Out in the Light

[Raffe]

That night the heavens opened. None of the weather channels had predicted the virulent storm that followed. Raffe stood in the gentle slope of an archway and watched it light up the sky. Rain hit against the church roof like the pound of angry fists. The wind howled like a war cry. But inside it was warm and surprisingly dry. Refugees huddled, many drawn like moths to flame where Ezekiel sat amongst them. His mellifluous tones wrapped like warm honey, though Raffe couldn’t hear what he said. In the sky above the clouds gathered thick and roiling. When the lightning struck, it lit up the hollows like the cadaverous pits of a skull's eyes.

The rain buffeted his face, stinging. He stared. His skin was hot. That night the fever started again.

__*__

It passed in fits and starts and bad dreams. His senses returned before it finished purging its fire through his skin, eyes burning when they blinked open. Breathing felt the same; torturous. A blanket twisted up where Raffe lay, cold and damp as he pushed himself up and free of its grip. Ezekiel sat some careful distance away, chin rested on his fist. A faint smile curled his lips, his attention nothing but seemingly kind, but it made Raffe uncomfortable all the same. Around them the church hummed with the soft echoes of conversation. He could smell food; hear the clink of bowls and cups. Sunlight streamed brightly through the stained glass windows.

"I could help with that, you know."

The offer, or perhaps the knowingness of it, tightened in Raffe’s chest like a fist. He scraped a hand through his limp curls and offered a half-hearted smile, but said nothing. He felt like shit, and he knew the seriousness of his situation – the looming mortality – but truthfully it was the furthest thing from his mind. Instead he searched his pockets for his phone, limbs shaking and weak but insistent. He didn’t know how long the fever knocked him senseless. Worry twisted his stomach in knots, and the revelation of only a single waiting message plummeted him into something like panic. Insidious memories waited in the maw of that sudden fear. He barely remembered his mother, but sometimes, he remembered those five days with an alarming clarity. How he had waited, but it had always been too late.

Raffe fumbled a reply to Sage, felt the phone tumble from his grip, and the heat rim his eyes. He scraped a hand against his face, then pressed both palms tight against it when it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t accustomed to quashing his emotions, wasn’t very good at it either, but he didn’t have time for it now. Didn’t have time for the way his body was crumbling.

When he surfaced Ezekiel was still watching him, his luminous expression wrought with fascination.

[[continued in Calling Card]]