This weird lady and crying boy.

"You requested a meeting with me," spoke the brittle old lady as she walked into the small church room with white silk robes and a cross-necklace made of oak wood surrounded by a thin layer of steel.

She looked to be over 60, with her beauty long since faded from her dark wrinkly skin.

"It's about a portal," the manager explained. "We can't get in it to retrieve someone, and it seems to be slowly fading."

"How did the one you are trying to retrieve get in if you aren't able to?"

"One who saw says that as he tumbled down the mountain, a portal appeared in the path with no way to dodge."

The old lady paused to think, remembering back to when anything so coincidental happened before.

"There were many ideas people had for the portal's appearance," she started. "Some say that they are keys to the adventure that lays dormant in every human; others think that they are messages from God to guide them or to teach them something among many others. In this case, I see none of that."

"If you don't, is there anything we can do?"

"No. The whole appearance of the portal in that fashion makes it seem intentional like something was watching and placed it there."

"..."

"My conclusion is they're being punished for a sin they've committed, that's the only thing that can be sensible in this situation, and with the portal fading, that could be a time limit for time to pass or for someone with the correct requirements to enter."

The news spread to the other slayers on the island over the next 6 hours, enforcing caution when dealing with future portals.

——————————————————————

I slowly opened my eyes, letting out a groan from the pain still coming from my shoulder.

I immediately looked at it, seeing that it had been patched up with a cloth and long leaves that held it in place.

"What smells so good," I mumbled as I caught a whiff of meat being cooked in the other room.

As I looked on to the doorway to the room that I couldn't quite see in, the red-eyed lady peeked her head out and made eye contact as we both exchanged smiles.

WHAT THE HELL. I thought as she walked back into the other room.

'Is she toying with me or what?' I hoped Rose would answer but got no response.

I tried getting up, hoping the pain would subside as I did with no luck.

"Don't get up," she said in a stern tone, glaring at me with a wooden bowl in her hands.

I felt frozen in place by her words, just like I had before.

"Sit down," she sweetly continued, almost as if she didn't mean to get mad.

I did as told, breaking eye contact to look to the ground, noticing that I had slept on a pile of hay.

"Here," she handed me the bowl along with a wooden spoon.

It was an orange stew that had pieces of meat flooding up to the surface.

I bet he's just going to try and throw it back at me, she thought, patiently waiting for it to happen.

I took my first spoonful, expecting her to get up and walk away by that point, but she just stared, eyes locked on me like I was some sort of freak at the circus.

I turned, putting on a fake smile that I'm sure she noticed because hers was painfully obvious.

"Do you want some?" The stew gave a spicy sensation to my tongue; it was good in comparison to the pork that I had that other time.

"No," she shot back, "I had some food earlier."

God, she's hard to talk to, I thought as I slowly continued eating.

"So why'd you save me?" I coldly swallowed.

"So that's how you really sound," she laughed, which only caused my hands to start sweating. "You were trying to copy me earlier."

"Yeah, hahaha," my laugh felt dry.

"And what did you mean by save," she leaned in closer to where I was able to smell her metallic breath.

"Back away, or I'll kiss you," I pathetically said with a voice crack following.

Her grin faded to an almost disturbing neutral expression, then broke eye contact and held a confused face as she looked away.

When she turned back to me, she placed her hand on my forehead, shaking me a bit, but I was careful to not drop the rest of the stew.

"You're not sick," she said and proceeded to move down to my neck, acting as if I wasn't even a living person. "I don't think I took too much from you. Are you just weird?"

"Sure, ok," I sounded unamused as she stopped touching me.

"Awww, that's so cute," her voice was starting to get annoying. "Are you pouting? Let me see that face."

I finished the food I had left, loudly chewing it in front of her, hoping she would leave me alone.

"Let me go get something." She got up from her seat taking the bowl from me and walked back to the other room.

'Now's your time to make a run for it,' Rose transmitted, urging me on.

'I can't, not with this injury,' I responded, looking at my left shoulder. 'It hurts like a bitch just trying to move. There's no way I could even outrun her; did you see how fast she was before.'

I began looking around for an exit, noticing a window to my right and that the only door out of this room was the one she went through.

'She's going to kill you,' Rose continued, 'and then you're going to leave her with me, and then she'll kill me.'

'Imagine dying twice,' I smirked. 'Most only die once, but you'll be doing it twice.'

'This isn't funny; you can go while she's gone.'

'Stop overreacting.' I got annoyed by this point. 'Sure, she's attacked me but nothing else,' I explained. 'She even fed me and patched up the wound. Almost feels like I'm being babied.'

'I don't think you-'

"I'm back," she cheerfully said, coming in with a clay cup.

My smile was genuine now; I was beginning to enjoy this.

The cup she handed me had a yellow liquid, almost like lemonade.

It had a sweet taste but gave me an after feeling of ginger.

"What's your name?" She asked, once again leaning in close.

I looked down at the cup, "It's Max."

"Awww," she began patting my hair. "That's a nice dog name."

"It's not a dog name," I rudely shot back.

"Don't raise your voice," she grabbed my hair and began pulling it up along with my head. "Do I need to punish you?"

"Stop," I mustered out as I began trembling the cup in my hand, feeling the pain from my left shoulder increase.

She took the cup from my hand, tossing it to the floor. I saw her hand aiming for my chest, trying to stop her with my right, only for her to take my wrist and pin me down to the hay.

It burned to move my left, wanting to catch her by surprise, but she let go of my hair and quickly pinned both of the hands together.

"AHHHG," I cried out as I felt my eyes rolling back. "Stop, please." Her eyes were icicles and unresponsive to all the struggling and screaming I was doing.

"You need to learn your manners," she coldly said.

"I'M SORRY, PLEASE." The burning was unbearable as I slowly saw her lean in closer.

"Don't make me kill," she whispered before unpinning me and getting up. "It's getting late, so you should rest."

I stayed on the hay, gasping for air, and turned to the window that I saw before. The sun was setting, painting the sky an orange pink, and only one thing came to mind.

How long was I out for?

——————————————————————

Over on earth, the manager, along with the rest of Jacob's team and the other slayers, saw that as the sun began to fade on the horizon, so did the portal until all the light was gone, surrounding them in darkness.

"How are we going to tell Frenda," Jacob mumbled on their walk back to the cabin.

Ophelia looked at him but stayed quiet as it seemed that he didn't even notice he was crying.

——————————————————————

I woke up hungry the next morning, but this time I was freely able to move about without being in constant pain.

Looking out the window, I saw that I was on the second floor of whatever this building was.

The bed that was in the room was empty and messy.

"Why is she making me sleep on a pile of hay," I said, looking back and forth between the two. "At least it's better than the floor."

I walked over to the doorway thinking; if the bed is empty, does that mean she's downstairs?

The doorway led to a bricked room that had a fireplace, along with accessibility to running water.

Continuing down; the living room looked normal, other than the stone walls and painting of people dressed in formal attire.

"Woah, imagine having a portrait of yourself," I said, seeing that she was in one of the paintings.

The front arch double doors were big, the type you'd find on a castle or outpost, and as I looked at the round handle, a knock came.

Could that be her? I thought, slowly opening the heavy door causing the pain to come back.

In front of me stood a black-haired boy, my age, maybe even younger.

His face was stuck in shock, eyes wide, at seeing me open the door.

We held eye contact for a second, then he began to cry while carrying a smile.

"What? Why are you crying?" I tapped him on the shoulder, trying to get some answer.

"Oh, thank you," he got to his knees and started praying, "Oh, thank you, thank you."