Special Chapter: Titus's Birthday

BANG!

"What was that sound?" Titus sat up from his bed. He felt the space beside him, dread seized him when he felt that it was empty and cold. Rosalind isn't here.

"Rosalind?"

No answer.

Please, please be another nightmare.

He took the gun from below his bed, making his way down the stairs. He was extremely nervous and he couldn't understand why.

Where is she?

The awful and nauseating feeling never left him as he took one step after another.

Heart pounding, throat dry and palms sweaty as he tried to calm himself down.

The ticking of the clock and the storm outside did nothing to ease him. It felt too much like he was alone in the world and just the thought alone, adgitated him.

The trees in the forest behind the house swayed with the howling wind as the rains splattered on the windows. Gun still in hand, Titus made his way around the house, still finding no trace of her.

"Rosalind!" He called out but only the winds and rain replied to him.

"If I can just find out why I'm feeling so uneasy, that'll help me collect my thoughts a little bit . . . Wait, what's today's-?"

He walked up to the calender hanging on the wall and checked the date.

May 3.

"Sh**."

A scream came from the backyard, echoing around the vicinity.

He ran, barefooted, into the rain and storm. Inspecting the garden, he could not find anyone so he called out again.

"Hello?!"

"Titus!" A desperate voice came from the forest.

Without a second thought, Titus charged into the looming woodlands, with it's cloak of darkness.

He couldn't see her anywhere so he stopped to look around. The trees seem to grow the more he looked at it

His rain-soaked clothes clung to his body, droplets of rain dripped from his hair. The cold winds blew, chilling him to the bone.

Come on, Rosalind. Where are you?

"Who are you?" A small familiar voice spun him around.

There, in the cluster of trees stood a boy grasping onto his arm that hung limp. Scratches and bruises decorated his body, some very fresh with blood still trickling down. Especially from the broken arm.

"Titus." He whispered.

"Not me. Who are YOU?" The boy rolled his eyes, like he was the one talking to the child. His body shivered from the cold.

"I'm just a passerby. Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you." Titus reassured the boy.

"Oh really? Then why are you here?" He scoffed. "Grandfather told me that only the unwanted and wild animals can be found here. Given that you aren't a wild animal, that means . . . are you unwanted too?"

". . . You think you're unwanted?"

"Why else would grandfather have thrown me off a CLIFF!? He doesn't believe that I will be be able to live up to his legacy as the 'renouned' Battlefield's Angel of Death." The boy spat, tears flowing down his eyes. It was a very tired cry, like he was so done with everything. He winced from the pain in his arm.

"Grandfather never was happy with my father, believed that he became 'soft' after marrying my mother. He didn't even mourn their death. He only took me in with hopes that I'll become another him, the son he always wanted."

The boy looked Titus up and down and scoffed.

"Looks like he got what he wanted."

"I am nothing like him." Titus protested.

"Really? Then why are you standing on a pile of bodies?"

The scenery shifted to a place he was all to familiar with.

This was where he had to show his worth by either winning or dying.

Bodies littered around him, their blood forming a pool below him. He wore a white buttoned up shirt with black breeches Ms brown boots, all stained with blood.

"Amazing!"

"Bravo!"

Claps and cheers surrounded him but he was not concerned about them. He wiped the blood off his face and neck with his sleeves, looking for his grandfather.

His grandfather appeared from the darkness, smiling fondly. That was the first time his grandfather ever looked proud of him in front of people and Titus basked in it.

That was on his seventeenth birthday.

From that day onwards, he became part of the Calvert Scouts. Being right at the heart of the the action, was exhilarating and he enjoyed it . . . for a time.

The more people he killed, the more he was praised and rewarded. He begun to worship his grandfather and the legacy he carried because of this, wishing to become exactly or, even, better than him. So he killed and killed, earning promotions after promotions.

Until . . . he broke.

That was who Titus was. But that isn't the Titus now.

He looked at the numerous bodies scattered around, not even knowing how many people he killed. But judging by the bodies around him, it wasn't a small lot.

The blood levels had risen, reaching up to his knees now. Some bodies floated around the room, swaying with every wave from the littlest of movements made by him.

"With everything you've done, do you think you deserve to live a happy life?"

"I've changed."

"Is that so?" The boy whispered into his ears. "Then why did you just stab your grandfather?"

Titus dropped the body of his grandfather from his arms and it sunk to the bottom. The sword his grandfather gave him still sticking out of the body.

"Titus?"

Rosalind stood at the entranceway, hand on her bulging stomach. Her dress, soaking up the blood, turned red.

"Rosalind. I-it's not what-"

"Wait. I'll come to you."

"Should she really be approaching you? After all, you just stabbed your grandfather." The boy pointed to the sword still visible above the rising liquid.

"Don't come! It's dangerous."

She gave him a very skeptical look, clearly judging him, then continued to walk towards him.

"Rosalind! Damnit."

He walked to her, pushing past the bodies that floated to him. He reached out his hand and tried to grasp hers when she disappeared.

"Rosalind!"

"With every thing that you've done, do you think you even deserve happiness?"

"Rosalind! Rosalind!"

He trashed around as the bodies crowded around him, trying to drown him.

"Titus. Titus!"

Gasping, Titus opened his eyes to see Rosalind's concerned face just above his. He reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace, his body still trembling.

"Your real right? You're here?"

"Of course I am, silly. Are you ok? Was it another nightmare?"

" Yeah. Same one I get every year on my birthday, about my childhood." He pulled away from her. "You were in it this time."

"Really? That's new. What was I doing?"

"I told you to stay away." He took her sooth coloured hands and kissed it.

"And I still came." She smiled.

"Yeah. You never listen, whether in dreams or reality."

"You must hate that so much about me." Rosalind joked.

"Yeah. I hate it so much I want to punch a wall."

Rosalind raised an eyebrow at him, her hands cupping his face.

"But it's also what I love so much about you. If you weren't so recklessly stubborn you wouldn't be . . . well . . . You."

He patted her swollen belly. "It's just a shame that I'll have to share you with someone else soon."

Rosalind playfully hit him. "That someone is your child."

"I know. I know." He laughed.

Titus picked her up and placed her on his lap. He buried his face in her chest, rubbing her arm.

"Does it hurt?" He asked looking at the almost completely blackened arm.

"No." She patted his head. "It doesn't."

"I'll never get used to this. Hey, let's stay in bed the whole day." He looked up at her, grinning.

"Oh no. No way. After all the time I took to prepare for your birthday party? You're going to chuck all my hard work out the window?" Rosalind pulled away from him, attempting to get off the bed.

"There is no need to make a big fuss about my birthday. I'm fine with just staying at home."

"And why is that? All your friends want to celebrate the day you were born with you." Rosalind pulled the covers off of him as he grabbed her and pulled her to him again, gently.

"You're here. That's all I need."

Rosalind sighed, giving up. "Ok. We'll stay in bed for another hour or so but after that well have to be up and ready for the party."

"Thank you." He snuggled against her neck. "You're the best."

"I know."