Patches (Part 5 END)

10: Return to the True World

They travelled alongside together, making the long journey away from their old lives and following the river to anew. As the sun rose on, night fell on the monarch orange horizon, bringing the pale golden moon to the white stars. What a beautiful sight to behold. The moon, which he thought he would never see again, was there right before his eyes. He found it strange how he appreciated such a simple thing now that he almost lost it for good. No giant bears looming into the heavens, no barren tree that stretched across the world – just the peace of an ordinary nighttime sky. He was at peace. Peace of brilliance; peace of mind.

“It feels so peaceful, Patches,” he whispered to the rabbit who nodded in agreement. “I still can’t believe we’re back. It’s so odd.”

Patches shrugged, unable to give a verbal response.

“I feel so carefree….I think I’m actually happy.” Gilbert smiled at her and scratched her ear, gaining a curious look. “And you? Are you happy too?”

Her shoulders shrugged again and she nodded unconfidently. Give or take, she was tolerant with where she was. There were no complaints with being in the green world, but she was not all too enthusiastic either. She must have been as staggered as he was. If not, more distraught. After all, they still had to find someone to take them in, even for a short while. It would be tougher than bent nails, but someone would show their heart to the orphan and his rabbit companion.

The river drained out to a small, night blue lake illumined by moonlight that drew out into thinned woods. Patches led him around the waters and into the dark thickets. Stumps were left behind were logs were, a sign that loggers were at work earlier during the early morn, and where there were loggers, there was a town with their families not too far away. Gaining high hopes, he merrily ran through the site with a wide smile on his face. There wasn’t a care in his whole world now that he reached the brink of the raven’s wood. The child could not stay in low moods when he was so eager to return to the world he knew. Never would he have thought he would miss the world so much and never would he have known that he would have come back with someone more important than his own life.

Continuing to a wrought iron fence at the wood’s end, Gilbert took a deep, blissful breath, taking all of his new dreams in and breathing the last of his nightmares out. This was it – this was the end. They were home. He set his small white companion on the grass and she sped in-between the poles to the other side. Her whiskers twitched as she looked both ways as though checking for signs of other beings. Picking her ears up, Patches turned to her child, motioning with her paw for him to reunite with her. Finding his footing, he climbed to the top of the fence, and crouching like a frog, jumped towards the pavement. A shiver went up his spine as he landed with a thud on his feet.

“Ow, my bloody feet,” he cursed as he heard the rabbit snigger at his clumsiness. Curling his lips, he let out an annoyed pout. “Confound it Patches! It’s not funny!”

Patches stopped chuckling and sarcastically winked at him mockingly. She spread a mischievous, toothy grin across her face and turned towards the alleyway, trotting forward at a speed faster than he could walk…then took off. Deliberately. 

“Wait for me!” called Gilbert, chasing after her. “Slow down!” When she wasn’t a grouch, she was a big tease, but her playful mood was better than her crabbiness, at least. Oh bollocks! She’s not slowing down! “Patches, come on!!! Slow down! I’m tirrreeed!”

The rabbit’s white silhouette shined on the wet cobble as she skid out to the streets. Taking a sharp bound to the left, she hopped into a large puddle, splashing droplets into Gilbert’s face, halting his movement in his tracks. He groaned in annoyance. His face was plastered with shock as the dirty, freezing water ran down his cheeks. While the boy dabbed his damp misfortune, unaware that Patches had knowingly messed with him, the rabbit let out a mischievous chuckle and impishly pounced into the puddle, showering him with coldness once again.

Wiping the fresh droplets away he grumbled, “Patches!” Seeing that sarcastic smile on her lips told him all he needed to know. “That was on purpose, wasn’t it?”

Splash! She rolled on her back playfully and continued to chuckle at him.

“So you want to play that game?” asked Gilbert in a joking manner. Looking down at the puddle, he smirked. It was time for some cold revenge against his attacker. “Take this!” Jumping as high as his child legs allowed, he capered forward and chopped into the water with a loud PLOP, washing the small Patches over with a black wall.

Sopping wet, her fur hung down beneath her belly like an upside down winter pine. Shaking the water from her body, her fur fluffed up into a cotton ball. That was it. Gilbert couldn’t contain it anymore – he started to snort at the sight of her seeded dandelion appearance until it became a laugh. She rasped a chirrup and her eyes fell on Gilbert with an irritated gaze, her muzzle wrinkled up and ready to snarl, but instead her throat burst out with roaring laughter right along with him.

“Ha, ha, ha, got you!” he teased. “Oh no – wait!” but the rabbit had already kicked up a tidal with her hind legs, soaking the lower half of his shirt, and sprung off. “I’ll get you for that! Come here, you! I’m going to make you look like a poodle!”

Patches skittered from puddle to puddle, clear sprays alluring the dark night as she lead Gilbert deeper into the sleeping town. He plodded his shoes in every puddle the white rabbit danced across, dampening splotches into his clothing. No longer did he care about the grubbiness of his clothes. Did he really need to? He was unimaginably glad to finally see the greys of a town again – to be with Patches, running down the path of their new freedom. He had never played with another living like this before. Always by himself before, he never thought anyone would ever want to be around someone as lonesome as he, but never had he expected and old rabbit to play with him that night. As though not tired, his pace quickened, creating even bigger pristine bursts as he followed Patches through the cobbled roads. Screaming as a child at play, he cared not if he woke a single soul. Not even the cold, angry people of a tired night could take this moment away from him. This was the seamless dream come from a series of nightmares. It was his dream. Their dream. And it would continue even when the night met its end.

A bright light of a lantern burning from the foggy end of the road. Not wanting to be caught like this, Patches veered off to an alley to avoid being seen by the one who approached. Gilbert shut his mouth when he heard the voices of the strolling people who had heard ‘a child screaming down the further road’ and slipped into the alley behind Patches. Her glowing red eyes caused him to jump in surprise, but it would be foolish if he wasn’t aware that it was her, so he joined her at her side and hid. The bright light passed the alley as a family of three shadows sauntered on by to find the child who they thought was in distress. Patches waited until they were further down the road before she cautiously stepped forward, a wide smile stretching across her face as she chuckled lightly, possibly because the passerby had thoughtlessly passed the alley without trying it.

Gilbert let out a soft giggle, “Ha, ha! We woke up someone, but the fun I had with you was great too. I like splashing in puddles….about as much as I like seeing your fur puff up.”

Patches stuck out her tongue immaturely, blowing a raspberry, and made the child laugh even harder. She stuck her nose up like a loyal pooch – not a poodle, of course; proud that she had successfully made him feel better that night while having a bit of a good time herself. So much for the boy being tired – that thought had gone out his window and over the fence.

“So where are we going now?” he wondered, warming the goose flesh on his arm. “Oh! Should I carry you in the rabbit toy so that no one sees–PATCHES!”

Needles were driven into her neck as a scraggy umber hare stained with a sticky black substance pushed her to the wall and gouged his prongs into her neck. Gilbert rushed towards the screaming rabbit, his teeth clenched together in anger and fear. What was distinct between him and other hares of the norm was an odd burgundy patch was stitched along his side. Burgundy. A hare that wore and adored the colour burgundy. Morris. Morris had survived. His needle teeth dug deeper into her skin, tarlike goo drooling from in-between his gums and onto the bleeding, raw flesh of Patches. She cried out for his help, and this time, Gilbert did not hesitate.

“Patches!” Gilbert dove at the hare and pried at his jaws, screaming, “Get off of her, you bastard!” but that only made Patches squeals louder and his grip tighter. “Owwwwwwwwww!” The needles had scraped against his skin, leaving long sticky scratches engraved into his hand. It burned like fire, shriveling up the cuts into meaty bundles. Fighting back the pain despite the will of his tears, he cursed Morris, “Damn you, you damn bastard!” He revved up his fist in the air, prepared to swing down on his skull.

That’s right! Kill it! Save Patches! Kill it!

“Stop hurting Patches, you damned thing!”

Thump, but Morris only twitched. Nothing else came of it. Morris still held tightly onto her and she struggled and begged for mercy. Receiving no help, receiving nothing because there was no way a child aged ten could hurt a demon’s servant with a little punch. The realization hit his eyes wide and tears brimmed them. What was he to do without the staff he’d left behind? The only object of strength that he had? Being the loving fool he was he wouldn’t give up on Patches, no matter what. Not even if he was weaker than them both. Gritting his teeth, he raised his fist again. He wasn’t allowing Patches to die.

A sudden narrow pain went into his neck’s back, tearing him away from his precious rabbit. His head hit the stone hard, his vision going blurry for a moment before a faint growl that petrified his heart awake, “Greetings, meat.”

It’s him, it’s him, and the voices went on.

Squeaks of a laughing Cambric breathed against his skin as his narrow red claws dug into his tissue to force more cries out of him. “How does it feel? The pain?” he asked vengefully in a near unintelligible rat voice to where the creature could only speak a few words at a time. “My master felt it. When you forced him. In-between dimensions.”

You have to save Patches! Don’t let her die!

"GET OFF OF ME!" yelled Gilbert.

Cambric continued to laugh madly as the child struggled to pull the rat off of him. “Worthless, pathetic meat! Can’t even fight back!”

You’re useless.

Gilbert rolled over, and he tossed…he turned, and he punched, but there was nothing he could do against a creature stronger than he. His claws were that of all pets of the Trumper’s. Hooked and sturdy, their prey unable to unlatch their grasp.

Useless….         

“Pathetic,” broke Cambric. “Die.” 

Gilbert felt the rat starting to dig into the nape of his back with his teeth, burrowing his nose into it, slowly tearing away into his flesh. His pain was so great that he could see lights turning on in the distance as people were awakened by the sounds of his dying screams. The only hope that remained for the child was that someone came down the alley and beat the rat and hare dead. Eyes blurring into the abyss, the sight of Patches’ torture was blurred. All he could see now was the dark red stains on white as the hare tortured his friend. The only thing he could think was – why? Why would Morris, the servant of the Black Trumper, come to kill what was precious to its master, thought Gilbert as his back went numb. Cambric’s head entered his flesh, eating away at his life. Feeling himself slipping away to the real afterlife, he closed his eyes, and counted sheep.

One sheep, two sheep…dancing across the sky.
Three sheep, four sheep…see how they…fly.
Little moon…where do you go…when the sun sets down…on the earth below?
How do you glow…up there….as white as…..snow?
Looking…down on the…….earth with your…..eyes aglow…………

“Dying is a bastard, isn’t it?”

A flood of realization washed over him and he cried out in a pain only family knew, “Patches,” but it was only a soft moan.

There was a sharp tug as the rat was pulled out of his neck and a loud clunk as he was pinned to the ground. Gilbert weakly turned his head to see that Morris had barred his own partner from killing him…but why? What was there to gain from saving the one he came to kill? They had already taken Patches, the meaning of his happiness, the one who he had fought to bring with him – his life – away from him. Did he not have enough mercy to let him die in peace? Was their only motivation in life to make people suffer and laugh at it? It wasn’t funny. Nothing was funny. Nothing. Nothing could bring Patches back. Nothing was left for him without Patches. He felt, empty…broken like a cracked porcelain doll cascaded to the floor. His heart and mind were completely shattered, leaving behind a shell of a boy who was once named Gilbert Warrens.

“Cripes, Morris! Manners!” snapped Cambric.

“Manners…manners?! You’re one to talk, rat! You wouldn’t even know what manners are even if you read a book on it several times over!” spat Morris with a scorch in his eye. “What were you thinking?! You nearly killed him! You know the master can’t take his soul if you kill him in the human world! Not only that, you woke up humans. Dozens and dozens of them, coming to look for the ones who attacked a child because you couldn’t follow simple orders! Come in quietly, do what we need to do, give the location of the child, and go back to the manor! That was all that was requested!”

“Give the location of the child…and bring back Patches. You killed her. I didn’t stop you. You’re a traitor too. Master will kill you. Manners, Morris. Manners!” he mocked. "You'll be killed!"

“Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?” scoffed the hare as he let up on Cambric, turning away. “If it weren’t for what I did tonight, I would tell him about what you almost did to the soul he needs, so let us call it a draw. I needed to kill Patches after what she let happen to me. I lost all my teeth and nearly died because of her betrayal. If I wasn’t in our dimension, I wouldn’t have survived that blow.” He sighed miserably, moving towards Gilbert. “I’m already sick of these needles. I want to go back to the master and see if he will allow change to them. And rat...I do hope you understand that I did what I needed to do.”

Cambric laughed, “It’s fine.” He grinned ominously. “I hated Patches too. Looks like you’re the only one I can hate now.”

Morris rolled his eyes as the rat couldn’t see his distaste now. “You stay there,” he said to Gilbert who had no other option but to look away from the unsettling hare as he climbed on his back and pressed a paw by Cambric's entryway. “Worry not; you will live your wounds. Cambric did not get far." Releasing the pained spot, he dropped down and continued, "You’re too heavy for us to carry back. I’m letting you remain here. I’m letting you weep. Let yourself know that you were too weak to save your precious friend…until my master comes for you.” Smiling widely, he bared his needles as he gained Gilbert’s attention. “You heard that one…didn’t you human? He has the scent of your soul and once he regains the strength he lost from being torn back into his own world, he will come for you, hunt you down, torture you, kill you, and devour your soul. That’s what you deserve for leaving the staff in the raven’s own woods. Enjoy wallowing in your own self-pity…and maybe a little more now.” The hare spat on him and walked around him, clicking for Cambric to follow. “Have fun taking care of your dead! There’s only so much time before they rot.”

Patches, thought Gilbert, watching as the blood trickled out of the dead rabbit’s neck. It’s my fault. I’ve killed you too. 

“What are we going to tell the master?” questioned Cambric.

“She jumped into a canal and tried to swim off, but drowned like a fool whose hopes were too high.”

“You’re the fool whose hopes are too high.”

“Do you honestly think he wouldn’t believe the word of his most trusted servant?”

“I see your ‘point,’” he burst out into squeaks of two-faced laughter at his own pun as their voices disappeared deep into the alley, wandering into the night.

“Patch,” he whimpered, dragging his body across the dirty wet street with his lulled elbows. His back ached with every crawl he made towards his dead friend, and his mouth curdled in agony as pointed spindles went up his spine, but he wanted to be beside her one more time before he had to leave her forever, buried in the ground by his own hands. Resting his palm on her head, he went down the rabbit’s bloody skull and ruffled her unwitting ears. As he gazed into her wide open red eyes, he pressed his head against her body and began to sob louder, sniffling on her cold cheekbone. “You weren’t supposed to die. I-I promised you that we would get here and you barely got to be here. We were supposed to see the town together and find a new home. Why can’t things ever go right? All I ever do is mess up. I’m rubbish! It’s not fair!”

The clacking of a cane came into his hearing and the flicker of a lantern flame shone down the alleyway in a bright orange glow as elegant shoes came down the way. The owner of the shoes was an ancient, old woman of the upper class. She wore an off white dress decorated with white roses that made her appear as a ghost of the afterlife. Her skin was so wrinkled that it looked as though the poor lady could crumble before him at any moment, yet she came out here to find a child in need. A true, goodhearted person had come to help him and she was a mere old rich lady living out the last of her days in a personal earthly nirvana. However, he knew deep within his heart, he wished that she’d come sooner.

“’Ello?” called the ancient woman. “I heard you crying while I was taking my nightly nap. Woke up the neighborhood good, you did.” She came closer, her clean dress being stained with backstreet filth, but she seemed not to care about anything other than the child’s presence. “Blast these spectacles! I can’t see a darned thing! Are you a hurt back there?”

Gilbert buried his head back into Patches, hiding her from the woman. If she saw the rabbit, the long clawed, glowing eyed beast that she was...what would she believe of him? Would she think that he was a creature such as his passed friend or would those spectacles be ‘blasted’ enough for her to not notice her?

Although Gilbert said nothing, she believed he did so. “Eh? Didn’t catch that one? Can you speak louder, dearie? Wait a moment, I’ll come nearer.” She grumbled, her cane clattering closer, "Blast these old ears. They can hear a scream down the road, but not a word a few feet from them."

No, that old woman couldn’t see her like this! He had to think of something quickly! He couldn’t leave Patches here in the streets for the mongrels to eat. Without a thought of it, he bit onto Patches’ claws, a bile flavor violating his tongue as he bit them off one by one and spat them far. Closing her jaw, he hid her feline teeth, making her look more like a normal lop rabbit. An odd looking lop rabbit with an oval head and starved look, but a lop rabbit all the same – indeed not one that would scare humans who lay eyes on her. Worry them, but not scare. His worry, despite his work, was if they would find out she was no longer living and tossing her out like rubbish without him burying her like a proper friend.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as the woman came to him, fear trickling into his heart as he was reminded of a certain other old lady he used to know. The memories came flooding back as she feebly crouched down beside him with a troubled expression on her face. It hit him hard as he had no idea if she was anything like that other woman. What if she was as bad as she? Gilbert trembled at the sight of the old woman, wondering what he was to do if he was taken in by her hospitality…and she was just like like….He didn’t want to think about it.

“Are you alright there, my boy?” She placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, causing him to cringe by the touch of her glove. A streak of blood skimmed onto her glove. Jumping back in surprise, a loud gasp came from her mouth, “Oh my word! Bess come here!” 

A much younger woman in a maid outfit ran down the alleyway in a panic and breathed out, “Yes, milady Flora? Do you need assistance?” Then she saw the child and dropped her lantern, letting it crash and fizzle out on the wet road. “My word! He’s bleeding!” She rushed to the hurt child and saw all the blood. “There’s blood all over his clothes!”

“Hush with that. You’re going to scare the poor child,” scoffed Lady Flora, earning a quick, “Sorry,” from her maid as she stood up on her cane. “Kneeling like that hurts my bones too much. How bad do the boy’s wounds look? I can’t see them that well.”

Taking a closer look at his state, she sounded more relieved when she spoke, “His clothes are stained – I thought he was in a bad condition – but he is no longer bleeding, so whatever hurt him was not serious. He should be fine with some hot water and a good rest.” Shifting, she turned to the old woman and asked, “Should we keep him into your home too…with your other children…after morrow? Are you cer–”

“I’m certain,” interrupted Lady Flora. “I would never cast an orphan back out on the streets. It’s not fair out here, and most certainly not for a child who’s injured.”

“Yes milady,” she agreed respectfully. Whispering to Gilbert, she asked, “Can you stand on your own? I can help you up if you need it.”

Gilbert shook his head, cuddling the rabbit close in his arms. “It hurts,” he finally sobbed. “It hurts so much. I-It hurts….” My heart hurts so much. Patches....

“I’ll carry you then,” promised Bess as she lifted the small boy and his rabbit into her arms. “Ooooh my, you’re as cold as a ghost! Well, it won’t be long, there’s a nice warm fire waiting for you back at the manor. Plus, you’ve got your little friend to keep you war–oh my, is she hurt too?!” She caught his fresh tears in her dress and hushed him, “Shh, I’m sorry. There’s no reason to cry. Your rabbit is going to be fine. We’re going somewhere safe and out of the cold.” Bess stepped over to Lady Flora and smiled. “I have him, milady. He didn’t want to walk, so I’m carrying him. He’s a little heavy, but I can manage.”

“Let’s get him back home then.” Lady Flora’s cane clanked towards the dark open roads, a bittersweet smile emerging on her craggy face. She made an appalled face at the rabbit. “What’s that white thing in his arms? It looks odd rather odd for a puppy.”

“It’s a rabbit, milady,” she corrected, “A lop, I believe. They’re starting to become very popular around here. He must have picked up an unwanted stray.”

“Hmmm, then we shall keep it too. The only thing we have is that blasted bird that doesn’t stop yacking. It will be nice to finally have something quiet.”

11: The Secrets We Keep

Gilbert hadn’t let go of Patches since the moment he’d first held her in the alley. He was given fresh bread, clean clothes and a place to sleep, but when Bess rested him on the couch by the fire, she said that the rabbit should lie down on her own pillow closer to the flames, he insisted on holding her. Said she was dear to him and he wanted to dream with the rabbit in his arms. Bess had complied with his wishes and kindly left him a notebook and quill for drawing whenever he grew bored, but not one moment had he picked it up and doodled that late night. Eying nothing but the glow of the fire on Patches’ dead body, he cried himself to a dreamless sleep. Off and on the barren dreams went, and every time he awoke, he was met with the face of his dead friend once more.

Squinting with dry tears, he broke down and snuggled her into his cheek. “Oh, Patches,” he whimpered. “If only I were like you, I could have saved you, but I’m not. I’m nothing. I’m useless. I can’t do anything other than be a burden to you. I’m nothing.” Sniffling in snot he begged, “Wake up Patches…You’re asleep, right…? You just haven’t woken up.” Nudging the unresponsive rabbit over and over again hung his miserable heart. “Wake up…please. Wake up…just please wake up….Don’t be dead…you can’t die….You’re the only one I have….Don’t be dead…please….You mean the whole world to me…..”

Time seemed to stop all around him as her warm eyes budded red. The little blossom slowly blinked for a moment and turned to face the boy who was cuddling her desperately. Her body was weak and her breathing was dim, but she still managed to smile at Gilbert, knowing that he didn’t leave her behind to die alone in the alley. He may have been child, but his heart was softer than anyone she ever knew. Not once did he betray her when the ones she knew did and tried to kill her all because she no longer wanted to feel trapped in a void of plush animals. Indeed, there was no more distrust between them. If this is what it felt like to trust someone, then they wouldn’t give it up for any worlds. 

Swallowing, Gilbert stuttered, “You…you…P…Patches?”

Patches mustered up a slow wink. Nothing ever cast her heart down. Even when on death’s edge, she remained mordant and confident. 

He panicked, “I thought you…I thought you were dead….You…You weren’t moving…and…and…you…you look so…you look…you…”

Patches interrupted his rambles with a claw to her lips. She did a double take and saw that they had been bitten off and broken. Glaring at him, she let out an annoyed sigh. She put her anger aside this one time and motioned for him to continue.

Yet he still continued to stutter, “W-What happened!? You…you weren’t breathing….you weren’t moving….!”

Shhhhhhh, she hushed in-between her teeth, silencing his rambles. Pointing at the ceiling, she reminded him that there were others sleeping within the manor and that they must keep the noise minimal. Her ears picked up. Pausing a tad, she cocked her head to the side and sniffed the air. Her eyes bulged out and she tugged at Gilbert’s hand, her mouth wide open in utter shock.

His heart dropped in fear. “W-What is–” 

Patches had no chirrups to say back. Never had she showed any fear until now. Why? An infection was creeping up his arm from the bite wound – the one that Morris had given him mere hours ago that very night. His skin was as tough as parchment, crumbling like the skin of that old woman’s in rough flakes. It was almost reptilian in look now, barely even human anymore, if it could even be considered so. If someone saw him as this, Lady Flora would see that he was diseased, and certainly cast him right back to the streets. Never would he see a home again with repulsive skin like this. He would be an orphan again. He didn't want to be that!

Am I sick? Am I diseased? I don’t want to go back out there! “What’s going on, Patches?” he hyperventilated, rubbing the flakes off on his arm. Mistake. It itches so much! Underneath the flaky surface, his skin began to itch more as he scratched it, a soft burning sensation going up his arm like candle fire. “What’s happening to me?! PATCHES!”

Patches took a step back, nearly falling over on the couch as she was still weak. “Norrrr, nor,” she went, “No…norrrr….” Sliding off his lap, she backed away further, shaking her head in disbelief. “Norrr.”

“WHAT’S HAPPENING, PATCHES!?”

A lump went down Patches’ throat as she swallowed nervously. Smelling the air, she searched for something Gilbert did not know of. Her ears rose when she found her target and she skipped onto the table beside the couch, flinging the notebook onto the cushion like rubbish. Nipping onto the cork, she dragged the ink beside her canvas. The only way for her to enlighten him was for her to write. The fearing child needed to know what was going on with him.

“Careful!” he exclaimed.

But his warning was too late. The bottle tipped over as she violently tore the cork off with her teeth and spat it to the floor. Her paw stretched out and set the bottle back on its rump before it could do more damage to the owner’s now stained couch. Patches shrugged, brushing off her careless mistake. Couches were trivial things to her. Dipping a broken claw into the ink, she turned open the notebook to an empty page and began to write.

You’re immortal now.

“W-w-what? What’s that word? I’m-mortal?” he questioned, furrowing his brows.

Patches sighed, recalling that his language was still that of a child, and continued more simply. You can no longer age. You will always be a child until the day you die. 

“You mean I’ll live forever?” Gilbert had scratched his pained skin red. Bittersweet comfort filled him now that many of the flakes had fallen off, but he was so sore from doing so. However, he was confused about the situation that had Patches presented to him so suddenly. He didn’t know how he was immortal because of the condition that infected him. Believing that the infection couldn’t do such a thing, he questioned, “Why? Why does–” he nodded towards his arm “–make me I’m-mortal?”

That sticky stuff that was injected into your veins when Morris bit you stopped your aging process. It’s because it was the original blood of the Black Trumper. My former master gave it to him, hence he nearly died. He wouldn’t be able to live without it. If he hadn’t foolishly bit me while fighting me, I would have died too. He was so upset with me that he did not pay attention to his actions. He may have forgotten what the blood did to those who take it. We forget often, so I am not surprised that he didn’t remember the blood’s power.

“I t-t-thought the Black Trumper was poisonous,” probed Gilbert in a nervous voice.

Silly, I said this is the original blood of his before he became a soul-eating demon of smoke. It’s what made him able to live for so long. He saved it for creating servants for himself within his own world. He did not like humans much, so he chose to have pets instead, so he created the three of us from normal, dumb beast to able servants of a demon. The blood in our veins causes us to lose our fur often, so I believe that is the reason why you lose skin. It becomes worse when you scratch it, however. You need to end that. Trust me. It won’t kill you, but you’ll bleed out if you cut yourself.

Obeying Patches, he immediately broke his nails’ rhythm. “So you say…I’ll never get old then…and you won’t either?”

Patches nodded, confirming the answer. A lot of things are about to change for you, Gilbert. Both you and I. We can’t stay here for that long without being questioned. We’re going to have to leave early morrow before they awaken. We can’t have family here. I’m sorry.

Gilbert felt a pang grab on his chest that told him that he wouldn’t be able to have an eased life here with the Lady Flora, or anywhere for that matter, because of what he became. He would leave the manor and be back on the streets with Patches, cold and with nowhere to go but dank alleyways until one day Mr. Needlework found them. Thinking about it now, Needlework would have found him not too long after the coming days if he stayed with the old woman. Maybe it was a good thing that he was leaving. Maybe it was bad, but he found it so bittersweet that he would never be able to remain in one spot for long, knowing that raven would be following his every footstep. If Morris and Cambric found them so quickly, who was to say that Needlework couldn’t find them just as fast, if not faster? Patches was right; they couldn’t stay here, and wouldn’t have been able to regardless of his immortality.

“It’s fine.” He smiled at her. “I’ll be fine. I promise,” but she could hear the melancholy in his voice regardless of the words that he spoke. “You’re my family now.”

I’m glad to hear that from you. Truly. It means much to me. I have to tell you something tomorrow too, but just bear with me for tonight. I need my rest and so do you. I will be fine by morn. I’m feeling better already. Go back to sleep now.

“Alright,” he agreed without question, curling up into a ball and closing his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow morn then.”

He listened to the rabbit scuffle as she closed the book shut put her utensils back where they belonged. She leapt down from the couch with a soft thump to move by the fireplace and curled up by the warm flames. Wait. Patches didn’t know that Needlework was following them! He shot up, gaining her curious, bothered attention.

“Patch,” he began, “The Black Trumper is following us. Morris told me…he’s following us. You’ll make sure won’t find us, will he?”

Not a signal came from Patches to show that she was worried about their hunter. She only sat there with a blank stare and blinked her eyes slowly. For a while, she watched him as though thinking about something – a plan of action, maybe? A way to keep themselves from being found? Running away to another country far away from England? He would not know because she did not go back for the notebook. Instead, the rabbit rested her head on her paws, and went back to sleep without answering him at all. She may have been too tired to do so. After all, the poor creature had been through a lot that night. She needed more rest than he, so he didn’t put it against her to overlook him. Perhaps she would tell him about it when the sun rose along with the important thing she wanted to say. Of course, that’s what she was planning. He didn’t have anything to worry about, right? Everything would be fine. He trusted Patches more than any other soul in the world. She would come up with something for certain.

***

Scrif! Scrif! Scrif! went the carpet, waking Gilbert from his slumber. It was late nighttime, a tint of marigold orange eating the black sky for the sun. Dawn was about to rise and their time in the manor was running short. They couldn’t stay here much longer. Glancing at the floor, he looked to see if his companion was awake, but Patches was nowhere to be found. Wondering if she was the one who caused the racket and not some other critter, he leaned over the couch and saw that his friend was up and about, sneaking her way up the stairs. She was up alright. Up to something. They were supposed to leave shortly at dawn. He thought she wanted to leave this place. The Trumper could be looking for them already and they’re still in the same hiding spot! And what was she doing sneaking around the house when someone could be awake and see her?

What the bloody hell is wrong with her!? thought Gilbert. She’ll be seen! Ire boiled inside of him as he watched that little rabbit hop up those stairs. He didn’t want to be mad at her, but he couldn’t control the anger that quickly possessed him. It riled up his doubts, forcing him to quietly stand on his feet. What is she up to? His nails were sore as he fixed his shirt and he took notice that they had turned a dark pink, almost red over his sleep. Ah, bloody hell. Assuming it as a kind gesture from his newfound longevity, he stepped forward, and as quiet as a mouse, began to follow Patches.

His footsteps creaked lightly on the boards as he trailed her silently. The rabbit was much faster than he and much lighter on her paws and she had already climbed up the stairs by the time he reached it and was long down the upper hall, but he did not rush his pace. He didn’t want to risk gaining the attention of the household or Patches. On his tiptoes, he ascended the stairs and looked down the left hall – nothing – then peered over to the right. There was the door cracked open by who he knew was his friend snuck off to. Breathing in deeply, he crept towards the door and pushed it halfway open and what he saw next shattered him.

A girl’s screech pierced his ears as her neck was torn into by a vicious demon. The other children in the room and cried, “Monster!” as they ran out of their beds, screaming in fright, their minds scarred by what they had witnessed within a fraction of time. They pushed passed Gilbert, yelling for him to run and get out of the way, but he stood there, unaware of their presence, completely paralyzed by what was happening before his eyes. Giving up on him like dead, the children fled out of the room and abandoned him and their own sister with her – Patches. Digging into her neck, the rabbit buried herself into her flesh and ate through it like a parasite. Her clothes lumped wherever Patches dug, causing the child agonizing pain before she coughed out and died there with her eyes wide open. She continued to ravage through the deceased body, holes appearing on her blue dress as the rabbit surfaced for air. The rabbit was so feral that she did not smell that Gilbert was standing at the door, a shell of a boy, now nothing.

A white patch came slithering out of her feast, her body covered in blood. She was no longer the skinny, bony rabbit that was dying the other night. Her body was lively and full, satisfied with the flesh of the human she’d devoured. Strips of leftover flesh flung from her mouth as she shook the crimson liquid from her pelt. Her head snapped over to Gilbert, her face not of that of the outgoing, sarcastic rabbit that he met in the woods. This Patches was different. This Patches was her true, subtle nature that she had been hiding from him for his sake. A hungry, savage Patches that ate the flesh of the weaker humans to survive. She smiled at him, hinting that he was indeed supposed to see what she did, because this is what she wanted to tell him that morning the other night, not knowing that this is what it was going to be. 

KER-SMASH! The body of Lady Flora lie dead beside him, her hand covering her heart. Patches charged at it, and in frenzy, began to tear at her neck out of instinct. Gilbert looked down at the dead woman, feeling nothing. He was broken. He had finally been broken. Not because of his sins in previous life, not because of Mr. Needlework, but because the one who he was with – the one he never wanted to be apart from. The one who he had fought to keep alive – was this. Something that should have never happened to him…did…and he didn’t have a care left to give. Everything. Everything that he was before…was all eaten by the rabbit’s greed. He was her and she was him, bonded because of conjugated gratitude. The shell stood beside her, watching her eat with a blank, empty gaze – a gaze that only knew one thing. Patches the rabbit.

“DEMON!” cried Bess from behind.

A broom swung down at Patches, clonking her on the head with the bristles. Growling fiercely, she bore her teeth and bit down on the broom, tugging at the maid’s weapon. Although the more versatile of the two, Patches was still a small, little rabbit past her monstrous makeup, and was in no way a match against a tug-o-war against a full-grown lady. Bess was determined to protect the master of the house, even if she was already dead. Her devotion to Lady Flora was as strong as the bond between Gilbert and Patches. The maid grit her teeth and yanked with her feet planted, slowly pulling the rabbit creature away from the old woman’s half-eaten face. His friend was about to be winged to the wall if this war kept up between them and he was not allowing that to happen to her. Patches would not be hurt.

“You let go,” rasped Gilbert aloofly, clasping the broom with a peeled hand. He lugged away at it along with the rabbit, sending the most eerie, coldhearted look to the petrified maid. “I won’t let you hurt her.” He angled his head to the side in the way Patches did. “Understand?” Snapping his neck back he continued, “Let go of it. Now. You won’t hurt Patches.”

“G-G-Get out,” she stuttered. “GET OUT, DEMON!”

Bess snatched the broom from the two of them, sending them on their back to the floor. She swung down at Gilbert with the blunt, wooden end, striking him in the neck. Before she could get another hit in, the child rolled to the side, the wood splintering on the floor as she missed her target. Her yells became unintelligible as she continued to swing wildly at the child who was now scrambling on his feet, struggling to avoid the beating. The maid clearly blamed him for what happened to Lady Flora; otherwise she would still be after Patches. He’d brought the monster here and he was being punished for it. Pouring every ounce of her anger into her swings, she broke through Gilbert’s thin skin, the dark abnormal blood staining the wood burgundy. However, in such a vengeful, passionate rage, one could did not pay attention to the little rabbit that had slipped by her. In a bundle of her mistakes, it was all over for her. Snap! Patches tore into the soft side of her neck, killing her instantaneously. Slow motion blurred by as the young woman’s body landed beside the house’s guardian, a pair who thought they gained the gift of a loving child, but it turned out that death had disguised itself and took everything from them.

They left that home without a word to each other, allowing the rest of the household to rest until they discovered what had happened that faithless morn. They needn’t hurt another person there. There was no reason for them to now that Patches was filled. The children had most likely warned the other workers in the manor and they were probably in the children’s room now, mourning the deaths of Lady Flora and Bess. It was never an intention to take more than one life that dawn, but sometimes there are no choices in life…but was there ever a choice for them? Never do those who don’t belong have them and it took Gilbert ten years of living to find that out. At least he had a long, long time to ponder it now.

Coming out to the porch, Gilbert leaned on the rail and relaxed his legs, his rabbit companion climbing up on the railing and sitting beside him. He didn’t bother to look at her. “I don’t care anymore,” sighed Gilbert in a voice that was so stale that it was almost emotionless. It was the voice of someone who had given in to what life threw at them. “If you need to eat that way, then I’m fine with it. I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to see it again, but I don’t want to lose you either. I have nowhere else to go anymore. You’re all I have left.”

Patches did her head cock and pondered for a moment before suddenly jumping onto his shoulder with an idea in mind. He didn’t even as so much wince as she crawled over his shirt and descended into his pocket. Intrigued, he simply watched her in silence. Shaking out the rabbit plush, she made her way back up him and hopped back onto the rail and spread out the costume. Nuzzling her nose into the opening, she slipped her body inside and zipped up the closing. Her bones snapped into different positions as she took on a more softhearted, bipedal form, appearing now as a living soft toy. Reaching, behind her neck, she undid the blue ribbon, showing it to Gilbert as significance to her. He could have sworn she was smiling underneath her stitched mouth as she hung out her collar in the wind and let it go, never to wear it again.

“What?” he wondered. 

She pointed to his pocket and then to herself, hinting at what she meant. Gilbert grinned and brought out the handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around her neck, signaling that they were now master and servant. No longer did Patches belong to Raven Needlework – she was now the servant of the child, Gilbert Warrens…but she was much more than only a loyal servant…wasn’t she? She was his friend, his family, and he saw her no other way.

Gilbert shifted his body and groaned, “I think we should leave before they come out here.” Dusting grains of wood from his shirt, he turned to Patches with the wide smile still plastered to his cheeks. “So where are we off to now?”

Patches shrugged her shoulders. It was up to him.

“I don’t know either, but as long as we are not far from the Trumper, we have no choice but forward,” stated Gilbert. “But that’s where we’ve always been going...isn’t it?”

12: Epilogue: Eternity

1993, 173 years later

He had forgotten who he truly was. He had forgotten why he was born. He had no idea who he was other than the old rabbit plush that he carried with him. He knew not why he existed in this world without dying like the rest did. Years ticked by in an unmemorable cycle. Generations came and went, and time’s children paid their last breath, but he remained a child forever, unable to die, nothing but a shadow of father time, wandering the world for all eternity with the darkest sins crawling up his shoulders. For years he fed human flesh to the rabbit in order to keep her alive instead of them. Luring other children in with his innocent face, he would leave the plush with them for a short while, and then the rabbit would kill them and devour them. There wasn’t another choice for him. He didn’t want to lose the only one that could be in his life. Besides, it came natural to him now. They would all die one day eventually, so why should he not? Better the humans than the one he cared for.

With no place to stay and with none who would understand his inability to age, he found his own shelters with his rabbit friend. One of the many places that he made it to during his constant travels was an old building from the early Victorian era. It was dilapidated and hadn’t be in use for years, but it seemed that no one ever bothered tearing the place down. Oh well, the more useless, empty buildings there were, the more places he was able to squat in. Walking through the rusty gates and up the overgrown gravel path, he the old door open and invited himself in. There was rubble strewn across the floor, the old wallpaper peeling from the elements, and the old floorboards hewn with holes leading to the leaky basement. He could even hear the squeaking rats scurrying beneath him. Disgusting, but he was used to places like this.

A sharp growl came from within the rabbit plush he carried on his back and a zipper zipped undone. The white rabbit leaped out of the mini backpack and over his shoulder, glaring at the floor with beady red eyes. She sniffed the wood, her throat burning with anger.

“What’s up with you all of a sudden?” questioned the boy, rubbing his scathed shoulder. “Those claws really hurt even when I’m wearing this hoodie, you know.”

Sitting on her rump, she lifted her front paw which was now covered in a layer of black.

“Is that soot?”

His friend nodded at him and pointed all around the room, showing him that the floor was spotted in layers of black soot. It had been hard to see before, but now that she pointed it out to him, he was now bothered by the building’s condition. 

“Ugh, there is black soot all over the place. Where did all this stuff come from? There’s not even a fireplace here. What a bummer,” he sighed, pinching his eyebrows with frustration, gaining a curious look from his friend. “Good eye, little pal; maybe this isn’t the best place for us to stay for the night. I don’t want to breathe this shite in while I’m trying to sleep. I guess we’ll look somewhere else then while there’s still a bit of light out there.” Slipping the mini backpack off his shoulders, he held it out in front of him, and smiled at her. “Come on, let’s get going. We’ll go find a better place now.”

The rabbit grinned with her teeth and stuffed herself back into the plush rabbit, zipping herself inside the bag. He gently tossed it back over his shoulder and turned away from the waste of his time, but for some reason, as he left that old Victorian building, he felt like he had forgotten something important. Whatever it may have been, he did not mind losing the memory. He forgot things all the time. People, places, and faces – they all were eventually forgotten over the decades. The only thing that he would always remember – that he held deep within his never resting heart – was the name that he always had.

The Giver, age ten, forever and ever until eternity’s end. From playgrounds to parks, he went alone. Let children to play with him and may they be greeted with the smile of a glowing-eyed being whose hunger is greater than their heart.