Golden Gift

He thought for a moment as he laid his head down. Why? What was the town hiding? Were they all in on it? Maybe... But sleep was imminent and he didn't have much more time to think. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. 

What seemed like hours later - he awoke. It was still dark. No. It wasn't dark... The same purple hue shone through the window, illuminating the room. It wasn't a reflection; it was the actual moon.

He noted that there wasn't even supposed to be a moon that night. Did he sleep through a whole moon cycle? No, that means he slept for a month. That meant something else was happening. He chose to explore the building once more. He left his room swiftly. No creak follows - the room soundless. It was like the moment he woke up.

He went into the kitchen hoping that William was there. But as expected, he wasn't. The kitchen wasn't even there, nor was the dining room table. Nothing was in the building. It was empty. He walked back to the room passing the bathroom and one other door. He stopped, staring at the entry. That door had never been there before... He opened the door.

It is a very formal study room. A fire was lit in the fireplace, a book was on a desk in the corner, and there were bookshelves filled with texts everywhere. But then the fire went out. Making the room glow with purple and cold air to blow through. 

But then another, completely red fire ablaze. It didn't overshadow the purple hue or the cold air. He walked over to the fire - It wasn't hot. Out of instinct, he reached his hand inside. He grabbed a long box. He took it out, then the red fire went out. He opened the box and saw a solid gold revolver. But before he could touch it a cocking sound echoed, and the room went dark. A gunshot rang in his ears.

He awoke with a jolt. It was only a dream. He looked out the window. The orange and red of the sun lit up the sky. He felt calmer now that the sun was out, and he rolled off the mattress. He noticed he was still wearing the outfit Willaim had bought, but he didn't mind.

He left his room and walked to the kitchen. Everything was there, and there was breakfast. No sign of Willam, other than a note next to the prepared dishes. 

"John, I know this is sudden, but I need you to take the painting next to the bathroom down. I won't be there to help you, so be careful. I probably won't be back anytime soon. Just know that nothing that happens is your fault. Don't listen to the rumors, don't bring attention to yourself. - William"

He was confused. Why would he sound so scared of rumors? But that didn't matter, something was behind that painting... And he wanted to find out. He put down the note and walked to the painting. He wasn't sure if taking the painting off the wall was a good thing or a bad thing, but in the end, his curiosity got the better of him.

He took down the painting, and something clicked. Gears behind the wall seemed to turn. The wall appeared to be lowering. And lowering. And lowering. It eventually came to a stop, and a door was revealed. He opened the door, and to his surprise, it was the same room as his dream. Of course, there were some differences, the fire wasn't going and the room wasn't purple.

But other than that everything was identical. He thought for a moment, then went over to the fireplace. He reached out into the burnt charcoal that was once logged and felt a box. His intuition was right. The box was also there. He laid the box in front of him. He could open it, his stomach started churning.

This was where he was shot in his dream. He knew no one else was in the building, so he was 'safe.' Although the churning never went away, he decided to open the box. It was the same solid gold revolver he had seen and he took it out of its box. The revolver's metal was cold and overbearing, but he didn't mind. He could feel an engraving etched into the side of the revolver.

He turned it over and read the inscription. 'The Golden Death' was its name. He went to set the revolver back into the box, but the glimmer of another golden object caught his eyes. It was a pocket watch that had his name on it. He put the revolver down and picked up the watch. 

He opened the packet watch only to see its cracked glass and nonmoving clock in the background. He closed it and put it in his pocket, picking the revolver back up, and walking to the desk in the corner. On the desk was a blank book, and a holster with a belt, most likely for the revolver. 

He took the belt and wrapped it around his waist, making sure it was tight enough to stay. He put the revolver into the hoster, and put his coat over all of it. He realized he had inside pockets to his coat so he decided to take the blank book and a pen that was also on the desk.

He left the room swiftly and went into the kitchen. He grabbed the breakfast, ate it in a hurry, and then left the building. As he went out he noticed people started glaring at him... Pay no mind, John. He was going somewhere. He didn't exactly know where yet, though.

He walked over out of the busy street, and into an alleyway. The smells, he noticed, differed here. He wouldn't have cared if it wasn't so... Repulsive. This alley smelt more like corpses.

And yet, he continued and made it to a shop at the dead end. He noted that the only things that seemed to be around were rats and insects. No one inside was in the shop. Or so he thought…

SLASH!

The sound of blood dripping from the fabric of his trench coat onto the cold, ceramic floor echoed.

A man, who had been hiding behind the door, slashed his back with a knife. "YOU! YOU'RE ONE OF THEM!" The man shouted after seeing blood.

John pulled out the revolver and shot the man in his abdomen.

The man wasn't yet dead. "What do you mean?" He asked the man as he stumbled to his feet.

The man let out a small snarl, then a cough. With blood dripping down his mouth the man started to speak. "You're one of them. You're a Blessed, just like the rumor said… That girl was right." 

He expected this to happen, but not so soon. The man gave him a solemn smile. "Someone's already put a bounty on your head. You might want to be careful-" But before the man could finish, his blood spilled.

He had shot the man because he didn't care for his warnings. "Sorry. I don't care." He felt bad but couldn't mourn for too long as he heard someone coming. They had most likely heard the shots of the revolver. He fled, grabbing a few items on the way out.

He fled, not before grabbing things from the shop.