Chapter 120

Olivia

Alvin’s house loomed before us, the windows devoid of light, casting shadows that seemed to dance with the wind.

After parking a little ways down the street, we stood outside for what felt like hours, anticipation and anxiety creating a storm within me.

“I really do appreciate you helping me after all,” I whispered. We were crouching in the bushes outside of Alvin’s house, waiting for the single dim light downstairs to shut off, indicating that he had gone to bed. I glanced over at Nathan to see that he was already looking at me. He quickly looked away.

“It’s nothing,” he said quietly, although he knew I was lying. “It’s what friends are for.”

I swallowed. “When the witch said that it would be difficult for you in particular…”

“Witches say lots of things,” Nathan interjected, his face darkening somewhat. “Don’t take everything she says too literally.”

I didn’t believe Nathan, but I chose not to pry any further; besides, the light finally flicked off, which meant that we would begin our work soon.

We waited for a long time, just in case Alvin was still awake. Or maybe we were both just too scared. Either way, by the time we both mustered up the courage to sneak up to the side of the house in the shadows, it was pitch black outside.

We circled the house, searching for an entry point, until we found a window that seemed to be slightly ajar.

Carefully, we pushed it open, and one by one, climbed inside. The living room was shrouded in darkness, but the faint moonlight allowed us to make out shapes and navigate our way around.

I remembered the layout well enough from our first break-in, but it still took a considerable amount of effort not to accidentally bang into anything and make noise.

“We should head upstairs,” I whispered, taking the lead. “He’s probably sleeping.”

Nathan nodded and followed me silently. Each creak felt like a grating alarm going off beneath our feet, but there was no indication that Alvin—assuming he was home—heard us enter.

Once we finally reached the top, we spotted Alvin's bedroom door slightly ajar.

Pushing it open gently, I peeked inside. There he was, lying on his bed, asleep. Or at least, I hoped he was only sleeping. And there was his hand—or rather, his lack thereof. His arm, which came to a rounded stump at the wrist, was lying above the thin blanket that covered him.

Just seeing it, despite knowing what was to come, made my ears tear up. I blinked quickly to dispel them and instead focused on his face, which was gentle and free of the distinctive lines of sorrow or stress. He was asleep.

As we tiptoed inside, the room was filled with an eerie silence. Only the sound of Alvin's shallow breaths could be heard.

Nathan motioned for me to hand over the potion, and I nodded, reaching into my pocket to retrieve it; but just then, the vial clinked gently against the jar of salve in that same pocket. The sound rang out like a bell, echoing in the quiet room.

Before either of us could even react, Alvin stirred, his eyes snapping open.

For a split second, a look of sheer terror crossed his face, and he bolted upright, fists swinging wildly.

“Get out of my house!” he cried out. “Men! Intruders! To arms!”

“Alvin! It’s us!” I cried, attempting to calm him, but he seemed disoriented, caught in the throes of a nightmare or shock.

In his mind, he was still in battle; whether he was in the midst of a poorly-timed PTSD dream or whether we had been the ones to wake him was unclear to me, but it didn’t matter because we were now all in danger.

He grabbed Nathan, trying to push him away, and in the struggle, I saw an opening. With one swift move, I uncorked the vial of sleeping draught and forced it into Alvin’s mouth while Nathan pinned him down to the bed.

“Drink it!” I shouted over his muffled protests.

A few moments later, his struggles ceased, and his body went limp, dropping back onto the bed. The last thing I saw before that happened was the look in Alvin’s eyes: wild with betrayal. I hoped that he would understand when he woke up.

Now that Alvin was knocked out, Nathan and I exchanged panicked looks, our breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“We have to do this now,” Nathan urged, glancing at the box that contained Alvin's lifeless, skeletal hand on the bedside table.

I nodded, my fingers trembling as I retrieved the clay pot with the salve. As Nathan began unfurling the parchment with the incantations, I applied the salve generously to Alvin’s severed limb.

Then, gently, I lifted the hand from the box and laid it below the stump of Alvin’s wrist. I carefully lined them up, grimacing at the sensation of his bony fingers in mine. When I was finished, I took a step back and glanced over at Nathan.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured as we stared down at our sleeping friend. “What if it doesn’t work, and he wakes up to find that we’ve not only broken into his home twice, but we’ve tampered with his severed hand and forced him to drink a sleeping potion?”

I swallowed, shaking my head. “Then we’ll deal with it if it comes to that,” I murmured.

We stood there for another moment longer, each of us hesitant to begin the incantation. It wasn’t until a whippoorwill trilled outside and started both of us that we took it as a sign to get started. Whether it worked or not, we had to at least try.

Together, we began to recite the words written on the parchment. They felt foreign in my mouth, but with Nathan by my side, they took on a rhythm, a harmony.

“In the hallowed moon's embrace, we call upon the ancient grace. Spirits of earth, water, air, and fire, heed our plea, fulfill our desire. Bones to bone, flesh to flesh, let the torn be made afresh. By the power of night and day, mend what was taken away. In unity, we two intone, make what's severed once more whole. As the stars above decree, so below it shall be.”

As the chant progressed, the room grew colder. A silvery light emanated from Alvin’s wrist, casting strange shadows on the walls.

His detached skeletal hand began to twitch and shudder, and slowly, something absolutely amazing began to happen.

Both Nathan and I watched in awe, our voices unwavering, as the bones latched onto the severed limb.

The next few moments were a blur of light and sound, but when it all settled, Alvin’s hand was reattached.

But it wasn't just bones anymore. Like a tape being played in reverse, flesh began to grow, covering the bones, followed by skin, until it looked as if it had never been severed.

We stopped chanting, our voices echoing in the now silent room. We gazed at Alvin’s newly attached hand, disbelief apparent in our eyes.

“Did we... did we just...?” Nathan began, but words seemed to escape him. His voice faltered, and he slowly sank down onto the floor, staring with wide eyes at the scene before him.

I nodded slowly. Alvin’s hand had been restored, but it wasn’t only that; his face looked less gaunt, less hollow. The color had returned to his skin. He was starting to look like our old friend again, no longer a walking corpse. It was amazing.

“We did it,” I whispered, tears of joy forming in my eyes. “We made him whole again.”

To be continued......

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