The soft carpet, a plush sea of comfort, offered a gentle reprieve to my aching feet. Leaving the sanctuary of my room, I embarked on the familiar yet heavy trek down the passageway toward the bathroom. My day had commenced with a desperate attempt to cleanse myself of the morning's horrors—scrubbing away the blood and the vile residue of shadow panther saliva. Yet, the brief and tumultuous sojourn in Clivilius had marred me once more, layering new stains over the old.
Why did I activate that cursed Portal Key? The question ricocheted through my mind, sparking a blush of foolishness across my cheeks—a vivid reminder of my vulnerability. "Oh, that's right, I had no choice," I muttered, the words barely escaping my lips as I trudged forward, each step a reminder of the relentless cascade of events at the casino. The memories clung to me as tenaciously as the dirt and blood I was desperate to wash away. There hadn't been another way out, had there?
The bathroom door loomed before me, a barrier to the solace I sought. A sudden halt—my hands, occupied with the weight of Duke's wrapped body, denied me the simple act of turning the knob. "Shit!" The curse slipped out in a hushed exhale, a whisper to the stillness of my home, now breached by the savagery of Clivilius. And not just breached, but invaded—Duke's lifeless form a tortured testament to the violence that had followed me home.
"Oh, Duke," I whispered, my voice cracking, laden with a sorrow too heavy to bear. The weight of his small, brave body in my arms was a cruel reminder of his fearless nature—the very trait that had endeared him to me, now the cause of my heartache. I turned, the burden of guilt and grief pointing me back toward the solitude of my room. "Why did you always have to be so fearless? You know how that always got you into trouble." My words, a mix of lament and love, filled the air as I spoke to him, to the memory of his spirited little soul. "And now look at you—" The sentence trailed off, unfinished, much like the fate that had befallen my dear, daring Duke.
"Beatrix!" The sharp, piercing call of my mother's voice sliced through the silence, jolting me from my sorrowful reverie. The familiar creak of the stairs under her hurried steps was like a countdown, each groan of the wood a second ticking away.
My heart raced, skipping a beat as panic set in. "I don't think we can make it back, Duke," I whispered to the lifeless form in my arms, my gaze frantically sweeping from the top of the stairs to the sanctuary of my bedroom at the corridor's end. My mind raced, weighing the scant options, calculating the slim chances of evading my mother's imminent intrusion.
"Are you home?" Her voice, now alarmingly closer, clawed its way up the staircase, each syllable heavy with the weight of impending confrontation.
I faced the bathroom door, a makeshift barrier between my current exposure and the need for concealment. My elbow, guided by desperation, collided with the cold chrome of the door handle with more force than intended. Clumsily balancing Duke's wrapped form, I pushed down, feeling the cool metal slide under my skin as the latch yielded with a click. "I'm having a shower!" The words erupted from me, a desperate declaration thrown towards the encroaching presence of my mother.
In the nick of time, my heel struck the door, ushering it shut with a decisive movement. My back hit the door with a solid thump, a physical full stop to the motion of the moment. I slid down, the coolness of the door seeping through my shirt, grounding me as I clutched Duke close.
"That was close, Duke," I murmured into the silence, my breaths deep and quivering. The tension hung thick in the air, a tangible cloud of unspoken fears and close calls.
Then, a sharp knock on the door shattered the fragile peace, a sudden reminder that questions remained just outside, as relentless and probing as ever.
"Beatrix, is everything alright?" The concern in my mother's voice seeped through the door, its undercurrent of tension striking a dissonant chord within me.
"Yeah," I called back, attempting to infuse a semblance of normality into my voice, even as my heart waged a relentless battle against my chest, each beat a loud echo in the confined space.
Mother's voice pierced the veil of my feigned calm once more. "Can you come downstairs when you're finished in there? Your father and I need to speak with you about something important." The gravity in her tone, an unusual intrusion into my private turmoil, sent a ripple of anxiety coursing through me.
"Can't it—" My words faltered, my throat constricting, transforming my inquiry into a strained croak. The sudden realisation dawned on me—it must be something of significant weight to warrant such an interruption, especially here, now. My heart rate escalated, the beats now thunderous in their rapid succession.
"Sure thing, Mum," I managed to muster a more composed response, masking the whirlwind of thoughts and fears churning within me.
A peculiar hush followed, stretching out like a taut thread, leaving me to wonder if she had departed. In a bid to ensure a semblance of privacy, I gingerly placed Duke's still form in front of the washing basket nestled in the nook between the bathtub and the vanity. The urgency to shield myself from an unexpected entry spurred me to twist the shower taps, coaxing a cascade of cold water to erupt with a sputter, its sound a temporary barrier against the world outside.
"Thanks, Beatrix," her voice reached me again, a distant anchor as I grappled with the maelstrom of emotions inside me.
With a heavy heart, I cast one more glance at Duke, the once-white sheet marred by the stark, accusing red of blood—a visceral testament to the day's horrors. A grimace etched itself onto my face, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and loss that lay so lamentably before me. With cautious steps on the cold, hard tiles, I moved to lock the bathroom door, securing myself, for a fleeting moment, from the impending confrontations and the relentless tide of reality awaiting me beyond its barrier.
