There was a low humming sounding from another room, along with some slight clinking. Someone getting ice from a fridge. The fridge opened and by the time it closed I had sat up and winced at the pain spreading across my back and ribs. Breathing was a struggle.

I was laying across a couch, as if it were from a 70s movie with triangle designs; brown, green, red colors not only on the couch but also around the rest of the living room. The rug was an ugly brown and forest green jagged lines randomly stitched in. The coffee table on top of it was unpolished wood; deep in color with some glass stains from various drink sizes. There was also a television set. I would have expected an old box television, but it was up-to-date with a medium-sized flat screen. A simple lamp was in the corner and some nature paintings that looked slightly out of place with their blue waterfalls and crystallized lakes. Old yellow curtains were drawn over some windows, the sunlight from outside giving the room a warmer feel.

Picture frames were also hung on the wall, they were small and I couldn't make out the faces on them, so made an attempt to get up. The smell of old blankets and dust was prominent, but as I stood the hot air was also mixed with something sweet.

Approaching the pictures on the wall, taking small breathes every time I took a step forward, I recognized one of the faces. Randy Marcel. My mother's old friend. And his wife, Megan, who we were supposed to see this weekend for dinner. They were both outside smiling in heaps of snow, holding onto thin swords—posing like they were on an anime poster. It was cute, considering they were an older couple wearing large coats and scarves that made them ten times larger than they actually were.

There were some low-talking and discussion in another room, as if whoever was talking didn't want to be overheard. The closest room was the kitchen, the fridge still humming by the entrance. I didn't say anything as I stumbled nearer on the balls of my feet, trying to keep balance as I peaked around the corner. The voices came a little clearer now, and I stopped to listen for a moment.

"He's not going to understand, Angel. You have to give him some time. It'll be a lot for him to take in if you try to blurt everything out all at once." It was Randy, his unmistakably gravelly voice crackling as he attempted to whisper. He was sitting at a small kitchen table talking to someone I couldn't see. His silver hair was covered by a red beanie and his eye-patch was still wrapped around his head for his missing right eye. Randy was a gentle man with dark skin and large smile. Though, he wasn't smiling now. Instead, his lips were set and his brows furrowed with an overwhelming seriousness.

I could hear Angelo, but I couldn't see him. "Felix deserves to know whats going on and who's after him. This isn't something we can just ignore. He's already been in contact with Grousteus and healing from injuries beyond the likes of human medicine. How do you explain that to someone from the After without telling them the truth?"

A formidable growl lashed out from my stomach, an ache for food. My cheeks began to burn as my feet leaped from my hiding spot and suddenly I was gliding into the kitchen.

Angelo and Randy had looked up to me from their seats at the table. Though, from this angle, I hadn't realized how much larger Angelo was. In his chair he seemed like a giant. Even without his armor on. He was now sporting jeans and a deep green t-shirt that showcased his muscles. Randy, in comparison, was small and looked like an old wise-man with some unknown thug history.

"Felix!" Randy greeted, wiping the astonished look from his face and replacing it with a comforting smile and standing with his arms spread out wide for a hug. "My boy, how have you been?"

I stepped into the hug, not having seen the man for some years, and gave a small squeeze. It would have been awkward with anyone else, but something about the squeeze on the shoulder he gave me melted my anxiety a bit.

"Would you like some tea? I have ginger, cranberry, and I think peppermint-- if Megan hasn't beaten you to those yet." Randy moved to his cabinets and rummaged around for some boxes of tea. "Oh! And a breakfast blend!"

"Ginger, please." I said.

"You got it." Randy pulled out a mug and started to fill it with water.

The room was silent as Angelo and I watched Randy make tea in the small kitchen space.

"Would you like another cup, Angel?" Randy turned to Angelo; I glanced his way too. I wasn't used to the big man's presence. Angelo was built like a gladiator.

"I'm alright, thank you." Angelo's eyes met mine, they were the eyes of a man who knew something I didn't.

There was a pregnant pause as the mug with water slid into the microwave and Randy punched in some numbers.

The silence was crushing. "No kettle?"

Randy, with his one round chestnut-colored eye, shrugged: "I don't have the space here. And Megan doesn't mind, so I don't mind either." He cleared his throat, "How are you feeling?"

I'm abruptly aware of the stabbing in my ribs again, the burning sensation across my back, and the tightness across my chest and shoulders. I wasn't sure how to respond. "I'm okay."

"You were in quite the fight I was told." Randy pulled out the mug of hot water from the microwave. "A guy broke into your house." He placed a tea bag into the cup and bobbed it a couple times before handing it over to me. "Must have given you the shock of a lifetime."

"Right." I say, suddenly an uneasiness settled over me. The thought of Grousteus standing over my mother was still an overwhelming thought... "Where's my mom?" The question was supposed to be directed at Angelo, but I was staring Randy down for any reaction from him on her whereabouts.

"She's in the guest room," Randy said, "resting."

Hearing that, I moved to find the guest room. But I was stopped by a hand across my shoulder. "Hold on, we need to talk with you first." It was Angelo.

"What do you mean?" I shake Angelo off but he managed to get in my way with less than a blink of an eye. "We... need to talk to you about the attack."

"I want to see my mom." I go to push Angelo back, but he's rock solid; it was like trying to push a slab of concrete.

"You can't." He sounded sincere, but my anger was a small match getting ready to ignite a gas station.

"Why not?"

Angelo hesitated, he and Randy shared a glance, and he said: "Because she doesn't want to see you."