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Days had gone by, maybe even weeks. Time seemed like a thing of the past, it had no real meaning in this hell Logan had stumbled into. He’d always heard hell was a scorching place where sinners would burn for eternity, that’s what his mother would say.
It was a place for drinkers, gamblers, sodomites, and other nefarious doers. Logan was a sodomite, he was attracted to men and no matter how hard he tried to snuff those feelings out they came back stronger. Maybe he had died at some point of his expedition, maybe this was hell.
He lay battered on the dirty brick floor. Someone or something had taken great care to lay the gray stone intricately, like that abomination deserved to have such an intricate temple. Logan knew a community at some point that must’ve worshipped the devil that was down here. The darkness clung to every triangular design and jagged stone.
Despite how mean his mother was, he cried for her. It wasn’t something a king should do. His father, the old king called Sparrow, surely never cried for his mother. And as his mind added his emotionally distant father into the equation, he cried for them both.
He wouldn’t be in this situation if they were still alive. He wouldn’t have been so stressed with ruling a nation, he would not have fled on an expedition when the weight of responsibility became too much.
What will come of his younger brother? The boy wasn’t a boy anymore, as much as Logan wanted him to be. He wished they were both young, he missed playing in the garden outside the castle, giggling around the poppies and unburdened by the cruel realities of life.
Suddenly, his pale skin broke out into gooseflesh and the smothering presence of something evil returned. He whimpered, a pathetic sound, as he felt two pairs of ghostly hands grab his ankles.
The shadowy children with red eyes were back. They must’ve unlocked the barred cell they’d been keeping him in without him hearing it. Logan was so weak he couldn’t even kick to protest, all he could do was let out a breathy whine as they dragged him down the dark corridors.
They sat him in this room, Logan wasn’t sure what the proper name for it was. There was an altar, he was the sacrificial lamb, but there were no pews where a congregation would bow their heads in worship.
In the circle on the ground, he kneeled, and his spine jerked agonizingly, making his back straight and his head leaned back. This was the worst part, he had no control over his body.
Logan was never a superstitious person, but now he figured he could believe in the most outlandish claims.
His body trembled as he tried to snap his jaw shut, but some kind of force held it open. The tar, or what Logan at first thought it was, filled his mouth. He had been here long enough to know what to expect. It wasn’t hot like actual tar but it burnt going down his esophagus like actual tar would.
But while tar was hot, this substance was freezing cold. Tears continued to spill from his eyes as the cold snotty dark liquid pooled into his stomach and through his bowels. It went through him, leaking out of every orifice. Flushing out his body until he felt so empty of anything warm and so full of dread and tar.
It was like the tar served a purpose, and that purpose was to erase everything that made Logan him. His guts, his body, and even his mind. He couldn’t see, he could barely breathe, and his head hurt so bad that a few times he’d thought it would melt in his own skull.
He’d fall unconscious rather quickly, though. Fortunately, whatever God that would allow him to suffer such a drawn out, torturous fate would provide him with sweet dreams. Dreams of his childhood, the only time he didn’t feel burdened.
~
Logan woke up with a start. He clawed at his neck and sputtered, trying to rid the taste in his throat. He could’ve swore it had all ended, had it not?
Before his nails could dig deep enough to tear his arteries, two hands, firm and warm, grabbed his wrists. “Stop! Hey!” A voice shouted, so familiar he felt tears spring to his eyes.
“Where am I?” Logan questioned, he was surprised by how wrecked his voice sounded.
“You’re home.” The voice, he soon realized it was his brother’s, said.
It took a moment for Logan’s eyes to adjust to the dark room. Memories came back of how he was rescued and brought back to Albion. He sighed in relief, then sobbed.
Luis sighed, he felt himself tear up too. He hadn’t known where Logan had gone, nobody had and nobody still does. He just remembered Jasper rousing him from his bed one morning, informing him that his brother had returned from his expedition and was unwell.
Luis was led to his brother’s chambers, where he slept. He looked more like a corpse, his skin sickly pale and his body was gaunt. The castle’s physicians worked for weeks, all while Logan remained unconscious. His lip was split, his mouth and throat appeared to have been burnt, he couldn’t even control his bowels and it lasted weeks. Luis thought of just smothering his older brother to put him out of his misery.
He was stripped of dignity, and if anyone deserved dignity it was his brother.
But his prayers had been answered and Logan had gotten better. Physically, he got better, but mentally he was still anguished by whatever had caused this. Luis tried to gently pry any information after the snow around the castle melted into spring, but he was unsuccessful.
“You’re home.” Luis said again, more firmly.
Logan nods, trying to hold back his sobs but he was very unsuccessful. But it was fine, it was just he and his brother.
He was home.