Despite the discomfort and feeling as if he desperately needed to cleanse his body, Cael was still overjoyed. Some inkling at the back of his mind had been worried for the briefest of moments that everything had been a figment of his imagination, that the dark figure he had always spotted at the edge of his vision was merely that; a shadow. Therapists and doctors and a sleuth of many professionals had been one pencil lead away from signing an institutionalized admittance form as the years went on, as his conviction became more firm. The fact that he was merely on medication to help cope with his 'past trauma' and weekly psychiatrist sessions was perhaps a miracle. All too soon, he had begun to believe that perhaps it had been as the doctors claimed; he had designed a physical manifestation to represent the many tragedies lit erring his life one by one. A coping mechanism to being carted off place to place, unable to develop any form on consistency, so as a result created his own.<br/>Maybe that was what he had seen. Perhaps this was all a crazy dream he was concocting with his mind riding a high of incompatible drugs turning his brain into mashed vegetables that had been over steamed. With the end in sight, almost to the point he expected everything to stop at any given moment, it was his last hurrah to give him a false fallacy that perhaps there was a life on the other side.<br/><br/>Until this man, this being, this hallucination...talked right back to him.<br/><br/>Cael's heart skipped a beat. Then two, then three. At first he thought perhaps his beating organ was on the verge of collapsing, ready to slump in his ribcage inert. Not too long after, one by one his lungs, kidneys, and brain would all join it, unable to function without that drum pumping ruby red life through his veins. Yet no matter what, when the doctors fussed with their blurred masked faces and the adrenaline forced into his struggling carcass, he remained. Dark eyes, though heavy lidded, still searched for the embodiment of that soothing voice that had actually sounded surprised to hear his spewing familiarity.<br/>For a moment, when surrounded by the medical team that worked to bring his body back to a form of unceasing stability, Cael thought the man was gone, and his spirit sank. Perhaps it had all been a fancy, after all. One day as a boy he had seen a handsome face in a magazine, with a hairstyle that never went out of fashion, and simply willed the image into reality to deal with his losses. Plenty of people wore black suits, plenty rushed out to be heroes to those that needed them. A quiet settled over the room, the ruckus dissipated after they pumped his system with drugs. His resistance stilled, and he let whatever treatment happen that was forced upon him. Uneasily he drifted, neither awake nor asleep, but simply in a trance of consciousness he didn't care to wake himself from unless prompted.<br/><br/>Then, he took an deep breath with a start when that hand touched his face again.<br/><br/>This was real. Even if it wasn't, he didn't seem to care. May as well let himself indulge in such an opportunity that might not come again.<br/><br/>Upon such a realization, a somewhat self consciousness had taken root. He was a complete mess; a tube down his throat, face coated with a sheen of sweat, even the uncleaned traces of dried foam around his mouth from his hard reaction to whatever he had been slipped. He could even feel the dryness settling in around his eyes from evaporated tears. This was most definitely not the first impression he wanted to introduced himself with. Begrudgingly he had to accept it was what it was; they were meeting on unequal ground after all.<br/><br/><i>"I'm sorry. I have to go. I've waited long enough, and others need me,"</i>A panic set in now, and his fingers twitched agitatedly. The utterance had been so soft, he had almost thought he'd imagined it.<i>No, don't go! Not yet!</i>Came his desperate reply, wishing he could jump up and grab onto that arm he sensed was near. Even when he forced his eyes open the minuscule amount, he still couldn't see that face clearly. Even with the man so close, his vision was as useless as someone without glasses. If his luck was already non-existent he would have cursed it all over again.<br/><br/>To his relief, the leave taking was stalled, replaced with a question he was unsure how to answer. His mind jumbled, attempting to pinpoint exactly when all this begun despite the fog.<i>I've known you...for twenty-one years. I've known you before I even knew you, whatever you are.</i><br/><br/><i>I've seen you...since I was four years old. When my parents died.</i>He had been too young at the time to properly notice, of course. It was only as he got older had he realized it had been the same dark hair and broad shoulders all along.<br/><i>Your hand. It hadn't touched me then, but I still felt it somehow. I remember your voice, talking to my mum. To my dad. They turned cold the minute you left. </i>Cale only remembered this because his mother had turned to him from her position in the front seat, extending a hand to calm his fussing. He had a mighty tantrum before he had been strapped in the back of the car, aggravating his father. What Cael had been upset about, he couldn't recall. Most likely it had been something juvenile that wouldn't matter now. His mother had been more sympathetic, using one of her exaggerated voices in an attempt to cheer him up. A stuffed toy may or may not have been involved, and despite his pouty exterior his face had cracked into a smile. Yet in the blink of an eye, the world had shattered into pieces of glass and blood, the cracking sound of both bones and metal forever haunting his dreams. Even so, he remembered his tiny fingers making contact with his mother's warm skin as everything spun out of control.<br/><i>Spring 1997. Summer 1999. January 2000. April 2002. </i>On and on he thought of the dates, the times, though he couldn't think in more detail right now of every sighting. His mind was too exhausted for that, even with a will of steel such as his.<i> <br/>
I thought maybe...you were a distant relative. You showed up at the funerals, the wakes, the memorials. But you never looked at me when everyone else did, you were always turned away. Why can't I see your face, even now? Are you fuck ugly or something?</i>A lame joke was still lame, no matter the timing. Deep down he knew that this man carried far from the looks of a warty troll. Maybe he was too beautiful that human eyes weren't permitted to look upon him, like some God in greek mythology. What else was he to do, though? All he had was a stolen touch, and a cathartic singing that rang in his ears whenever he was spoken to.<br/><br/><i>I need to know...before you leave. I need to know what you look like. I want to know who you are.</i>