Chapter Text
origin
/ˈɒrɪdʒɪn/ [noun]
the point or place where something begins, arises, or is derived.
The story of Michael Shelley begins where most, if not all stories begin- at the beginning and what is a beginning if not the end of something?
Michael began with the end of his mother- complications in labour were not uncommon, and Vera Shelley had always been of a fragile disposition. It was truly no surprise she didn’t make it, not to her mother, not to her doctor, certainly not to her husband either.
And so the story goes on, as most stories do, that Michael was raised by nannies and governesses and au pairs while his father flitted around the country, giving his time to seemingly everyone except the one who perhaps needed it the most.
Michael did not mind though- at least, that’s what he told concerned teachers, sympathetic governesses, judging relatives and that is what he told himself too, even if he couldn’t bring himself to believe it in those moments. He hoped if he said it enough, it would make it true, and he truly would not care but saying the same thing too many times just made whatever meaning the words did hold slip away until all that were left were just words.
Empty, disjointed words.
Words were all Michael had sometimes. Words were soft and sharp and warm and cold and sweet and bitter and syrupy and pointed. They twisted and spun and hid and revealed, arranged as they were in the well- worn pages of the books that towered over him. He ran his fingers over them as he read, tracing the lines and shapes and patterns they made. Ms Olivia, his caretaker, was always warning him not to get lost in the worlds of words, and Michael tried, he really did, but words had a way of worming their way into your brain until you could do nothing else but spend time over them.
And if he had to be honest to himself, which he was trying to be, really, he was trying so much, he loved the escape- the thrill of going to places where he was seen, quite unlike the parties hosted by his father where most of the eyes, including his fathers would slip over him as if he were just a part of the background- the shimmering lights, the ornate tables, the swathes of velvet, and silk and chiffon. He wished, only to himself, that one day his father would see his well-combed hair, his clean suit, his bright smile and perfect behaviour.
He wished that he would see him, his son.
He stopped wishing after a while- ditching the parties altogether, and spending his nights holed up in a corner of the library, reading the same book he’d read so many times since it had been published recently- The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. He loved this book, far more than words could do justice. Words and books kept him company throughout his childhood, a barrier, a bridge that isolated him from practically everyone else, a bridge no one ever truly bothered to cross. No one except him.
Michael met him when he was hiding from a gala his father had hosted, to celebrate a new venture or something, he didn’t really know, and didn’t want to know either. He had wandered away from the party into the library, something Michael could sympathise with. His father’s parties had always seemed boring to him, and it was only because the press might notice if he didn’t show up in the beginning that he attended them for what seemed like the longest hour of his life. He watched the bespectacled boy with mousy hair stare at the library that arched over the two of them, noting with the barest hint of pride that he was in awe.
Then the boy looked up, grey eyes meeting blue, and Michael froze. What would the boy do next? Should he—
“Hello,” The boy spoke, voice loud in the soft silence of the library, “I’m Ryan. Ryan Wellington. Who are you?”
Michael stood, creeping out of the nook he had been nestled in, “I’m Michael. It’s nice to- nice to-, uh, it’s nice to meet you, R- Ryan.”
The boy, no, Ryan smiled at him, “So, what’s your favourite book, Michael?”
And that was the beginning of something beautiful- perhaps the most beautiful thing Michael had ever known. A friendship. Oh, how surprised he was when Ryan had come back to visit him a week later! Michael had blinked, stunned and accidentally asked him what he was doing there, whether he had come to visit his father but Ryan had simply laughed at him before telling him that was what friends did- visit and spend time with each other. He could have sworn his brain stopped for a moment as he tried to process the fact they were friends- he was tempted to ask Ryan if he was sure about this but Ryan had frowned at his silence and pulled him away to talk about books and movies and whatever else that had caught Ryan’s fancy.
Michael could let him speak for hours altogether, content to sit and listen in silence but Ryan had a tendency to bring out the best, or the worst, in people and the day they had argued with each other had been the most terrifying of Michael's life. It hadn't even been over an important thing, really, just a differing of opinions- Ryan thought that they should spend time exploring the gardens while Michael had wanted to stay where he always had, in the library, and despite being smart, mature 11 year olds as Ms Olivia had reminded them, neither were willing to budge. In the end, Ryan had stormed away, giving him the cold shoulder and Michael had been convinced their friendship was now over, a fact that terrified him- he liked Ryan, and liked spending time with him and certainly did not like the tightness in his chest or the tears that threatened to spill over. Why had he been so stubborn? He knew he spent so much time in the library, too much time perhaps, would it have hurt for him to give in and go to the garden?
His father had even taken him aside that day, since he happened to be home, much to his surprise. His father bent down, putting a hand on his shoulder and Michael stared at him, silently comparing features as if putting them to memory. Same soft blue eyes, though his father's were cold, same straight nose and the same scattering of freckles. That was where the similarities ended, for everything else Michael had was his mother's which happened to be her hair, coloring and disposition. A fragility that no Shelley should have, he remembered his father muttering in his study once when he had slipped out to see if the rumors that his father was home were true.
"Michael," His father spoke, voice even and he snapped back to focus as he continued, "The Wellingtons are investors of my company and as such, I do not want you doing anything to their son that might cause harm to the firm or my reputation. Just go along with whatever he wishes, am I clear?"
Michael could only nod, having already resolved to do just that, though shaken after listening to his father speak to him directly. A week later, Ryan had come and apologized and so had Michael and just like that, everything was magically all right again.
He could tell the staff at home, and Ms Olivia were pleased by this development- a step further on the path to normalcy or whatever that was. His time spent at school got less lonely too, as Ryan dragged him along wherever he went, and Ryan happened to go to a lot of places to meet a lot of people, most of whom were surprised to see him there, lurking in the background, towering over the other children as Ryan conversed with them.
But like all things that begin, this too had to come to an end, and what a nasty end it was. Michael remembered it vividly- how could he not, when he visited it every night since in his dreams?
It had been a cheery summer morning in the middle of May when it happened, something Michael was upset about. He wished it were raining when this had happened- the gloomy skies and pounding rain seemed much more apt than the bright blue sky, fluffy clouds and warm summer breeze.
Ryan reminded him of the sun sometimes- full of fire, and with a mean streak that could kindle a forest fire, but at the same time, compassionate, bright and cheery. The two of them had begged and pleaded to be able to go into the town to explore and Ms Olivia had finally relented, allowing them to leave the relative safety of the house. They had run most of the way there, Ryan dragging him along, laughter echoing off the dusty roads and grassy fields. The wind was warm, the sun was bright, Ryan was happy- Michael thought it couldn’t possibly get any better than this. And in the end, he was right- it didn’t get any better.
It was Ryan who spotted it first- hidden just in the edge of the woods, concealed by the trees, an old, crumbling building that, frankly, made him feel uneasy. One glance at Ryan was enough for him to realise they would be going there to explore, and before Ryan could even speak, Michael sighed, “F- Fine. I d- don’t like this, but if- if you really want to go, then lead the way.”
“Yes! Come on, Mikey, you’re not going to regret this!” Ryan whooped, running towards the building. A pit opened in his stomach as he walked towards the building- could it even be called that, old and dilapidated as it was? Why were they going there? What did Ryan think they’d find?
“… wouldn’t that be cool, Mikey?” Ryan asked, eyes shining, excitement echoing in his face. Michael merely hummed in acknowledgment, scanning the surroundings, the pit in his stomach deepening. A cold breeze washed over them as they stood at the entrance covered with overgrown vines, making the sweat covering them cool and goosebumps rose on his hands. This was bad, he knew it, but how could he tell Ryan?
“Shall we?” Ryan grinned, a bright excited one, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. How could he say no now? He didn’t want another argument- that had been horrible. Michael shivered, putting on a brave face for his friend, “L- L- Lead the way.”
“I wonder what this place was,” Ryan mused, steps cautious to avoid the piles of debris littering the hall.
“A- A sana, uh, a sanatorium,”
“How did you know that?”
Michael simply pointed to the sign hung at the end, in front of the few broken pieces of wood- what he assumed to be the receptionist's desk- ‘Sunrise Grove Sanatorium’ printed in bold, peeling letters. He frowned as he read it- he hadn’t known of any Sanatorium located here. Perhaps it was just something he hadn’t read about yet. If he was being honest, geography and the history of the area he lived in had t really caught his attention, not when there were so many more interesting places to explore.
“Huh,” Ryan spoke, voice thoughtful, “I guess that answers that. Hey Mikey, look!” Ryan ran to a corridor that stretched out to their left, before turning away from his line of sight.
“Ryan! Wait!” He ran behind him, heart pounding as sweat gathered on his brow. He stopped abruptly at the empty hallway, perplexed, “Ryan?”
Michael took a tentative step forward, trembling as the pit in his stomach became a chasm. Ryan had a tendency to hide himself in the nooks of a corridor and jump out at him as he passed by, something Michael truly hated but tolerated for the way it made him laugh. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, wide eyes scanning the long corridor, “I- It’s- It’s not f- funny, Ryan.”
Dead silence met him, and fear began to wrap its hands around his heart. He fought the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, calming his harsh, erratic breathing with deep breaths. Where the hell was he? He couldn’t have gone far now, could he? Ms Olivia was going to kill him for this- his father was going to kill him for this, he couldn’t have lost Ryan now, could he?
His terror mounted with every step he took, every call unanswered, every door he passed in the corridor opened by his shaking, clammy hands to an empty room. He walked, and ran, and jumped, and cried, and begged for Ryan to come back, to end this stupid game.
Ryan never did, and Michael ran from the place, half-mad with fear, scaring the staff and Ms Lia terribly with his sputtering of a boy named Ryan Wellington who was lost in the Sanatorium nearby, who was his friend , who had dragged him to that horrible place when he had a bad feeling all along and hadn’t listened to it, and they had to go save him, now.
“Michael,” Ms Lia spoke, voice quiet but concerned as she knelt to face him, “There is a Sanatorium near the property, on the very outskirts in fact, but...Who is Ryan Wellington?”