The flashing blue lights and the shrill hum of the siren superimposed the New Year lights. The narrow alley was packed by a singular car, its neon yellow and blue hues clashing amongst the red road. 

Upon hearing the noise, Elias trudged his way towards the car, his sights ecstatic to sight something besides the dead man. It had been a long day, starting at just half past six in the morning to 1 a.m. the next day. He stretched out his right leg for a second before he exerted pressure on his crutch and began to walk. Under the presence of the police's siren, the sound of metal touching cobblestone diminished, but he felt the sound of his crutch touching the ground reverberate in his arms. 

Outside the alley, the police car stood along with its occupants - two men in the police uniform, but parts of the outfit seemed missing. After all, they had been celebrating New Year's Eve too, before Elias made the call. Beside them, a younger woman stood, hair tied up in a bun with a bag filled with transparent test tubes and bags, packed haphazardly. 

"Officer," Elias greeted. His dread waned, but the tall policeman noticed it. 

"Where is the body?" he commanded, his drowsiness was not lost on Elias. 

"Right this way," he responded, pointing towards the passage he had just emerged from. 

It was a slender path, one cars could not traverse. Hence, Elias led the way with the police following his sedated steps. He knew he wouldn't have to guide them far; they would sense the smell of rotten decay and follow the stream of blood towards the dead body. Then, Elias could finally sit on the wet stone with his legs stretched out as he answered their questions. 

"Why did you stop walking?" the tall policeman asked again, sizing him up. 

"The body is not far from here," Elias said. But his voice drained from his throat. 

Elias walked hurriedly. His hastened footsteps resembled a jump more than a run, his arms not moving in unison with his legs. His left leg bore the brunt of the effort, the crutch slipping into the cracks of the stone underneath. His jarring movement alarmed the police, each of their arms inching closer to their guns as they kept casual pace with Elias. 

But he had greater things in his mind. He was here; the scene of crime. 

The scene was different from last time, from only minutes ago. Something was absent - the absence of the effluvium that had filled his lungs, the absence of the blood that marred the stones. 

The absence of the body.

Elias did not have time to panic. A strong force gripped his right arm as he dropped his crutch in shock. The grip tightened and he spun around to find its source - the policeman. 

"Where is the body?" he asked. 

"It was right here!' Elias exclaimed. 

"The police don't have time for pranks," he gritted, "was there a body at all?"

"It was right here! It was on the ground, chest facing towards the sky! There was a hole in his chest and blood was on the ground! I'm not making any of this up, I swear! There were holes and ruptures on his skin with some disgusting substance seeping out, how could I possibly make all of this up?" Elias pleaded. 

Helpless Elias Atkinson. He felt like the twenty-year-old helpless boy again. 

Shock erupted on his back as he felt the surface of a closed palm strike at the left side of his back. His mind whirred as he was made to turn yet again by the strong forces that surrounded him. This time, it was the woman who glared at him, her innocence gradually evanescing. 

"And how exactly did this man look?" she asked, challenging him. 

"He was older than me, maybe in his early fifties. He was quite fat and had black hair, I think. I couldn't discern his skin tone because," Elias said, hesitating at the gruesome memory of the body that was once before him, "because it was decaying, or something."

The policewoman didn't make a move, but she seemed to be closing in on him. Although they stood a decent amount of inches apart, he felt her breath get warmer when her eyes flared up in range. He was innocent. 

But she looked at him as though he was guilty. 

"He was bleeding," she said, recounting Elias' words, "and decaying at the same time?" she questioned. Her tone was sarcastic but there was no mirth on her face.

"Do you take me for a fool?" she asked.

"I get that it's hard to believe, but I swear, that's what happened!" Elias implored. 

"If that's the case, where is the body?" she asked him. 

"Officer Clarke, this is a waste of time. This man is clearly wasting our time on a holiday. This place is spotless," the shorter policeman said. 

"And what of the time he wasted? I suggest we take him back to the station and charge him for wasting the police's time since we're already here," the tall policeman said. 

"I promise you, that's not what I was doing!" Elias exclaimed. His throat was worn dry from the pleadings and screeching. 

The sound of birds chirping broke the clutch that strangulated Elias' worn throat. Officer Clarke retrieved her phone from her pocket, silencing the humming as she walked away to speak. Not a word was spoken when Clarke paced around the alley, her mind whirring with thoughts, eyes lost, but in search of something at the same time. 

When she returned, his gaze locked onto Officer Clarke with intensity. Her eyes, narrowed in scrutiny, seemed to be the only ones that sensed the shadow lurking beneath his words, that perhaps there was some truth to them. And yet, in her suspicions, she was both right and wrong - she believed in the crime and suspected him to be the criminal. A dangerous misstep that made her the one he needed to keep farthest from doubting him. 

Her brown eyes sparked a familiarity in him, her gaze at him hollow and shadow-like. 

Then, Elias finally remembered. The woman who fled. 

"There was another woman here!" he exclaimed. His travails might actually come to an end. 

Officer Clarke's ears perked up, "is that so?"

"Yes, I told her I was going to call the police but she fled from the crime scene! If you can find her, she might be able to corroborate my story!" Elias said, bursting with hope. Then it hit him again. "But then again, she was acting suspicious so I'm not quite sure if she's innocent in all of this," he said. His leg was really beginning to hurt now. 

"Officer Davies, how about we take him back to the station?" Clarke asked. 

"On what grounds?" Elias asked, panicked, "I just told you another girl was involved, search her!"

"It's been a long day, Elias Atkinson. Say I believe you about this girl, I'm not going to discuss it with you out here. You're coming to the station whether you like it or not," Officer Clarke replied sternly. 

"Get in," Davies ordered. 

Elias stood, grim as the English weather. The drops of rain ran down his cheek, resembling the tears of the Elias who remained deceased under his subconscious. When he had walked into the narrow alley, he had been looking for an escape. Staring ahead at the three stern cops, he knew that escape was long gone. 

"You don't even have probable cause to take me in! There is no corpse here!" Elias sputtered. 

Davies moved forward, "In that case, we'll write you up for wasting police time. Get. In"

Elias obeyed grudgingly, lowering his head so he stared at the grimy ground. Grimy, but without a speck of red. He picked up his only comrade through all his tribulations - his blue, metal crutch. Limping off the ground, he made his way to the car, hoping to just sit down and stretch his leg. 

From the corner of his eye, he spotted the far edge, where the suspicious woman had run. Perhaps if he was in 2013, he would have run faster than her, contravening the officials' orders. But all his freedom ended on the fateful day - 14th February, 2013. 

Valentine's Day. The day he lost his freedom. 

The onset of his leg's defiance. 

The day he became one of the many little animals driven by a herder. 

He would lose his freedom again, on 1st January 2024, and this time, not a single person would advocate for him. He had no one. 

He was lost, and he blamed her. The woman with braided hair, swathed in all black. She sang shrill melodies to tempt a poor man such as him into her trap. The nameless, wretched hex stood before his eyes, a hallucination only he could see. 

If he ever saw her again, he would kill her. 

If he was going to serve the time, might as well do the crime. 

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

New Year's Day, 4:34 a.m.

Durham City Police Station. 

The sky encompassing the brown, bricked building glittered with tiny specks in the sky. The break of dawn arrived, bringing the dust of fog along with it. Only the stars were yet to fade, which would mark the end of the previous, prosperous year. 

Prosperous for some. Destitute for others. 

Elias sat on a wooden bench, tapping his fingers on the fabric of his blue trousers. His ironed, white button-up shirt lay us a crumpled heap, untucked and erratic. Elias never fiddled, yet here he was, oblivious about what to do. 

For nearly three hours, he remained seated exactly the same, a pair of eyes following him at all times. His phone had been confiscated the moment he entered the station. He had felt a twinge of protest but his lips remained sealed. In a swift motion, Officer Davies had taken his crutch away, leaving him unsteady. His eyes seemed to sneer, you won't be needing that... or a quick escape. 

He had felt rage ignite in him. They wouldn't be able to take someone else's legs if he was a suspect. But he was different. 

Nonetheless, he obeyed. Disobedience was not his forte so he stayed put until he learned what Officer Clarke was really up to. 

For close to three hours, he had been watching them too. His icy blue eyes followed every pair that followed him, fixated on their parting lips and the veins that popped on their foreheads. He watched Officer Davies straighten his back at the malicious words whispered by Clarke's taut jaw. 

Just like that, he knew exactly why he was in the station. 

It wasn't for his dead man, or him wasting the police's time. 

It was for another. 

Officer Clarke appeared in front of him, brandishing a Polaroid in her palms, "Is this the man?"

One look and Elias knew that this was not the body he had seen. He was fat, but not fat enough. His hair was black, but a bit too black. His eyes were soft and gentle, whereas the man he'd seen had the smallest, but roughest green eyes, draped with wrinkles. And scars. 

"Definitely not," Elias replied confidently. 

"Hm," Clarke said, pulling a chair towards the wooden seat, plopping onto it, "this man, Arthur Green, he fits your description and he died yesterday. Other officers found him at 10:47 p.m., very close to where we found you."

Elias sighed in resignation. His right palm traversed through his wavy brown hair, gripping the coarse strands, his hands becoming wet with the sweat, embedded in the nape of his neck. When he looked at Clarke, he showed no signs of horror. 

He had seen this coming. He had noticed the clockwork spinning in Clarke's head the moment she got the phone call. He had invaded the police's closely spoken words, imparted with the utmost confidentiality. He knew then that he was the most suspicious person and was already in the lion's den. 

"I understand. But this is not the man I saw," Elias said, feigning placidity. 

"I don't know what game you are playing, but you are fooling no one," Clarke seethed, "Davies, keep an eye on him. I'll talk to the reporting officers about Arthur Green and get back."

Elias shifted, sitting horizontally on the bench with his right leg stretched out. The ticking of the clock obscured, overturned by his turbulent and broken breaths. His coerced obedience waned as Clarke's boots ventured into some other room, bolted to his eyes. Blue hues flashed in front of his eyes, the chill of metal against his sweaty palms yearning for his return. 

His crutch marked vulnerability. It was the sign that denounced his helplessness, yet he could not live without it. His crutch was the bad omen that attracted the attention of powerful men and women, yet his right arm convulsed without it. 

His crutch was his identity. He was the infamous cripple. 

He always had been. 

Ever since the fateful night. 

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

 The sound of birds screeching filled the air, their wings flapping against the windy atmosphere as they crashed through the leaves of a massive oak tree. Lizards skittered in panic, their refuge marred with red. A whip-like sound cut through the critter's bellowing, creating a frenzy all over again. 

Beneath the trees, a twenty-year-old boy lay, his hands gripping at the side of his right thigh, gasping for air. His lips parted to scream but like thumbprints on a windpipe, the throbbing sensation on his leg held him in a chokehold. 

Blood pooled around his new black suit, leaching into the gaps of the expensive fabric. Blood had spattered all over the alley, tiny drops climbing up the plant shoot, painting it with nature's boldest colour. 

At a distance, another gunshot hung in the air. Within seconds, a half-scream filled the air as the boy kicked his feet on the ground, pushing himself away from the noise. His efforts drained him and the next instant, the mythical hand stopped clawing at his throat.

"Dad!" he screamed, erupting into sobs with the effort. 

Blood leaked from the hole in his thigh as he crawled towards the leaves. His hands shivered as he plucked the leaves from its plant, stuffing the hole with as many leaves as he could fit. He wailed in pain, his body quavering with near-contact to the hole. He mauled at his face, dragging his fingers down his cheeks as the viscous blood mixed with his salty tears. Broken flesh felt fresh in his fingertips. He had to stop the blood from flowing. 

"Elias!" a man screamed, his hurried footsteps skidding on the unexpected liquid on the floor, "my boy!"

"Dad," Elias screamed again, sobbing as he crashed into his father's embrace. 

"It will be alright, son," he reassured, but his lips trembled and he was quicker to let the tears fall. 

"I got shot..." Elias said, drowsiness reining over his pain. 

"Stay awake, Elias! You will be fine, I promise you!" his father pleaded, trembling as he pulled his boy closer. 

"It hurts... I can't," Elias said, body numb.

"I'll call the ambulance, they'll take good care of you!" his father said, cradling his tall, gigantic son in his feeble arms, "I'll talk to Grant Bancroft. he might be of aid."

But Elias didn't hear it. His mind fell into a deep stupor, his arms laying flat against his torso. 

That was the last time his hands would remain relaxed, the last time both his legs measured the same height. His father had been wrong. Grant Bancroft hadn't helped. 

But he had taught Elias how to lie. 

And he taught him how to run again. 

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

A/N: Elias is in deep trouble and it's only going to get worse from here. What do you think?? Who is this Arthur Green and what does he have to do with Thomas Rutger? And who is Grant Bancrfot? Let me know your theories in the comments ;)
P.S. thoughts on Elias' short flashback? 😢
WC: 2636