Prologue
[March 14, 1994]

Eric Johnson loved that his bedroom was at the front of the house, as it faced the road outside. It was a busy road, with the occasional car passing by on some late-night journey. He loved those moments, when the car light would fill his room, illuminating all that it touched. Not that he was afraid of the dark, of course; at the age of eight, he liked to pretend that he had far outgrown such childish phobias. It’s just that Eric found it difficult to study the details of the objects surrounding him whenever they happened to be cloaked in darkness. He liked looking at things, making up stories about them based on how worn out or tattered their appearance was. Old stuff was the best, particularly antiques; a wooden telescope could belong to a pirate, an ancient bed frame could’ve belonged to a brave soldier. Everything around him had a story to tell, and as a result, his room, much like the personality he would one day grow into, was eccentric, out of time. Normalcy, after all, was so boring; Eric already saw enough of that in the world. These objects reminded him that not everything had to be plain, or simple. And one day, he hoped that his own creations would inspire similar feelings in others. That was a lofty goal, though, and he had no idea how he was to accomplish such a thing. He often stayed up late into the night, dreaming away any possible escape from drab reality. The options were becoming increasingly limited as school filled his head with more and more logic; he had recently given up on looking for radioactive spiders, which used to be one of his favorite hobbies. Enjoyable, but incredibly painful.

The sound of another plate smashing could be heard from downstairs. Eric rolled under the pillow, trying his best to muffle the sounds. But it was futile, he began to realize with increasing annoyance. It wasn’t his choice to stay up until late; he hardly ever could be bothered to pay attention during school, so he could get his daydreaming fix during the day. Despite the past few months, filled increasingly with noisy nights, he hadn’t grown desensitized to what was going on downstairs. Except it wasn’t just downstairs; it was all around him. At first he felt embarrassed, then angry, but now there was nothing except a deep, unending well of depression and shame. He didn’t know what exactly was happening to his mother, and nobody would bother to tell him. His step-father simply told him he was too young to understand when Eric tried to ask, and promptly changed the subject. But he could understand, all too well, and that was the problem. He understood the way she was shaking all the time, her increasingly erratic, spontaneous, hurtful behavior and comments, and he especially understood the distant look in her eyes whenever she saw him. If it was a divorce, or even a death, he could deal with it, he would often think darkly to himself. But this… this was as foreign and strange as the figure who now sat across from him at dinner. And it would never change; these late night arguments between her and Eric’s step-father, the other alien influence that had managed to weed it’s way into his life, had proved that to him. As another shriek erupted from inside his mother, Eric made a silent promise to himself that he would never end up like her.

Light flooded into his room with such miraculous timing that Eric thought it might as well have been God instead of an anonymous car. For one glorious moment, the contents of his room became clear to him once more; posters of the planets on his wall, legions of toy soldiers on the floor, and an old, battered piano sitting in the corner.

____

(OOC: It's been two years to the day that I joined this forum, if the 'My Profile' thing is correct. So, I figured this would be a fitting day to post the first part of this. I've actually had this storyline planned out within the first few months of joining the forum, so it feels really weird to finally be writing it out, all this time later.)

Chapter Three ;; A Wolf at the Door
[February 10, 2012]

After a hectic hour and a half of trying to get her baby to go to sleep, there was nothing Eve Harris enjoyed more than the simple bliss brought on by relaxation. A nice glass of wine, and a warm, cozy fire; nothing compared. Thankfully, this is what she was now able to look forward to. No more petulant, irritating whining, no more obnoxious intrusions. Not even the current knock on the door could ruin the feelings of anticipation for the stress-free night she had in store. Or at least, it wouldn’t have, if this were a normal, considerate knock. But it wasn’t, and that’s what caused Eve to answer with an exponentially increasing mood of annoyance; whoever was at the door wasn’t content with merely knocking, or ringing the doorbell. The pace of the ringing and the knocking was being experimented with, as if the person at the door was trying to make an irritating musical jingle out of it. In fact, even when Eve finally managed to open the door to see who was outside, the knocker didn’t stop this obnoxious behavior. His eyes were closed in an expression of pure delight, as if he was actually enjoying the din he was creating. After a while, he even broke out into a little shoulder dance. Finally, after sensing a pair of eyes bearing down on him, he opened his own and broke out into a wide smile.

“Hello, Eve, guess who?” Eric Quillington asked excitedly, doing a little 360-spin on his heels in an unnecessary gesture to help her recognize him, “I bring before you priceless gifts, because I hear that’s what people like to receive before they accept guests into their home. So, here they are; three boxes of Tampax. I was going to go for something extravagant, like a new car. But, then I realized that you’re more of a practical individual, and would want a gift that reflects your inner personality. You’re the type of gal who would like something sturdy, something reliable. Something… absorbent.”

Eric dumped the boxes into her reluctant arms and stepped inside. Eve remained silent, still baffled that this now-famous figure from her distant past was in her living room. It wasn’t a romantic, happy feeling of being stunned, but more of the sensation one feels after being hit over the head. For the past five years, she had watched Infinite’s rise to stardom with incredibly mixed feelings. On one hand, it was impossible to feel anything but bitterness over losing out on the opportunity to date a rock star. It was vain, yes, but she had, like most people, felt as though the materialistic, carefree lifestyle of the celebrities was far superior to normalcy. But, on the other hand, she knew that she would’ve lost herself had she stayed with Eric. His life had changed him, made him unrecognizable from the boy she once knew; where once was a quiet, thoughtful individual now stood an aloof eccentric. His very presence had changed, to the point where it seemed as though a stranger was standing before her, rather than a former boyfriend. There was once something behind his eyes; a fiery determination, as if his willpower had manifested itself inside two blue mirrors. But now, it had all been extinguished after years of worshippers pandering to his every need. He had everything that Eric Johnson ever wanted, but the sad irony was that someone else, Eric Quillington, had claimed them as his own.

“Wh… what are you doing here…?” Eve asked lamely, wishing that she could muster up a more forceful tone of voice.

“Oh…” Eric’s voice trailed off for a moment as he gazed upon the intricate details of Eve’s house with suprising interest, “I’d say that I was in the neighborhood, just passing by, but that’s too much of a cliché to believe these days. I just wanted to see you. Feel like we ended things on a really bad note, what with my overdose on heroin and all. Doesn’t leave a good impression, I’m sure. But, I’m happier now, I’m better now, and I had to make sure you were, too.”

He smiled, but there was a sad shadow behind it. At once, Eve realized that the dullness behind his eyes wasn’t brought on by a life of easy living; it was brought on by sadness. The fire behind his eyes had been replaced by emptiness. He had always been a skinny person, but now he looked frailer, more fragile, than ever. He walked around the room with deliberate care and attention, as if savoring every last step. Because of this, she didn’t for one second believe his excuse for being there. But, before she opened her mouth to comment on it, Marc walked downstairs, complaining about a nightmare. Eric’s eyes widened in surprise at the appearance of Eve’s son. It was his first genuine, non-forced sign of emotion since arriving at the house. But, while this might be exciting for him, it was a common annoyance for Eve. Sighing, she motioned for Eric to follow her and walked upstairs. While she guided Marc back to into bed, Eric waited outside, and Eve hoped against all hope that he wouldn’t ask any questions when she left the room. This was a moment she had been dreading since her unwanted guest first stepped through the doorway ten minutes ago. But, unfortunately, he asked, whether out of curiosity or a desire to be polite.

“So, who’s the father?”

Ignoring the question, Eve went back downstairs, grabbing herself the lone glass of wine she had been so desperately looking forward to. Eric’s head titled slightly to the side, as if he was confused about whether or not he had crossed some unforeseen line. Just as he drew breath, to ask whether his fears were correct, Eve said; “After we broke up, I wasn't with anyone. And, I didn't end up dating again until after Marc was born. It's difficult to raise a child by yourself.”

Whatever color was left in Eric’s almost lifeless face was now gone. For the past few minutes, his hands had been sporadically shaking every now and then. But now, he stood perfectly still, as immobile as a statue. The weight of the world had been on him for the past few years, and he had been able to handle it. After all, the world was a distant, impersonal place. But this new weight was different; this was painful. The five-year-old boy that had meant nothing to him ten minutes earlier was suddenly everything, everything that was ever joyous or miserable. For most parents, this was the moment of rebirth, where the meaning of the rest of their existence was spelled out to them. But not for Eric. He wasn’t upset about the fact that Eve had kept this from him for so long; after all, he had all but cut himself off from her life, so to be mad would be hypocritical. His tone of voice, when he spoke again, was therefore devoid of anger. In fact, it was devoid of practically any emotion.

“I’m going to die. I can feel it; the end, it’s almost… it’s been a long time coming, I suppose. I’ve been giving myself a month, a month of borrowed time to say my goodbyes before I… and it has to happen, because I made a silent promise that I wouldn’t become my parents. I wouldn’t be ruined by Huntington’s, and I wouldn’t be a piece of shit that never acknowledges his son’s existence. But it happened. I failed anyways, and I'm…”

There was one final opportunity for self-redemption, for proving to himself that he wasn’t as despicable as he liked to believe. All he had to do was walk upstairs, and reveal his identity to the son he never knew. But as much as he wanted to, he knew how undeniably cruel it would be; after all, he would be nothing but a memory in over a month’s time. It’d be best to spare Marc the process of grieving. Smiling weakly at Eve, who was silently holding back tears after what Eric had revealed, he gave her one final kiss on the cheek, and walked silently out the door.