Drinking Medicine!

Inside the dimly lit clinic, Luther set down a heavy black wooden box on the worktable with a quiet sigh of relief. He opened it, revealing today's harvest the stange being known as Plague Touch. The eerie, veined body seemed to pulse in the clinic's cold light.

Luther took an empty jar from the nearby shelf, a sturdy glass container he reserved for items that warranted... caution. Gently, he placed the Plague Touch inside, sealing it tightly before setting it beside a more gruesome artifact; a decaying ghoul head, preserved in murky fluid. He glanced at it, knowing he hadn't the heart to discard it just yet. One day, when time permitted, he planned to study these dark specimens. Perhaps they held answers to mysteries he'd yet to uncover.

But now, his stomach grumbled, reminding him that it was time to eat.

Casting a quick glance at the clinic's ancient wall clock, Luther shrugged off his travel-worn coat, hanging it by the door. He swapped it for a long, black robe he'd found deep in Joseph's closet. The robe was heavy, dragging slightly along the floor, and it hung loosely around his shoulders. Yet, there was a quiet dignity in its fit, a comfortable, almost familiar weight that wrapped him in warmth as he moved toward the small adjoining kitchen.

Tonight's dinner was a modest affair: potatoes stewed with bacon. He'd used wild boar meat, a prize from a fortunate hunt in the woods outside the city just days before. Growing up in the countryside in a past life had gifted him with a knack for curing meat, and he'd smoked the bacon himself using traditional methods, preserving the flavors and adding a rich, smoky depth to the stew. It wasn't much, but in these troubled times, even a humble meal felt like a feast.

Soon, the hearty aroma of stewed potatoes and bacon filled the clinic, bringing a hint of warmth to its otherwise sterile walls. Luther ladled a generous portion of the stew into a bowl, picking out most of the potatoes for himself to pair with a slice of black bread. After satisfying his hunger, he filled another large bowl, set a few extra potatoes aside, and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

In the office-turned-sickroom, a foul, fishy odor hung thickly in the air, sour and persistent. Luther grimaced, turning on the wall lamp to cut through the oppressive gloom. Under the dim, flickering light, he saw the now-familiar sight: dark green mucus pooled at the bedside, thick and unyielding, creeping up over the sheets.

Hailey lay there, face flushed, breathing shallow and strained. Her once-lively eyes were clouded, yet they flickered weakly when they sensed his presence. Luther's heart tightened, a pang of pity mixed with helpless frustration. This nightly ritual of suffering had become their routine, a cruel cycle with no end in sight.

Luther set the bowl down on the desk and approached her bedside. He glanced at the jar on the nightstand; it was still half-full of a viscous, black medicine he'd painstakingly concocted to ease her symptoms. His face tightened.

"Why won't you drink the medicine?" he said, exasperation edging his tone. "I left it here for you, Hailey. Don't you know how dangerous it is for you to skip it?"

Hailey's voice rasped out, heavy and slow, each word sounding like it scraped her throat. "Luther… you're back?"

She looked up at him, eyes glazed but carrying a shadow of defiance. Her words broke with wheezing breaths, but she pushed them out stubbornly, as if daring him to scold her.

"Yes, I'm back," he replied, a mix of annoyance and fondness softening his tone. He reached out, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. "You're burning up again."

His voice dropped, gentler, laced with worry. "I keep telling you, if you'd just drink the medicine, it would help. Or do you want to end up like those creatures out there? Is that it?"

She blinked up at him, a glimmer of vulnerability flashing in her feverish eyes. He could see she was struggling, torn between pride and a deep-rooted fear.

Sighing, Luther sat on the edge of the bed, carefully propping her up against his shoulder. He held the jar of medicine in one hand, tilting it toward her lips. His fingers brushed her cheek as he murmured, "Come on. Just a few sips, Hailey. This isn't something you can fight on your own."

But Hailey twisted her face away, squeezing her eyes shut, pushing feebly against his arm with what little strength she had left. "No," she protested, her voice hoarse. "I… I don't want to drink it. I know what you've been doing."

Luther's hand froze, the jar hovering near her lips as her words hung between them, sharp and accusatory.

"You think I don't know?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "That this medicine is useless? I saw you… I saw you add your blood to it. You think that's helping, don't you? Just a little blood to keep me going… to keep me human."

Her words tumbled out, desperate and raw, before she choked, coughing violently. Her frail body heaved as she vomited, the effort weakening her further as she collapsed against his chest. Luther held her tightly, unflinching, the familiar bitterness of bile staining his robes. He had seen worse, endured worse; this was nothing. But her words… they cut deeper than he'd expected.

When her coughing subsided, she lay limp in his arms, her breaths coming slow and uneven. Luther reached up, stroking her back, his voice a low murmur. "Do you really think I'd let you die that easily? I've watched too many lives slip away, Hailey. I won't stand by."

Hailey's fingers curled weakly around his sleeve, her voice barely a whisper. "But… you can't keep bleeding yourself dry. What if… what if it kills you?"

They sat in silence, the dim light casting long shadows across the room, a quiet testament to the battles they both fought; against disease, against death, and against the inevitable toll it took on each of them.

Hailey lowered her head, shoulders shaking as quiet sobs escaped her. The tears soon turned into a steady stream, her face buried in her hands as she cried. Luther couldn't help but sigh, rolling his eyes with a hint of exasperation. This girl… so kind-hearted, so fragile. In a world as unforgiving as this, kindness was almost a curse, a vulnerability that could easily lead to her downfall.

"If you still want to stay here in the clinic," he said, his tone cold and unyielding, "then you'll listen to me and drink the medicine. Understand?"

Hailey flinched, visibly recoiling from the sudden harshness in his voice. Her body trembled as she looked up, her face wet with tears, eyes wide with a mix of fear and sadness. She opened her mouth to speak but could only manage a stammer.

"I… I… w-wooo…" Her voice cracked, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

Luther narrowed his eyes, his tone sharper now. "If you'd rather be kicked out and end up like one of those monsters, then by all means, don't drink it!"

Hailey's sobs grew louder, her fear bubbling over into desperation. "No! No, I don't want to turn into a monster! I don't want to leave!" Her voice shook with raw vulnerability, and she looked at him with pleading eyes. "I… I don't have anyone else. Grandpa's gone… I have nowhere else to go."

Her heart was breaking, and it showed in every word. Since losing her only family, Luther had become her anchor, her last refuge. Just the thought of him pushing her away filled her with a kind of helpless dread.

"Fine, then," she muttered, her voice muffled as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "You're forcing me to do this… humph!" She glared at him, trying to summon a defiance she didn't really feel.

"Then drink it," Luther commanded, thrusting the jar toward her. "Open your mouth."

If she weren't so weak, she would have punched him right then and there. But instead, she only huffed in frustration, giving him a withering look as she finally opened her mouth, allowing him to pour the bitter medicine down her throat.

The effects were almost immediate. Hailey's breathing steadied, her flushed cheeks returned to a more natural shade, and the tension in her shoulders slowly eased. Relieved, Luther gently picked her up, carrying her over to the office chair. He grabbed a clean white robe from a nearby sofa, tossing it over her head.

"Here," he said briskly. "Change into this and throw the dirty clothes on the ground when you're done."

Hailey nodded, still slightly sulking. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

Despite her annoyance, a hint of warmth crept into her cheeks as she clutched the robe. She felt strangely shy, her gaze darting to the side. She wanted to say something to Luther, to thank him, maybe, but his gruff expression kept her silent. To him, she was just a kid, someone he looked after out of duty rather than affection.

Luther, for his part, seemed utterly unfazed. He turned away, already setting about the task of cleaning the room. The sheets were filthy, the remnants of bile and green sludge staining the fabric. With practiced efficiency, he stripped the bed, replaced the sheets with fresh ones, and retrieved a wooden barrel of clean water from the corner of the room. Dipping a cloth into the barrel, he began scrubbing away the stains on the floor, the grime and stench slowly giving way to cleanliness.

By the time he was done, a light sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. He gathered the soiled sheets, her discarded clothes, and the water barrel, stacking everything together. He cast one last glance at Hailey, who was picking at her bowl of stew, poking the bits of bacon as if deciding whether they were worthy of eating.

"Meat doesn't come by easily," he muttered, frowning. "If you're so picky, I'll eat all the meat next time!"

Hailey rolled her eyes, puffing her cheeks like an indignant child. "Yeah, yeah, annoying old man!"

She grumbled under her breath, loud enough for him to hear. "More annoying than my grandpa!"

Luther raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Just eat your food and stop talking back."

"Fine!" she huffed, cheeks flushed, glaring at him with mock irritation. "Why are you always so annoying? Go already!"

"Gladly," he replied, rolling his eyes as he turned and slammed the door behind him.

But as he left, a slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. This troublesome girl… despite her whining and complaints, she was beginning to feel like family. Maybe even like a daughter. How had he, of all people, ended up with such a responsibility?

Whistling a low, unfamiliar tune, Luther carried the laundry downstairs to the clinic's small wash area. He shrugged off his robe, rolled up his sleeves, and stepped out to the well. With practiced ease, he drew water, filling a large basin before settling in to scrub the sheets and clothes, the repetitive task offering a rare sense of peace.

As he worked, his mind wandered. The days were passing by one by one, each blending into the next with an unsettling monotony. How long could they continue like this? How long could he keep her safe? There were still places in town he hadn't yet explored, old villas that might hold supplies or answers.

Finishing up, Luther wrung the water from the sheets and hung them to dry, his thoughts lingering on the unknowns ahead. The quiet didn't bother him as much anymore. For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of purpose and with Hailey's presence in his life, perhaps even hope.