Chapter Text
You will meddle no further. You will forget all that you have seen, and you will repent for your transgressions, Keon.
Keon awoke with a start, blanket once more thrown off him. Crickets chirped around him as cicadas hummed in the background. He felt his head throb and closed his eyes. He took deep breaths. In and out. It did nothing. He stood and nearly fell again, dizziness overtaking him. He held his head and felt it slick with sweat. Did he have a fever? Was he still sick? He tried to take a step and collapsed, legs giving out under him. He stared at the dew on the grass, illuminated by the moon high above.
Where was he?
His vision swam before he fell again into darkness.
This time there were no dreams. No eyes. Only darkness surrounding him. He was curled in a ball, floating in a space that was timeless. It felt like both the beginning and the end. He couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t perceive his surroundings at all.
Coughs racked his frame and the world burst to life around him. It was warm, almost too warm. He sat up slowly. Where was he again?
He had been outside but no longer. Above him were murals of angels and cherubs, an artistic panorama of jubilant little smiles and wings everywhere. The colors were pale, as though the palette lacked the spark of life and occasionally, he spotted a crack. He looked down and realized he was lying on a hard wooden surface. A pew.
He was in a church. What was he doing in a church? What had he been doing before the church? As if on cue his vision spun and pain split his head. He lay back down slowly and though the pew was uncomfortable, it was better than sitting up.
He couldn’t remember what he was doing here. He couldn’t remember what he was doing before this. Was he delirious? Was he sick? Had he been kidnapped?
He heard soft footfalls and though he wanted to sit up again, he could not muster the strength. He closed his eyes instead against the dizziness that threatened his being.
He felt, rather than saw, the presence of another by his feet. The person clicked their tongue, and he heard them speak.
“No, he is still unconscious. I found him in the cemetery by one of the graves.” Keon almost opened his eyes. Graves? Cemetery? Suddenly a hand was on his forehead, and he opened his eyes, startled.
“He- Oh!” The hand and the person it belonged to jumped back, nearly dropping the phone.
“He’s awake. He feels feverish,” he spoke into the phone and then spoke again.
“Hang on,” he pulled the phone away from his ear.
“Are you all right?” He asked, this time directed at Keon. Keon wanted to nod but thought better of it.
“Yes,” he managed to groan out. This prompted him to try sitting up once more, as though to prove his words true. The room spun less, and he managed to stay upright. The man spoke into the phone once more.
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll call you back.” With that he ended the call. His full attention now on Keon, he frowned slightly, brow crinkled with worry.
“Do you know where you are?” Keon started to shake his head but stopped when the motion sent waves of pain through his skull. He closed his eyes.
“A church?” He had figured that much out at least.
“Yes. I am the priest who resides here. I found you outside in the cemetery.” What was he doing in a cemetery?
“Huh,” Keon muttered, opening his eyes once the pain had subsided.
“Do you know your address?’ The priest asked, voice soft. Keon managed to rattle off Mrs. Morgan’s address. The priest nodded in return.
“Can you stand? I will take you back there.” Keon had no idea if standing was in his future, but he was going to try. He pulled the blanket off himself gingerly and handed it to the priest, who took it without hesitation. Keon swung his legs off the pew and onto the ground. He looked down at the pale carpet and sighed heavily. He could do this.
He managed to stand but nearly fell again. The priest grabbed his arm to keep him upright, likely out of reflex. Keon wobbled but remained standing. The priest held his arm up slightly as they began to walk together past the rows of pews. Keon appreciated the help, as he wasn’t sure he could keep his balance otherwise. They exited the church into the cold night, and he shivered. Even his sweater wasn’t enough to keep the chill in the air out and the dew beaded on the grass stuck to his shoes. By the time they arrived at a nearby vehicle, Keon’s toes were frozen. The man opened the door for him, and he climbed in, happy to be seated once more. He vaguely remembered to put his seat belt on as the man sat in the driver’s seat and started the vehicle. Keon was thankful for the burst of warm air that came through the vents.
They drove in relative silence for a while, until finally the priest spoke.
“What were you doing in the cemetery so late at night?” It was a good question, one that Keon’s muddled brain kept coming back to.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. It dawned on him that maybe he had been kidnapped and left for dead. But that didn’t seem right. He had gone to the cemetery voluntarily, after spending time with Amber. But for what purpose? It was as though a blank space existed in his mind where the memory should be.
Keon heard the police sirens before he saw them. Sitting in the passenger’s seat gave him a full view of the police blockade in front of them. It was dwarfed by the swirling flames coming from the house a block down.
Mrs. Morgan’s house.
No.
If he’d had the strength he would have bolted out of the car and run toward the house. As it was, he was still dizzy and short on breath.
“That’s my house.” The words left his mouth in a voice barely above a whisper. He watched as flames licked the sides of the house and great clouds of black smoke mingled with the night sky.
The priest looked at him with something akin to shock.
“Are you sure?” he asked in a similarly quiet voice. Keon just nodded, dumbstruck. Why? Why was this happening?
The priest pulled the car over as close to the police cars as possible.
“Wait here, please.” He said in the same soft voice and turned off the car. He exited and Keon watched him approach a nearby police officer who immediately raised his hands to shoo the priest back. They exchanged some dialogue that Keon could not hear. The priest walked back to the car and opened the door. Without getting in, he addressed Keon.
“The officer would like to speak with you. Is that all right?” he asked in a gentle tone. Keon nodded but his hands did not move to get out of the car. He was frozen, eyes still staring at the blaze. It wasn’t long before an officer walked over and was standing next to Keon’s side of the car. He willed his hands to move and opened the door. He still had his seat belt on.
“Mr. DePaul informed me this is your house? Is that correct?” Keon looked toward the officer, ignorant of the tears welling in his eyes. He nodded again, unable to find his voice.
“What’s your name?” the officer asked in a calm voice. Keon tried to answer but coughed instead. Once the coughing subsided, he managed to speak.
“Keon,” he said, voice hoarse. The officer nodded, a curt bob of his head.
“Keon, who else lives with you in your house?” he asked softly.
“Amber, my foster sister. Cody. He’s my foster brother and Mrs. Morgan, our foster mom.” He didn’t know how he managed such a long sentence, but he did. As he spoke his head turned back to the roaring disaster that had been his home. Firefighters were working to control it, blasting water at the flames that licked up the sides of the house.
“Could you come with me?” The officer asked in the same gentle voice and Keon nodded again. He forced his feet to move, along with the rest of his body. He felt numb. Exhaustion settled into his bones making them ache. His head was spinning, his vision distorted, but he followed the officer over to an ambulance, the way illuminated by flashes of red and blue. The fire crackled and roared like a living entity.
“Keon!” He recognized Amber’s voice and before he could look at her, she was on him, hugging him around the middle and burying her face in his shoulder. His arms came up automatically to hold her, his grip tight.
“What’s happening?” He whispered. A part of him knew what was happening. His home was burning. But how? Why? Why was this happening to him?
Amber pulled back, releasing him and he let his arms drop. Amber’s cheeks were stained with tears, her dark eyes glossy.
“Cody came and got me; he pulled me out of the house and took me down the block. Then he left. I waited – I waited for so long Keon, but he didn’t come back. And then- then…” She trailed off, hiccupping and a fresh wave of tears fell down her face.
The officer was still standing nearby, speaking loudly to one of the paramedics. His voice sounded distorted to Keon, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Foster mom is still missing, as is the brother Cody.” The paramedic nodded along before walking over to Keon.
“Hey,” he said gently. Keon looked at him.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” Keon shook his head and immediately regretted the action. Still, he kept his face neutral despite the way the world spun. The paramedic didn’t look convinced but didn’t push any further. He ushered both Keon and Amber into the ambulance and provided both with yellow blankets. The color reminded Keon of dandelions. The ambulance wasn’t small, but the inside felt cramped. There was both too much and not enough space.
He didn’t know how long he sat with Amber in the back but eventually his eyes grew heavy. Amber was leaning her head on his shoulder, and he tilted his head so it rested next to hers. It wasn’t the comfiest position, but the proximity felt nice.
“Where were you?” Amber’s voice was small. Keon felt a pang of guilt. Why wasn’t he with Amber? He still couldn’t remember why he left in the first place.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Amber,” he apologized and if they weren’t already touching, he would have leaned closer.
“What happens next?” Amber whispered. Keon opened his eyes and thought. What came next? Their house was unlikely to be salvageable. Mrs. Morgan was missing, as was Cody. What did that mean for them? A new home? Would they still be with Mrs. Morgan?
“Don’t worry Amber. I’ll stay with you.” It was the best he could do to reassure her. Even if they had to go to a new home, he wouldn’t leave her. Finally, the paramedics filed into the back of the car. They checked on Amber and Keon again who reassured them in somber tones that they were fine. Maybe they were unconvinced, because one of them pulled out some equipment and began to take Keon’s temperature. He had a fever. They took his blood pressure and Keon closed his eyes once more, thoughts dancing around like flowers swaying in the wind.
He didn’t know what came next. He tried to remember how he’d gotten to this point, but his mind was drawing blanks. The priest had taken him home, but why was he in the cemetery in the first place? What was he doing there? When was the last time he even went to a cemetery.
The thoughts slowed to a halt as exhaustion finally caught up with him and pulled him under.
He drifted off and dreamed of nothing but darkness.
***
The sound of a bottle popping drowned out the TV for just a moment, before the reporter continued their spiel about the latest news. The man sat down at his couch and took a drink before tuning back in. The headline below the reporter read: Three dead in string of arsons. The latest one had happened in Westlen, though towns all over were reporting on burning buildings. His own town hadn’t been hit yet, but it didn’t leave him feeling the safest, even if his apartment building was rather large. They flashed to a picture of a house on fire and the reporter stated that they had found one dead inside. The other occupants were safe, with one still unaccounted for.
He took another drink and sighed heavily, turning the TV off. He had thought for years about moving to Westlen, travelling with his art and making a name for himself in a new town. He needed to finish this commission first though. He walked over to the half-finished painting and wished he could tack his name on it already and be done. He loved art, but deadlines always left a sour taste in his mouth.
Roaming around the apartment provided little in the way of entertainment. He ended up staring at his sketch book and began to flip through it. He stopped on one of his favorite pages. A friend had done his name in graffiti and colored it with marker.
‘Ildris,’ it read. Back when he had taken the name for himself and put it out into the world. Reclaimed. If only his memories would come with it. Or his wings.
He sighed and closed the book.
Maybe he would end up moving after all.