Mortal Wounds

Chapter Two

When in Purgatory, I wondered what it was like to fall free through a black hole. I imagined the floor opening, the darkness in the void spilling through the cracks to swallowing me whole. I wondered if the darkness would suffocate me or if it were cosy like home. Therefore, it surprises me when I wake up in the darkness, my head aching as though my head was bashed in with a jackhammer.

I sit up in a bed, craving the taste of honey with milk to soothe my dry throat. Pain. I can feel it vividly. Fingers heavy like lead, I run them up to my chest as I try to locate the stab wound. My fingers find nothing but firm, undamaged skin.

The metal plunged into my skin, yet all I feel but all I feel is a chaotic drum beneath my palm. My breath hitches. My heartbeat. I keep my eyes shut, afraid that if I open them, I will find myself in that cursed apartment.

I breathe in deep and get a nose full of the scent of antiseptic. Beeping sounds overpower my hearing. The entire room is made up of crushed pearls. So white. So blank. A box with digital lines jumps up and down. I yank wires from my arm, wincing at the sting. I snap my head around when a hand lands on my shoulder.

"Oh, dear. How are you, Virgil?" his words boom in my ears.

"Shut up," I shriek, pressing my palms against my ears.

His lips move but I can't hear it over my ringing ears. The colours on his face are loud, although he is an average middle-aged white human male with grey and brown, wearing doctor scrubs. He checks my eyes with a torch. When a bright light begins to stab my eyes, I instinctually shove it back on for him to yelp in pain, accidentally banging his hand into his nose.

I stumble off the bed and run out the door. I find myself in an equally blinding hallway. My vision is slow as if I just chugged a whole bottle of tequila. I stumble through the hall, trying not to be seen by the hazy figures in all directions.

I lock myself in a bathroom, stumbling to a sink before catching a glimpse of my reflection. I throw up in the sink while being a host in a stranger’s body.

"What the hell happened to you? You trippin’?”

A figure with a hood shadowing his face stands behind me. I watch him with suspicion as he slowly approaches me.

"Honestly, I don't know who you are, but I will cut your hands and shove them down your throat if you touch me,” I rasp.

Moss green eyes glow in curiosity as he drops his hood. His eyes are storm clouds of anxiety ready to rain any second. He is quite easy on the eyes; his ash brown complexion, curls the colour of whisky frame his face, and his voice gives away a middle eastern descent. He extends the vowels in his words with a heavy emphasis on "d" and "t" and for him, "a" comes out as a "u."

"What do you mean you don't know who I am? I've sat behind you in bio class for like, the past two years, and I'm the only coloured person in this town. Is this a prank? Are you concussed?" he snaps before glancing around me, noticing the vomit in the sink. His face then softens with concern. "Dude, are you ok-"

"Piss off,” I snap, and I try to inhale large gulps of air, but my rhythm is off.

I groan and sit on the floor wishing it would swallow me whole. I want to lay down for the rest of my life. Or afterlife— whatever this qualifies as.

"Knees up and head between them. It'll help you breathe."

A wave of nausea passes through me as I squeeze my eyes shut. He places my hand on his chest. His chest expands as he breathes deeply. I mimic his breaths. A moment later, my senses calm down to the point it's manageable.

"Feeling better, Virgil?"

His skin is warm against my hand. I slide my hand up his arm almost thrilled that I can feel the contours of his arm. The texture of his shift is a soft grainy feel of a thermal shirt. f**k, I never thought that this is something I'd miss something as simple as a touch. I hope this is real. I wet my lips and try to find my voice.

"Yes, but why do you look so miserable?" I reply hoarsely.

His eyes widen a little before he clears his throat.

"Bro, I'm not the one who came in here and vomited everywhere. I didn't know you got sensory overloads," he scoffs, clearing his throat as he pries my hand away. I instantly crave skin contact. "I should get you a doctor."

"No, just give me a minute."

He studies me for a moment before he sighs and takes a seat next to me.

"Jeez, and I thought I was having a s**t day."

“At least you know who you are.”

The stranger I struck a deal with called me Invidian and the name sounds natural to me, yet others refer to me as Virgil. An unfamiliar name. My soul crawls under the skin like I'm wearing a tight suit. My soul tries to fit the body, and it feels restricted.

“What do you mean?”

I'm shaken by how close I was to forgetting everything about myself in Purgatory. Perhaps I will remember everything once this headache fades.

"Where am I?" I ask after a while.

He knits his brows together and glances at the door as if considering calling for a nurse.

"GoldVine hospital," he answers after a moment.

"This isn't a dream?"

"No. Disappointing, I know."

I arch a brow.

"Well, you must be fun at parties."

"I don't get invited to any."

I see why. I roll my eyes and glance down at my body. I'm currently in a slim, pale, mortal body. What masochistic son of a b***h would agree to trade places with me? It doesn't make sense in the slightest.

"Why are you hanging around in a place where humans desecrate?"

He wrinkles his nose at that description before sighing.

"I'm meant to be in therapy now but I got halfway through the building and backed out. So, I texted my therapist that I was having explosive diarrhoea and couldn't come. But then I realised I was in his workplace and he could see me at any moment. So, long story short, I ended up hiding in the bathroom for the past two hours scrolling through dog memes, playing Pacman, and questioning my life choices."

That was anything but a short story but at least his ramblings calm down.

"I decided that I'd rather hide from the dude and play video games. I'd rather that than he gives me a lecture about why I shouldn't play video games because this town agrees video games are a scam Satan implemented to create violence in youth culture or something," he explains before taking some electronic device out of his pocket, "Seriously, how does Pacman link to Satan?"

"Maybe it's because shows a disembodied pie-chart head floating around in a maze, swallowing up random balls and ghosts," I muse.

He gives me a blank look before turning his console off.

"Well, thanks for making sure I'd never look at the game the same way again."

I shrug, eyeing him with wariness. I can't tell if this guy is an illusion. He seems real. The guy's face softens and he touches my cheek.

"Hey, I know panic attacks and sensory overloads can be scary, but you'll be fine."

Instead of thinking about the reasons why my life sucks a*s, I focus on this guy.

I reach forward where I can see something moving through his shirt. His heart thumps against my fingers, fascinated by the feeling. I press my ear to it, excited by how loud it is. Damn, I can listen to this sound for ages. Maybe I am alive.

"Uh, so, hey I have a pun to cheer you up. A friend of mine tried to annoy me with bird puns, but I soon realized that toucan play at that game."

I watch his lips move as he speaks. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, silently asking 'what the f**k is happening right now?' He becomes flustered by my lack of response.

"OK, tough audience. How about this? When I get n***d in the bathroom, the shower usually gets turned on," he wiggles his brows as if expecting a laugh.

I begin to crave a stronger indicator I am alive. I want to feel more of his body heat.

He trails to a pause as I gradually lean closer, my eyes flickering as I catch his scent of cologne. Cheeks fiercely lights-up and he stares as if I grew a second head.

"What are you doing?" his voice wavers with uncertainty before his eyes widen in shock. He pulls away, rapidly blinking and rubbing his eyes.

"Your eyes were red," he accuses me.

Red used to be my eye colour, along with my family members. It was a hereditary thing.

"It's the lighting."

"No, you're not acting normal," he insists, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What is your birthday?"

"15th of April."

"T—that's not Virgil's birthday!"

"Well, I did have a 1 in 365 chance of getting that right, didn’t I?"

"What the f— Mate, who are you? What are you?”

With the way he's staring at me, it's clear he sees right through my disguise. I know I am not from the mortal world. I’m a shade, a shadow from Hell and its unholy glory. I’m damned—committed the crime of merely being born to Lilith, a demoness who defied God in the Garden of Eden. I don’t belong here, yet it appears I have swapped places with a pure mortal.

Hell operates on an alternative timeline which mirrors the worst of human existence. Wars. Viruses. Corruption. A dystopian conflict where people sold their souls for power, whose souls had been corrupted by so much sin, it would kill them to turn back. While I am half-human, the other half of me, I know is a demon. I’m the bastard son of a demonic spirit and a man I never known.

My mother, she took life down the dark path, defying God and her entire lineage suffers in the darkness. Redemption is not handed out to the witches, the sorcerers, cambions, incubus and succubus live in generations beneath her. I am the youngest of the family line, Invidian. A cambion is precisely what I am: I exist in the border of both worlds both human and demonic. Whether this makes me the epitome of evil is up to debate. Despite what I am, what my soul represents, I have not sinned as badly as the others in Hell.

"I’m your worst nightmare, mate," I whisper, with a wink and a smirk. I see my eyes go red in the reflection showing in his eyes.

His mouth gapes with utter horror. We become distracted by a loud knock on the door, jingling sounds and a click.

"Oh, dear Lord! There you are!" exclaims a blonde male in his mid-thirties. He wraps his appendages around me in a twisted death trap. Right, mortals have a common custom called 'hugging' where they wrap their arms around something else in a sweaty death trap. Eh, but it doesn't feel that bad. "You terrified me, son."

He pulls me back by my shoulders to examine my face, chestnut eyes glowing with concern. The man's skin is tawny, complimenting his dirty blonde hair. He is 6 feet of lean muscle and is dressed in a navy three-piece suit. What I'm gathering from this is that I am now possessing the body of a guy named Virgil, and this is his father.

In the mirror world, demons normally attach to mortals they watch through their mirrors. They drain them of their energy by latching on and driving them to madness. Demons exploit them and when strong enough, try to enter their bodies through possession. I cannot recall if I have done so before, but I am doing it now and I am already uncomfortable.

"My dear God, Virgil, you scared me half to death. Let's get you back to the doctor, hm?"

"What happened to him anyway?" Davian asks, recovering from his shock.

I slide him a mocking smirk that he bristles at. He looks ready to chuck buckets of Holy Water and crosses at my head.

"Morgana found him passed out in his room. The doctor thinks it was from dehydration, stress and bad sleeping habits. And yes, I am aware that you've been staying up to ungodly hours this week," the man uses the last part to chide me and boops me on the nose, confusing the hell out of me. "And don't think I haven't noticed you skipping school, Davian. I'm going to need you to see me in my office after you see your therapist."

The door to the bathroom opens and the doctor walks in, holding a tissue to his b****y nose.

"Oh boy, what a hassle. For a moment, he looked possessed," the doctor chuckles then pins Davian with an unimpressed look. Davian curses under his breath. "So, explosive diarrhoea, huh? It's rude and irresponsible to keep avoiding your appointments. Please go to my office and wait."

#

After an hour of the doctor checking me, lecturing me a few times about the importance of drinking eight cups of water per day, to eat five fruits, eight pieces of vegetables, three meals again, something about chugging milk, I'm finally allowed to leave the hospital. When I step outside, the cold slaps me across the face. It then hits me that I'm alive and I’m in a human body. I inhale the fresh air, noticing how it smells like crisp pine trees. I look around, marvelling at the snow my shoes sink into. Now I want to roll around in it and forget the fact that I made a deal with a potential sociopath to get myself out of that hellhole. This town doesn't have roads, only walkways. There is also no sign of cars either. Everything everyone needs must be at a walking distance. I wonder if people take trips out of this town then. I doubt there is even any public transport here. I glance up at the thick forest that surrounds the town. The place seems isolated by the outside world.

I follow Blondie, trying not to be so obvious as I try to soak in my surroundings. There is a business street with small, family-owned shops like bakeries and a bookstore. There isn't anything that entertaining. A large community college stands next to a massive Gothic church. I should try to walk in there to see if I would spontaneously combust.

It's all so different from Purgatory. I look around, marvelling at the fact there are living, breathing people. Some humans wave at us. Some smile at us. Some even make empty small talk and ask how our days were. Autonomous, alive and functioning people. I suspect that I am in a small suburban area. Most of them are wearing polo shirts and knee-length shorts even though it is freezing. Humans are insane.

Everyone here is pale aside from Davian. I'm going to have trouble trying to recognise one person from the other. Everyone here is pale with either brown or blonde hair. I'm going to have to find another nickname for Virgil's father to avoid getting mixed up.

"Do you remember why you passed out, Virgil?"

I glance up Blondie who watches me, his eyes glowing with concern.

"I don't remember what happened," I shrug, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

He frowns as if disturbed by that idea.

"There must be a reason. Perhaps you're not getting enough sleep. Maybe you have a vitamin D deficiency? I'll have you checked out again in a few days. I want you to spend tomorrow resting in bed. Dr Anson said you should be sipping juice at least once every five minutes."

I nod, without any intention to do that.

After ten minutes, Virgil's father leads me into the residential section of the town. I conclude that the place is a discount Winter Wonderland with modest, German-style cottages aligning the paths.

Blondie opens the door, leading me inside. The front door doesn't even have a lock. This must be a peaceful town. I sigh as we walk in, greeted by the warmth of the house. This cottage is beyond cosy. The smell of a fireplace wafts through the cottage. Golden lights illuminate its glossy, wooden interior. Numerous family pictures hang on the walls. I scan them, noticing in all of them there is an unfamiliar girl always standing beside Virgil.

A mother figure is in about three of the photos when Virgil was a child before disappearing altogether. Looks like she either died or left. Other than that, the photos are all smiles and mushy family happiness and all that jazz. It almost makes me throw up.

I snap out of my thoughts when something touches my head. I look up to see Blondie ruffling my hair. I thought that humans only pet the heads of animals they feel like they are superior to, like dogs. Is he insulting me?

"Will you be alright, son?"

I nod, watching him cover his mouth as he yawns.

"I'm rather tired. Call me if you need or your sister if you need me."

I nod once again. He spares me a soft smile before he travels up the wooden staircase beside us. I don't think he was trying to insult me. It must be a sign of affection or something. Eh, I will plot my revenge later.

Folding my arms, I head through the doorway beside the staircase. I find myself in a large living room, broken off by a kitchen. There is a bunch of sofa chairs sitting in front of a fireplace. There is no sign of a television. What do they do for entertainment here?

My eyes draw to the shelves stocked with games such as Jenga, Monopoly and Connect 4. The place is jam-packed with random decorative items. It reminds me of the house I grew up in. My older brother, Ascanius is a hoarder and one of his upstairs rooms gave out on itself once.

"How are you feeling?”

I glance down to see a pale, petite figure with gold hair sitting on one of the love seats. This must be Virgil's sister, but instead of looking like a child, she's a young adult. She looks like a generic conservative Christian with her platinum blonde hair held back by a headband. She wears an uncomfortable-looking uniform with thick stockings, black knee-length skirts, and a white blouse. I can't imagine how that can keep her warm in this weather. Her burgundy eyes glow in concern. I decide to call her Blondie Junior.

"I'm fine," I respond.

A soft smile touches her lips. I don't know how someone can manage to look this happy. It's terrifying. Next to Virgil's sister sits a girl with long, dark hair that reminds me of a comedy film I watched. The Ring I think it's called. Right, she looks like a post-pubescent Samara. Her clothes are also so like Blondie Junior, it's almost creepy. Blood rushes to Samara's cheeks as she stands up.

"Hello. I hope you're feeling well" she greets with a timid smile.

She looks so innocent it makes me uncomfortable. I'm onto you Samara.

"Thank you for your concern, but I'm still recovering."

She nods in understanding.

"That's good. I bought some homemade cinnamon scrolls for you to eat when you get better. I hope you enjoy them. I've got to go now. May God be with you," she explains before rushing off.

"Spaghetti is in the microwave if you want something to eat. I want you to go rest now. You really scared me this morning. I'm going to check up on you and you better be asleep," with her order, Blondie Junior rushes after Samara like a lost puppy.

I wander upstairs into the room which presumably belongs Virgil. I pause, unnerved by how dark it is. I flick on the light and shut the door behind me.

There are a few trophies with the name ‘Virgil Avery’ written on it on his study desk. There is nothing special about Virgil's room. There is an obligatory bed, closet, dresser, study desk underneath his window, and two side tables. All are in different shades of pastel blues, yellows and pinks.

I walk up to the full-length mirror that stands in his room and examines the body I'm in now. An attractive 6'2 male in his early 20s stares back at me. He looks like a wannabe Tim Burton character with sickly pale skin and dark eyes filled to the brim with exhaustion.

His silk, dark hair messily flows down to his collarbones. There is something inherently miserable about the atmosphere he emits, but it can have something to do with the fact I felt like throwing up my intestines earlier.

I run a finger along my teeth. I frown at how blunt they are. How am I meant to rip people's throats out with this? I stretch my eyelids, staring into these mud brown irises. There doesn't seem to be any advantages to this body. There are no claws, no sharp teeth, no powers I can access that is native to this body. How haven't mortals died off yet? Right, they have technology.

I furrow my brows, glancing around this room. Virgil seems to have a normal, peaceful life. He has everything a standard mortal would want: a roof over their head, popularity, an education, and a family. So why make a deal to switch places with a demon from Hell?

What was Virgil thinking letting a demon possess his body? A demon could m******e everyone he loves and screw his life so much he’ll have no idea why he’s in jail when we switch places again.

Maybe Virgil got bored, decided to play with some Satanic s**t then accidentally traded his soul. I've seen enough comedy movies such as The Exorcism and Ouija to know that's true. Virgil must have known switching places with a demon would land him in Purgatory. What happened to him that was so bad he thought that was a brilliant idea?

I jolt when something vibrates from Virgil's study desk. It's one of those fancy, hi-tech phones that don't need to be flipped open. I've never got into phones like my brothers have. I know even one of my brothers has millions of followers on an app called i********:. Whatever that is, it has unnecessarily inflated his ego to dangerous levels. I spent ten minutes trying to figure out how this device functions before it opens to a text.

Anonymous Number (10:54 pm):

Welcome to the mortal world and my game, Invidian. Think of it as being a tenant and rent will be up by the end of the month. Personally, I would want to find out how I died. What you do is your choice though. Entertain me I will extend your time here.

P.S. You once wanted to know what drove humans to live. I hope you find the answer to your question.

-Sincerely, your host

I stare at the screen for a while before placing the phone on the table. Entertain me. I press my palms to my eyes. This man is already pulling my strings. Even though my memories are slowly trickling back into self-realisation, there is a massive hole masking the past few years before Purgatory. What worries me the most is how far I would go to stay out of Purgatory.

A newspaper sits on the study desk with angry red circles around the headline, ‘Shocking News: Local Girl Murders Boyfriend Then Commits Suicide!’

Clickbait if I ever saw it. The articles date back to the 12th of August 2015, which was two years ago. The paper goes into a story about a couple's body was found in the ashes of a building. Some poor tosser was stabbed repeatedly by his girlfriend Henley Price. She abused drugs and alcohol, the supposed caused a psychotic episode where she stabbed him. Realising what she did, she set her apartment alight. She then slit her wrists and laid in her bathtub. Her boyfriend's body was mangled so badly they couldn't clarify his identity. I wonder why the man left this here. I scan a highschool photo they have of Henley. An ombre of black and charcoal hair floods the shoulders of Henley Price. The colours beautifully contrast with her dark skin.

My lips tilt up at the sight of her contagious smile then something touches the back of my arm. I turn and become paralysed by the sight of a bloodied corpse on Virgil's bed. Water and blood protrude from her mouth and wrists. She watches me with eyes glossed over with a milky film. I shakily exhale and gather her in my arms. The chill of her skin is far too realistic.

She vanishes and I realise I never even walked to the bed. I am still standing in front of the study desk, reading this article. I blink a few times, trying to get a grip. There is no one here. I lower my eyes down to the article and turn the page. I sit on Virgil's bed, clutching the paper in my hands.

It shows a picture of the apartment I was trapped within Purgatory.