was quick to clarify, though his news did little to assuage the growing sense of unease. "Oh, no, she went with Charity and Jamie to hunt the Portal pirate."
The revelation puzzled me, my mind grappling with the bizarre turn of events. What an odd thing for Glenda to do, I thought, skepticism and worry intertwining. A doctor's presence on such a perilous venture seemed incongruous, and her absence left a tangible void within the settlement's fabric.
With a brief shake of my head, I attempted to clear the cloud of confusion. There were more immediate issues demanding my focus, yet the undercurrent of concern for Glenda and the settlement's well-being lingered, a silent echo amidst the commotion of my own obligations.
"You'll still have to ask Luke for crutches," I reiterated to Kain, positioning myself in front of the Portal, the words laced with a hint of apology. "Sorry."
"Bea–" Kain started, but I cut him off with a deep inhale, bracing myself for the relentless tide of tasks that lay ahead. Kain's persistent interruptions were a distraction I could ill afford, yet I knew avoiding him entirely would be impossible.
"Shit," Leigh's expletive drew my attention as he clumsily sloshed water across the kitchen tiles, a feeble attempt to cleanse the blood and fear that had consumed the space.
"Everything alright?" My voice carried a mix of concern and curiosity as I hefted several small boxes, my gaze shifting to Leigh's hunched form.
Engrossed in his task, Leigh didn't raise his head, his focus fixed on dragging a bath towel through the murky mixture of water and blood. "Yeah," he panted, the word barely escaping as he toiled on the floor. "All good here."
I paused, my mind wrestling with the futility of our actions. The house, tainted by recent misadventures, felt like a sinking ship, and any effort to restore order seemed increasingly like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. With every new development, the likelihood of police intervention grew, threatening to upend our precarious existence here. Yet, despite the inevitable sense of doom, there was a strange comfort in witnessing Leigh's dedication, a silent solidarity as we navigated the storm together, each of us clinging to our roles amidst the uncertainty.
Kain had remained remarkably silent throughout the remainder of my trekking back and forth with camping supplies, despite his intermittent glances in my direction, each filled with an almost tangible yearning. Those bright, blue eyes of his, usually so full of jest and laughter, now conveyed a depth of plea that tugged at the very fabric of my resolve. Yet, despite their luminous allure, I had managed to shield my willpower from their silent entreaty. There was an urgency that gnawed at the edges of my focus, compelling me to expedite my task for a forthcoming rendezvous with Jarod.
As I manoeuvred through the labyrinth of responsibilities that shackled me to the settlement, the weight of Kain's silent appeals grew increasingly burdensome. With each passing moment, with every step laden with duty, the echoes of Leigh's words reverberated more resolutely within the confines of my mind. The notion of bestowing a Portal Key upon Jarod began to morph from a mere suggestion into a tangible solution, a necessary concession to alleviate the relentless tide of obligations that threatened to engulf me.
Guardianship, a mantle I had donned merely a day prior, was already proving to be an odyssey of unforeseen trials and tribulations. The notion that my tenure had scarcely eclipsed a day seemed almost farcical, given the plethora of tasks and decisions that had cascaded upon me. In this maelstrom of duty and expectation, the idea of augmenting our ranks with another Guardian appeared not just appealing, but essential for my own sanity.
With the relocation of the camping supplies nearing completion, the sight of Paul's silhouette cresting the dune unleashed a wave of weariness that etched a grimace across my features. The impending interaction loomed over me, an unwelcome spectre at the feast of my already depleted reserves of patience. Paul's approach, marked by an air of expectation, seemed to herald yet another requisition of my time or resources, a pattern all too familiar in the recent hours.
As he drew near, the lines of his intent already taking shape, I pre-empted his request with a suggestion to seek assistance from Luke. The words, "You'll have to ask Luke for crutches," spilled from my lips, a mix of fatigue-laced resignation and a faint glimmer of hope that this redirection might spare me from further demands on my already overstretched capacity to care.
Paul's gaze shifted towards Kain, who offered nothing more than a resigned shrug, his earlier plea seemingly evaporating into a silent acquiescence. As Paul's eyes found mine again, the weight of his question hung in the air between us. "Have you seen Luke?" he inquired, his voice carrying a mix of urgency and subtle concern.
I halted my actions, allowing myself a moment to sift through my recent memories. "No, I haven't seen him since that initial encounter when I first arrived," I replied, my voice tinged with a hint of introspection. The image of Luke, passing us with that characteristic briskness, flickered briefly in my mind's eye.
Observing Paul's reaction, I noted the furrows deepening on his brow as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Despite the encroaching shadows of my own exhaustion and the nagging tendrils of irritability, a spontaneous smile broke through my weary façade. There was something inherently engaging about Paul, perhaps a reflection of the light-hearted interludes that Gladys and I had shared with him. His idiosyncratic gestures and the animated expressions that danced across his face provided a peculiar sort of comfort, a fleeting respite from the relentless demands thrown at me.
After what seemed like an eternity in contemplation, Paul's demeanour shifted, signalling the end of his silent deliberations. His voice, now imbued with a newfound decisiveness, broke the lingering silence. "Beatrix," he began, anchoring his gaze onto mine, "I need you to source us a couple of caravans or motorhomes. They will make our living and sleeping arrangements a little more comfortable and also, hopefully, provide us with more safety than the tents currently do."
I hesitated, the weight of Paul's suggestion anchoring my feet to the ground while my mind raced through the myriad of implications. His ability to assume command in times of uncertainty had left an indelible mark on me. "But I don't have enough money for that kind of expense. How am I supposed to get them?” I blurted out, the words slipping from my lips before I could corral them into silence. The financial aspect of his request loomed large, casting a shadow over the initial flicker of possibility his words had ignited.
"You've got a Portal, a place to escape to where nobody can catch you," Paul retorted, his tone laced with a mix of encouragement and challenge. He paused, allowing the gravity of his statement to sink in, before adding, "I'm sure you have the creative abilities to pull the mission off," his words punctuated by a cheeky smile and a quirky hand gesture that resembled someone enthusiastically stabbing at their food with a fork.
I squinted at him, suspicion threading through my curiosity. Did Luke spill the beans about the cutlery? The thought that my purposeful collection of restaurant silverware was no longer a secret caused a ripple of unease. Yet, despite my rising skepticism, Paul's infectious energy began to seep into my veins, igniting a spark of reluctant excitement. His words, "a mission," echoed in my head, teasing out a reluctant smile from the corners of my lips.
The notion of embarking on a covert operation, armed with the enigmatic power of the Portal Key, sparked a thrill I hadn't known I craved. Could this be the adventure that would wrench me from the mundane chains of my current life? The idea of weaving through the fabric of reality, untouchable and elusive, sent a surge of adrenaline through my system. My heart, a once complacent companion, now hammered against my chest with a fervour, urging me to leap into the unknown.
Caught in the tug-of-war between reason and impulse, I found myself teetering on the brink of a decision that could either be a brilliant escapade or a reckless folly. "A mission, you say?" I echoed, the words tinged with a burgeoning sense of daring. The monotony of life with my parents, once a stifling cocoon, now felt like a shell begging to be shattered. Was I ready to step through the Portal, not just as an escape, but as a challenger to my own limits? The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.
The façade of calm I erected on my face felt as fragile as a house of cards in the breeze, but it held as I uttered, "Sure. I'll do it." The words felt like stones in my mouth, heavy with the weight of the commitment they carried.
Paul's expression transformed instantaneously, his satisfaction blooming like a flower in fast-forward before it was swiftly overshadowed by a new concern. The quick shift only added to the knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach.
I bit my tongue, the taste of my own restraint bitter, as I braced for his next words. "By the way, where's Duke?" he inquired, his casual tone belied by the intensity in his eyes.
The question hit me like a splash of cold water. Duke. The poor dog's whereabouts suddenly became a glaring vacancy in my memory, an oversight that sent a pang of guilt through me. In a scramble to cover my tracks, I retorted, "What do you want first, Duke or the caravans?" My attempt at diversion, to sound nonchalant, belied a desperate hope that my oversight wasn't as transparent as it felt.
Paul's response, a medley of sighs and indecision, did little to ease the churning of my thoughts. "Get them in whatever order works the best for you," he said, his voice a mix of resignation and laissez-faire that I wasn't used to hearing from him. "I don't want to be too prescriptive... or restrictive."
I nodded, a bit too eagerly, perhaps, using the motion to mask the scoff itching to break free. Over the years, I had honed my ability to read others at the poker table, a skill that now allowed me to see the cracks in Paul's composed exterior. I clung to the hope that my own façade was more impenetrable, that my internal turmoil and the frantic search for Duke in the recesses of my memory were not as apparent as they felt.
The list of tasks before me—Duke, Jarod, caravans—felt like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces from different boxes. I stepped into the cleanliness of the living room. Discussing Duke's whereabouts with Leigh was a conversation I wasn't ready to have, especially with the nagging guilt that I couldn't place Duke's last location. The caravans posed another problem; without the necessary funds, I knew I'd have to resort to less conventional means to acquire them. "Jarod it is," I murmured to myself, deciding to tackle the most straightforward task first.
Leigh's voice cut through my internal deliberations. "I'm ready to get going, if you are?" His hands left damp imprints on his clothes.
"Yeah," I responded, the word a buoy in the sea of my swirling thoughts. "I'm ready too."
"I assume Jarod isn't far from here?" he inquired, his brow furrowed slightly in anticipation of the journey ahead.
The geographic placement of Jarod's location flickered through my mind. Not too far, but not conveniently close either. "I'll call us a taxi," I declared, trying to sound more confident than I felt about our mode of transportation.
Leigh's counter was swift and logical. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. Our movements can be tracked. We'd be safer walking."
I was momentarily at a loss, my mouth opening and closing without producing sound, my mind scrambling for a solution. It was then that my gaze inadvertently swept across the kitchen, landing on the glint of metal in the corner of the bench. Jamie's car keys.
"What are you doing?" Leigh's curiosity piqued as he watched me move closer to the window, leaning over the sink to get a better view of the driveway.
"Bingo," I whispered, a surge of relief washing over me. The keys chimed in my grasp as I snatched them up, their jingle like music to my anxious heart. "Come on," I urged Leigh, my head gesturing toward the front door with newfound determination. "I'll drive us."
