R.E.birth

  R.E.birth

  Book One of the “Rain Experience” Series

  Thomas W. Everson

  This is a work of fiction which takes place on another world. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 Thomas W. Everson

  All rights reserved.

  Print Version ISBN: 1495925234

  Print Version ISBN-13: 978-1495925238

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate this to my wife, Brandi and my son, Bubby, who have put up with my lack of attention while I wrote this series. Without them I wouldn’t be who I am today and this story would not be at all.

  CONTENTS

  1 SALVATION

  2 DEDICATION

  3 DESOLATION

  4 CONFRONTATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank my editor, Dean Fetzer for his attention to detail and guidance, my illustrator Jake Murray whose hard work was to have the elasticity to take what I was looking for and make it his own, and my friends and family who have supported my efforts.

  1 SALVATION

  I pant for breath and my chest hurts. There is a house in front of me, unfamiliar in many ways, and I cannot put my finger on it but I do not think I have seen anything like it before. When I look down my hands are covering my stomach. Removing them reveals that I am bleeding profusely, my hands covered with sticky red blood oozing from my abdomen. Trying to recall the events leading up to now leads nowhere. My thoughts are unclear and fuzzy. Despite my efforts, nothing comes into focus. I cannot remember. Both my head and my stomach are throbbing with an incredible amount of pain and I feel my throat lump up. When I attempt to walk forward, my legs collapse under me. As I fall to the ground I notice the door to the house is opening. My face meets the dirt with a heavy impact and I turn to curl into a fetal position just trying to get the pain to go away.

  While the pain still exists, my mind becomes distracted but is put at ease when a torrential downfall of rain begins. Even though I should be anxious right now seeing my own blood mixing into the mud, the rain calms me. My hot body becomes cooler and I moan, feeling my life force begin to leave me. A scream pierces the air but it is not my own. It is feminine. Two distinct female voices emanate from the direction of the house, one youthful and the other soft, but I do not have the strength to move my head to look, let alone open my eyes.

  “We must get him inside.”

  “He’s bleeding quite a bit…I don’t know if….”

  The voices begin to sound strange, blurring together. I feel two sets of hands on me and as I am lifted up my body cries out in more pain and my mouth follows suit. My vision goes black and I feel myself drifting, floating away and then there is nothing.

  This must be the end of my life.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  I wake on something soft and padded that supports the length of my body, my head resting on a pillow and a raised portion of whatever furniture it is I lie upon. On my left side is a backing, which leads me to think it is a padded bench of some sort. To my right sits a tan woman, probably in her late thirties or early forties, hovering over me while placing a washcloth across my forehead. Her hair, brown with signs of graying near the sides, is neatly wrapped up in a bun. Her eyes are dark blue, accentuated by her high cheekbones, and her smile is very thin and caring. She seems motherly, like a nurse or a maid in a long blue dress and white apron.

  My abdomen burns like a wildfire from the pain but looking down I find it has been bandaged. White mesh cloth is wrapped around my bare torso a few times along with a few metal clips to hold it in place. I cannot help but wonder what kind of wound is hidden under there, but I recall how terribly it bled and it almost seems too gruesome to think about.

  Where am I?

  My surroundings do not look familiar in any way, nor does the woman aiding me. As I look past the woman sitting on the edge of a table next to me, I find I am in an open, oddly shaped room. The left side of the room is closed off with portraits hanging on the walls in between a couple bookshelves while on the right there is a hallway and a set of stairs leading up. Where the woman sits is a dark brown, polished table that holds a bowl of water and some blood caked rags.

  I try to remember anything at all, but find that I cannot seem to pull up any memories. Nothing comes up. No names, no faces, no places, nothing at all. It is as blank as a fresh sheet of parchment. I become frantic because the more I try to remember the more the emptiness swirls around my mind. Anxiety kicks in and I find myself questioning everything.

  Why do I hurt? What happened to me? Who am I?!

  Startled by being in this unfamiliar place and having no recollection of anything at all I attempt to move, to get up quickly, but instead groan in pain and rest back into position on the padded bench reluctantly when the woman gently places her hand on my shoulder and shushes me.

  “W...What h...happened?” I manage to wheeze out.

  “Don’t talk. Please lie still. You’ll be all right dear,” she says in a very sweet tone.

  I notice a figure in the background shuffle about in the dark hallway. Nervously I squint trying to get a better glimpse of who is there, but only see shadows moving about. Perhaps it is my imagination or my eyes playing tricks on me, but for all I know my wound could have come from someone in this house. I cannot help but feel unsafe.

  “Who are you? I cannot…I cannot remember!” My voice elevates.

  There is shuffling in the background again, but cannot focus my eyes. Weary of the pain my mind begins to drift out and my vision blurs. Trying to stay awake and alert is proving useless. My eyelids are heavy and are drooping on their own.

  “My name is Agatha. You’ve lost a fair amount of blood so please rest. You are in no danger here.” She gets up and leaves through a white swinging door next to the stairs just inside my upper right peripheral vision.

  With my vision blurry and my eyes so heavy that I can barely keep them open I feel like I am slipping away again, to that dark place. But that movement is there in the hallway once more and I am positive someone is lurking in the shadows. I am unable to keep focused on them. As the shadowy figure comes closer I can tell they are about to reach the bright light within this room, but I can no longer bring myself to open my eyes.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Abruptly awoken, I find myself in a sitting position, slightly hunched over and slouched against the back of the furniture. Becoming aware of my surroundings I find myself in that foreign place so eloquently built. Turning my head to the left there is a large window and it is dark outside. My neck is stiff and it feels like I have been out for hours, but I am not really sure how much time has passed.

  Instead of the older woman tending to me, this time a young and very beautiful woman sits to my right side on the padded bench. Her slightly curled, long brown hair flows freely over both her back and her chest. Her lips are pouty and her nose is small, much like the motherly figure who had attended to me earlier. She wears a knee-length pleated blue skirt and a white sleeveless shirt with a lone pink flower near her right shoulder. Trying to see her eye color through my blurred vision proves impossible while she keeps her face pointed downward, focused on replacing the bandages around my bare torso with her soft touch.

  She is magnificent.

  “Who...are...you?” My voice comes out as a raspy whisper.

  She yelps in fright and covers her mouth with one hand, not having been aware that I was awake and observing her. She looks at me nervously then over her shoulder at the white door.

  “Shh,” she cautions me to l
ower my voice putting her finger to her lips.

  “Where...am...I?” I whisper.

  “This...house is my mother’s, and mine,” she whispers back and then looks over her shoulder nervously.

  “What happened to me?”

  “We don’t know. I saw you collapse in the mud in front of our house and there was blood everywhere. My mother and I brought you into the house, dressed your wound and cleaned you up,” she explains pointing out the window.

  “I...I cannot remember...my name. Do you know me?” I become frantic as I find that I cannot remember anything and it is terrifying.

  “Shh! You have to be quiet!” She turns around and looks over her shoulder again. “We don’t know who you are. You don’t remember anything at all?”

  “I do not. Your accent is strange,” I cannot help but notice that her speech is different than mine. Most of the words in her sentences make sense but some seem to slur together making it difficult to comprehend everything.

  Heavy footsteps approach from that white swinging door which Agatha had disappeared through previously.

  “Shh. We didn’t talk!” She becomes quiet but continues about bandaging me up.

  “I heard voices!” The white door bursts open with a loud thud as if hit or kicked really hard from the other side.

  Agatha has entered the room, but to my surprise she is acting very differently than she did with me. The woman who was calm and gentle with me has apparently gone into a fit of anger as she storms over to where the girl and I sit.

  “Why were you talking to him?!” She yells abrasively.

  Not wanting to get the girl in trouble with her mother I reply.

  “I...I spoke,” pushing my voice from my throat at a normal range causes a strange itch inside my esophagus and I am forced to cough quite violently.

  “You shouldn’t be talking! You’re hurt. And if you were talking, that means she was talking!” She lifts her hand to strike the girl.

  “No!” I manage yell to out between coughs and gasps. Despite the pain in my abdomen I stand to intervene, grabbing Agatha’s wrist.

  I stand a few inches taller than her and find that my arms are not exactly frail. My palm meets her wrist and I take care not to grip too tightly to avoid harming one of the people who appear to be helping me recover. I am strong enough to stop her but at the cost of severe physical pain and cracking of the scab binding my wound closed. My initiative to save the young woman is rewarded by being struck across the face with Agatha’s other hand, rather hard.

  The pain of being struck along with the pain burning me up from the inside is too much and I collapse to one knee, my hands coming to rest on the wooden table only a foot out from the couch. My coughing worsens and bloody spittle appears on the hardwood floor. With every ounce of energy being sapped from me due to protecting the girl from being assaulted, and my coughing fit, I can barely hold myself up with my arms on the table. But I realize the effort was all for naught when I hear some tussling and a slap.

  “Go clean the kitchen,” the motherly figure’s tongue lashes the girl.

  With my remaining strength I look up briefly and watch as tears roll down the side of the young woman’s face while she gets up and slinks off to the white door. She pushes through as Agatha glares at her and then turns in a huff, storming out a door behind me. Collapsing completely onto the cold, bloodied wooden floor, the solitude of darkness finds me again.

  I dream of nothingness. Though I think my eyes are open I see nothing and I do not feel anything physical supporting my body, like I am floating in a vast nothingness. There is a sense of very slow motion, though I cannot discern the direction, as I tumble through the darkness in a fetal position. It is quiet and calming, sort of like the rain that washed over me. The vastness of the darkness is astounding. Eventually I can feel light appear in front of me but I cannot see it yet. It is that feeling of when someone draws the drapes open while you are still asleep and the sun is out. The light hits your face and you do not really want to wake up because you are at peace. But that ends. I am shocked awake with severe pain in my abdomen.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  My bandages are being changed again and when I open my eyes I find my chin in the crook of a shoulder. Whoever it is sits on the wooden table. Through peripheral vision I can see the color of the shirt covering the soft shoulder I am apparently nuzzled against. It is a frilly and soft blue cloth. There is a light perfume radiating off my attendee’s body, a sort of spring flowery smell. Despite the pain, it relaxes my mind a little and before I can restrain my mouth I speak.

  “So warm…” I blurt.

  “Mmm, you’re awake,” it is Agatha’s voice and she sounds happy.

  I am pulled away from the warmth of the shoulder and leaned against the arm of the padded bench I rest upon. Agatha smiles at me as a mother would when nurturing their child, causing me to blush and look away not having meant to actually say what I was thinking.

  She has removed the bandage completely and I feel my wound pulsing, torturing me with searing pain. I look down and there is blood crusted on my chest and abdomen in a very sporadic way. I can feel it on my back also. As it is the first time seeing the damage, it appears to be a stab wound and I am pretty sure that I thought that out in the forest. When I move I can feel in my body that whatever it was, it ran completely through, but by some miracle it missed my vital organs. Through the thick scab I note a few pieces of black string are protruding, one at the top and one at the bottom.

  Is the string holding the wound together like two pieces of cloth sewn together?

  “Since you’re awake, let’s see if we can stand you up and make this easier,” Agatha suggests pleasantly.

  She slings my arm across her collarbone and over her shoulder opposite to me. I grip on and while standing up with her help, I can feel the scab start to crack and the string trying to hold the two sides of the wound together. It opens enough so that blood begins slowly seeping from the wound in the front. She lets go of me so that I am standing on my own. She moves with great speed placing clean pads on both sides, wrapping it tightly with the white mesh bandage and uses the metal clips at the end of the bandage to hold it all together. Finally she grabs a cloth from behind her on the table and wipes up any blood that rolled down my lower torso.

  “Shh now. You’ll be fine,” she says, her voice innocent and quiet. She grabs under my armpits, helping me lower myself down to the edge of the padded bench.

  “How long have I been here?” I ask, while hunching over.

  “Half a week now, but you must still rest. Though your healing is progressing well, you have a long way to go,” Agatha stands there vibrantly smiling, hands crossed in front of her.

  “Half a week?” I ask, surprised.

  “You need food. Let me get you some fresh baked bread,” she redirects the conversation and leaves through that white swinging door. I briefly see that there is a very fancy and clean kitchen on the other side.

  I notice shuffling about in the background of the hallway again but it is too dark to tell if the shadowy figure is the young woman from before. My attention is refocused when Agatha comes back out with a fresh loaf of bread on a platter and some butter on the side. She sets it across my lap and I begin to eat as if I have not eaten in months. I ravenously consume the bread and butter. As it hits my stomach, I can feel a sense of satisfaction that I am full for now. She sits down on the table, placing her hands in her lap.

  “I am sorry if I sound ungrateful, but I am alarmed. Am I safe here?” I ask her, shifting nervously and tightening my muscles.

  “Of course you are. Why would you ask?”

  “You seemed to lose control of your temper whenever I was awake last and struck both the younger woman and I.”

  Agatha looks away for a moment and then back at me with a sincere smile.

  “I’m sorry for that. It’s a very complicated situation here, and probably best not to worry you with all of the det
ails. But I will try to keep it from happening again.”

  Though it seems a bit strange, I choose not to pursue it and take her at her word, as I am a guest in her home. My mind quickly moves to the beautiful younger woman and find myself hoping to catch a glance of her again.

  “What is the other person’s name?” I manage to get out with only a small coughing fit.

  Agatha’s eyes go wide for a moment and she seems a bit flustered about the question. Her smile is gone and she has turned slightly pale.

  “Whom do you mean?”

  “The younger woman?” I question, very puzzled about her response.

  Agatha sighs and her genuine smile returns as if somehow a disaster was just averted.

  “My daughter’s name is Ami.”

  “She seems very lovely – she is quite beautiful.” My mind relaxes with my muscles following suit.

  “Thank you,” she replies earnestly.

  Overall Agatha seems like a very calm person and I have no explanation for why a person’s personality would so drastically change. Perhaps it was just a bad day.

  “Would you be able to show me to a chamber pot?”

  “We don’t have any of those. We have something called a ‘bathroom’.”

  “I would be much obliged if you could lead me to this bathroom you have.”

  Setting the platter on the couch she helps me up and leads me down the dark hall where the shadowy figure was previously, but I find it has gone. She opens a door on my left and I enter. It is fairly dark, with the only light coming in from a small window at the top of a wall in the back of the room. But the window goes dark as the room is completely illuminated in an instant. Looking around at the now well-lit room I am amazed at what I see. The room is filled with very extravagant items. A counter with cupboards on my left is made of what looks like wood as the base and marble as the top. There is a shiny white sink with pearl colored handles and a shiny metallic spout sticking out over it. Above the counter is a large full wall mirror and in it I see a stranger standing there with Agatha. Looking to my right there is a white tub with a flowery curtain and against the back of the room I see a pure white seat that looks like a glorified chamber pot permanently affixed to the floor.