25 Berch Street. 2nd Floor Apartment 23
The dingy oil lamp swayed slowly back and forth above the dinner table, affording Colter a meager warmth that disappated quickly through the window above the sink. Colter watched as the condensation from his breath slowly disappeared in the room. The drink Marco had given him before he left had cooled down quicker than he had expected in the cold air of the room.
A shiver rattled through him. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to cover the window up with something? After all, it was dark anyways from the storm outside. Looking around, Colter found a pile of old newspapers still in a neat pile on the floor. Picking up a handful in one hand, he wiped at the condensation gathering to dampen the window before carefully arranging the newspapers across the window. Admiring his work, he took a step back. It wasn't perfect. No, there were a few gaps, but it would serve it's purpose in stopping what little heat was in the room from getting out.
Colter caught a glimpse of a glitter through the window as he turned away. Startled, he quietly pressed his face against the window, peeking through the gaps in the newspaper wall.
There were three cloaked men. They seemed to be negotiating something. Like puppets on an unseen stage, they moved at once. One man broke from the pair, coat snapping open as he drew a revolver, firing three shots. Oddly there was no sound. Colter closed his eyes at the flash, yet when he opened them, he found that the bullets seemed to have slowed to a crawl as they neared the two men, before dropping to the ground.
One of the men slowly raised their arm, almost gracefully, their hand grasping forwards before flicking up abruptly. As if on cue, the man tumbled into the air like a broken kite, clawing at his neck as if hanging from an invisible noose. Another turned to stare at him, as if sensing his gaze. He quickly ducked beneath the windowsill, cold sweat crawled down his back. He strained his ears, half expecting to hear the pounding of heavy boots down the pavement towards his house, but all that was there was a deafening silence and the sound of his heart pounding against his chest, threatening to jump out at the slightest provocation.
Gathering his wits, Colter crept up to the window, peeking through a small crack in a corner of the newspaper barrier...
The street was empty. He rubbed his eyes. It was still empty. With shaky hands, he wiped the sweat off his forehead with his shirt.
He must've just hallucinated. Yeah... That's right. What the hell was that? Colter steadied his shaky breath as he collapsed onto the wooden floor.
'Knock. Knock. Knock.'
Colter froze. His throat clenched shut. Someone was at the door.
He stared at the front door cautiously, as if someone would burst through it at any moment. His eyes darted around frantically. There was a knife on the dinner table. Next to the phone Marco had given him, prompting him to contemplate calling for help for a split second before rejecting the option. It was too loud. What if it gave away his location to whoever was looking for him?
Colter leapt up, dashing to the table before snatching the knife off the table. He gripped it tightly, feeling the sweat gather in his palms while his heart began to calm slightly. The knife wasn't much, but at least it was something. Colter stared at the front door, which had remained silent after the first knocks.
Perhaps it was a mailman? At 9pm?
In a half crouching stance, Colter slowly crept to the door, his grip tightening around the knife. Each step seemed to cause the wooden floorboards underneath him to groan. The wind outside howled, causing the entire apartment to hiss and creak as it slightly swayed.
Then. Like a switch had been flipped: It was quiet. It was as if the darkness of the night had swallowed it all. Colter shallowed his breath as he neared the door. Colter brought his eyes to the peephole slowly.
Long black coat. Colter caught a glimpse of the face but it was too blurry to identify them. He looked down. A gloved hand scratched at the doorframe like a zombie, causing Colter to stumble back.
"Renn?" A husky voice sounded out behind the door.
Colter let out a sigh of relief as he yanked open the door.
"Get in. It's not safe." he hissed, half yanking Marco in before slamming the door shut. Ensuring the door was bolted shut, Colter let out a sigh and collapsed onto the couch.
"Kid, are you alright? What happened?" Marco inquired, a whiff of ash seemed to follow after him.
"I'm fine. What are you doing here anyways?" Colter dismissed his question and quickly changed the topic.
"Just checking up. Heard a few gunshots, thought it might've startled you."
Colter let out a sigh, realising that perhaps it wasn't a hallucination afterall. "No. I don't know. It..." Colter paused. "It.... was like. Fuck. I don't know. This man... He fired a revolver at these two men, and they just, stopped the bullets. And then... and then."
Colter's throat felt dry as he recounted what had just happened. Unbeknowst to the fact that Marco was now scouring his house.
"Kid...."
"Where did you get this?"
Colter looked up, confused. "Get what?"
"Don't act stupid. This book- no- this grimoire, where did you get this. Answer me."
Colter stared at Marco. The once frail old man now shadowed over him with a sharp aura, grabbing at his collar.
"Fuck, I don't know!"
"You. Don't lie. You shouldn't have been even awake to see us unless you've touched the strain. The Grimoire is yours. I know it."
"Even if I owed you're father, I won't hesitate to look you up boy." Marco hissed, his face stern.
Colter squirmed in the mans grasp as he came to an ephiphany. That's right. How did Marco hear the revolver? It was clearly silent. Without time to think further under the pressure of Marco's grip on his shoulder, he brought his elbow across, breaking free from the iron grip and dropping onto the ground with a thud.
He opened his eyes, to see a leg dropping down. Rolling to the right to dodge Marco's kick, he grasped the knife that he had dropped, before scrambling up and pointing it at Marco, both hands gripping the handle tightly.
"What. Do. You Want." Colter uttered through gritted teeth.
Marco stared at him for another second before sighing.
"What a shame... If I knew you had the talent I would've gotten you to join us. What a pity you're a part of that blasted Hollow Reach."
Watching Marco reach his hand out, Colter felt a wave of foreboding wash over him.
"Stire". Marco muttered under his breath.
Instantly, Colter felt a sort of weakness take over him, as his wrists bound together as if a rope had bound them tightly.
Colter lay helplessly as Marco dropped him onto the ground and turned to flick through the Grimoire. Time seemed to slow to a still as Marco stood in the middle of the room, engrossed in wrapping a chain around the book.
After what seemed like an eternity, Marco finally clasped the book shut. Shaking his head as he glanced at Colter before flicking his finger up. Instantly, Colter felt his strength return, yet his hands were still bound together.
"Get up. I'm taking you to the Church."