Ambrose VIII

Time was surreal thing as Abbey became accustomed to his new living arrangement. Four walls of gray, one flickering light, and Tate. It was like living in another detention. At a certain time the overhead light would shut off leaving himself and Tate in limbo. While other times the door and the lights would come alive.

Guards would come and grab Tate, and drag him off to conduct “test” on his new obtained abilities. Leaving Abbey alone for the most part, which he didn’t see as a blessing. For being alone in the dark allowed the voices to haunt him.

Tate wasn’t lying about the voice in the static. When Abbey first heard it he thought another man had entered his cell, he would have preferred that. Instead of the nerve-racking fear that something or someone lured in the darkness. Abbey would huddle against the door and prayed  that what ever it was it would stay away from him.

Over and over the voice would whisper his name, hauntingly. The voice was to distorted to make an identification, but Abbey was somewhat certain it was Wynn. Lately the voice intensified causing Abbey’s  head pounded.  It almost seemed to begged for him. He wish he could explain to it that he was in no way to entertain it with a response.

On top of the constant voice, Abbey’s state of dress added new problems. Being bare his flesh always covered in goosebumps. He prayed he wouldn’t get ill, and neither would Tate. It was hard enough to think when he was warm. But it was cold and musty in the cell, and stank of urine and feces.

Abbey was mortified when Tate had reviled that he had a drain to urinate in, and a bucket for his stool. To make it worse was the word privacy was a foreign concept here. Abbey swore he caught Tate watching him, or perhaps Tate was worried he would miss the bucket.

Tate hadn’t been the best cell mate either. Between being experimented on, and being thoroughly screwed by Dr. Salem he was not the friendliness man. Abbey didn’t blame him though, Tate kept the doctor away from him. And that he was thankful for.

Abbey sighed and once more rested against the door as he awaited Tate’s return.  For Abbey had one routine memorized. When Tate returned that was when they were both fed. A selfish thought many would agree, but when you only get one bland dish you get greedy. With stomach growling Abbey moan as his eyes became heavy.

‘A quick nap won’t hurt.’ he mumbled to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

‘Abbey sank into the darkness warmth blooming in his core. He shuddered as the world around him distorted as color began to paint a scene.

Lightly his feet landed on the ground his bare feet warming against the pavement. Abbey smiled as he stood head lulled back as warm rain cascaded down his face. It felt wonderful as fresh air filled his lungs.

Sighing he glanced around at his surrounds. To his astonishment he was standing on a bridge from his childhood. Old Harvest Bridge that was its name, and underneath Pico River flowed lazily. Abbey had crossed this bridge a many of times when he lived with this father, usually have with grocery bags in hand.

Startled Abbey realized he was not alone on the bridge. A young man sat on the guardrail with a bouquet of orange mums resting on his knees. This man’s bleached blonde hair, and tan skin stood out against the gray sky, making Abbey’s heart fluttered. He gazed at this exotic man, a nagging suspension of knowing tugged at his subconscious. 

“You know it’s rude to stare, Abbey.”

Blood rushed to Abbey’s face as the man turned to look at him. His eyes were like an emeralds that was cut in half, soft yet intense. Abbey’s mouth went dry. Why was his heart skipping beats? He didn’t know this man, and yet his heart fluttered once more when the man smiled at him. 

“Cute as always, do you know who I am?”

Abbey looked away, he had no idea, and because of this his heart ached. Just then the wind picked up chilling his bare body, he could now smell the perfume of mums. He glanced back to the man and noticed a pink cross tied to the guardrail with the name Ariel on it.

“Heh, I would have thought that kiss would have jumpstarted your memory.”


Wynn smiled and rose and gently place the mums on the rail. Stepping over the railing he approached Abbey, eyes gleaming with joy. Wynn stopped in front of Abbey a tan hand gently stroked Abbey’s check.

” I glad you’re starting to remember, and I’m even happier that I can finally show you my face.”

“My memory is still foggy” Abbey said taking a step back, “I don’t think it’s wise…”

Abbey bit his lip as Wynn’s eyes sadden, why did that look make him want to throw himself at Wynn? Abbey’s heart pounded, he wanted to be touch by Wynn, but his mind screamed he was stranger and therefore should not be trusted.

“Shh…It’s alright, I came on a little to strong. I apologize, it’s just it has been ten years since I saw you. I’m a bit overzealous.” 

“Ten years? Where are you?” 

Wynn’s face grew dark as his hands clenched into fist, “I’m here Abbey, I’ve been inside here for the past ten fucking years! Ever since your jackass of a father banished me here!”

Abbey jerked back at Wynn’s sudden outburst. He was simmering, and Abbey took another step back. Ask if he read Abbey’s thoughts Wynn took a deep breath and continued.

“Riverside Asylum has been my home for these past ten years. I’ve been so alone, so weak, so tried. I thought about giving up. But one day I felt you again, your mind at least. Your light kept me going, and I prayed that I would see you again one day. And it seems my wish has came true”

Ambrose IX

One thought on “Ambrose VIII

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s