Chapter 8

Chrystal was undecided on what to do, she never imagined that the boy would faint in front of her, but if he fainted, it was because something was wrong with him. She thought that his face was not the only injured area; he was walking slowly and limping on his way home; she offered him help, but Oliver immediately refused her.

She picked up Oliver's unconscious body and carried him to one of the couches in the living room, she couldn't take him to the hospital in the rain, or he would be sick. She hurried to get some gauze and cold water to regulate his temperature, going for a couple of warm blankets as well. When she had everything, she needed she placed the cold water-soaked gauze on the chestnut's forehead, then the socks, thinking for a second if it was wise to treat the bruises on his face and find out were more injured areas like his feet.

If she waited for him to wake up and ask him if he wanted help, Oliver would probably refuse with mute words...no, he had come to her asking for her help, and somehow he had succeeded.

"It's not my problem."

She closed her eyes tightly, getting up to get some ointment; if the boy didn't want to die, she would nurse him until the rain stopped and take him to a hospital where they could help him better.

She cleaned Oliver's feet and bandaged them once she put ointment on them; where did he walk to have such bruised feet? How did he stand so long on his feet? She felt stupid; she should have asked him if he felt okay to attend to him before he could pass out; what if the wound was already infected? She should apologize again to the brown-haired boy when he woke up.

As she ran her fingers over the boy's face, she could tell that he was more injured than it appeared, his cheekbones were a canvas of yellow, violet, red, and green colors that contrasted with the rest of his face; the person who had done that to him seemed to focus on a specific place.

"What am I doing?" muttered to herself, holding her hands to her face.

Tomorrow morning she would take him to the hospital, say goodbye and go on with her miserable life; there was no point in getting involved with the boy or with other people; she already had enough problems.

Chrystal spent the night on the couch, waiting for any reaction from the brown-haired boy, but he didn't react; Oliver was so tired that he fell into a deep sleep from fainting.

The next morning the redhead retook his temperature, but it had not gone down, and the boy seemed to have more trouble breathing... she should check if he had any infection... no, she must take him to the hospital; they would take care of it.

"Oliver?" she called out to him, hoping he would wake up, shaking his shoulders slightly. However, she didn't get any response; she let out a sigh, deciding if it was good to let the boy stay at her house all day while working.

"There's nothing important he can steal from me; besides, I doubt he would be able to get up if he were to wake up..."

Before leaving, she makes sure to leave him a glass of water and the door closed; if he didn't wake up, she would take him to the hospital.

Hours later, Oliver's consciousness returned to his body, and he slowly woke up, adjusting to the place and the light that was there. It took him a few minutes to remember where he was; he looked around the place with his eyes and found no one with him. His body is heavy, and his throat hurts; he lets out a tired sigh, feeling the blankets' softness and the comfort of the mattress where he rested.

He looks again at the place, finding a glass with a paper and some pills; he gets up with heaviness and ignores the paper knowing it impossible to read. He looks around to find the freckled girl, but there was not a single noise or scent other than Oliver's; he turns his eyes to the glass with the pill and takes both, knowing that the medicine would help him recover.

Oliver lies back down in his place, losing himself in his dreams while the pill did its work.

Hours later, his stomach and bladder beg for attention, waking him up for the second time. When he uncovered himself, a draft went through his back. However, he ignored it when he saw how his feet were covered by bandages that reached his ankles where he used to have the big and heavy shackles, and on top, he had fabric covering his feet completely. He stared at them for a few seconds, and slower than usual, he stood up, feeling strange for being the first time his feet were covered.

Chrystal Daly's house was big and nice; the walls were different shades of brown with some unknown but intriguing paintings. To find the bathroom, he opens a different door which revealed a huge room with several black cloths covering most of the furniture and the huge bed in the center. He knew he should go back to find the bathroom, but his legs were pacing without his permission, remembering the best and worst days of his life.

>> "Mom!"

"Oliver!"

The five-year-old boy ran with tears in his green eyes into his mother's comforting arms.

"Here I am," she whispered, hugging her son, turning away from the man who had ruined her life.

"Don't leave me again! I'll be good, I promise! I didn't mean to ruin it, and I'm...I'm sorry...."

The little brown-haired boy cried louder, apologizing to his mother for having caused trouble. He related everything he had lived through in the days when he was separated from Colette, begging her not to abandon him again. The auburn-haired woman bit down hard on her lip, repressing the urge to cry and hit Elliot Craig, her embrace growing tighter as if her arms could serve as a barrier between the stark reality and the innocence of her son, who had no idea what was going on.

"I'll come back later."

Warned Elliot Craig, making Colette and Oliver shiver. When the doors closed behind him, Colette was able to relax a little and forget the Craig demon for a few hours; now, her attention was entirely on Oliver and making him smile again before she fell apart too.

"It wasn't your fault Oli, I swear. It's going to be all right now, okay?"

"I-I don't want to go back to that place; I couldn't breathe...."

"You're not going anywhere; we're staying here. Have you seen the place?"

The infant lifts his face from his adoring mother's chest, gradually seeing the huge room they were in—white walls with golden touches, multiple shiny pieces of furniture, and a huge bed with several pillows. Oliver's teary eyes opened as he saw how beautiful the place was.

"Here we will live?" murmurs little Oliver, looking his mother in the eyes.

She smiles at him, wiping away the traces of tears on his thin cheeks, " It's nice, isn't it?"

"Has a lot of light," he nods, looking around the room again, "and it's huge. Is it all for us?"

His mother nods again, keeping her smile; she didn't like that luxury prison one bit, but seeing her child admiring everything with wonder and illusion made the room a little less suffocating.

"-It's so soft!"

Oliver jumps onto the bed, rolling around in the perfect white bedspread with cream ruffles; Colette suppressed a horror scream when she saw the sheets soiled by her son's clothes, making her feel worse than she already did.

"Let's go take a bath, or you'll make more mess... The bathtub will be nice for you; there's hot water. "

Living in that room seemed more and more incredible to the little boy; there were so many things he didn't know and so many privileges such as hot water or light that he didn't have in his previous cell. Even the place where he'll sleep would be more comfortable and cleaner than the miserable floor. The room was a dream, a dream that would be shattered very soon.

Oliver had forced himself to keep those years living on the surface in a recondite place in his memory so he could forget how foolish he had been for not realizing how much his mother was suffering and not helping her to feel better. He refused to enjoy those memories again, which to Oliver seemed like the best thing that could happen to him in his short life, for his mother was hell.

"Mr. Craig is right; I am guilty of my mother's misfortunes."

He closes the door of that strange dark room and looks for the bathroom, and then returns to the couch and lies down a little, hoping to feel better so that when the red-haired girl comes back, he can stop giving her trouble.