[ Back to the future.]
Lewis stumbled forward the road, but each step felt heavier than the last. It was as if the ground itself conspired against him. He pressed onward, gaining awareness of his surroundings.
In the distance, he heard strange, melodic sounds, singing, perhaps? No. It was a sound of music.
As he stepped onto the darkened road, the chill of the night air wrapped around him like an unwanted blanket. The glow of flickering streetlights bathed the asphalt in a ghostly luminescence, creating a path that seemed both inviting and treacherous.
He'd always know that roads are meant to be crossed, but this one felt different, he had never seen it before.
The world felt muted, as if trapped within a dream. Shadows danced at the edges of his vision, and every step forward felt like a journey into the unknown.
He looked left, then right, searching for an answer to the simplest of questions, How does one cross such a road? And was he in heavens or somewhere else?
As far as her remembers, he fell of the deadly Clif and it was impossible for him to survive.
Just as his determination began to wane, a strange calmness enveloped him. He decided to advance, but a split second later, the scream of tires pierced the silence. A car, a sleek beast of obsidian, hurtled toward him, its headlights blinding his sight.
He barely had time to react before it struck him, hurling him to the ground in an explosion of starry lights.
His body lay sprawled on the asphalt, half-conscious, as reality began to blur into a cascade of a silver mist in the drizzling rain.
Marcelo, in his luxurious car, the interior adorned with velvet and gold, a stark contrast to the wild untamed nature outside.
Without hesitation he Dashed through the torrent.
It was then that he saw him—a figure stepping out of the car whose very presence transcended the ordinary.
Dressed in a tailored black suit that shimmered faintly under the dim streetlights, the man exuded an air of elegance, yet there was a strange eerie quality to him. A polished silver mask concealed his face, reflecting only fragments of his eyes.
As Mercelo approached, he seemed to glide rather than walk. He leaned down, his gloved hand stretching toward the fallen figure.
"How could you not know how to cross the road…" he murmured, his voice a blend of curiosity and disbelief, as though he was addressing a wayward child.
The figure on the ground fell unconscious at that moment, struggling to make sense of his reality. As the masked stranger turned his face toward him, recognition flooded his mind like a tide.
"You?" he gasped, eyes widening in shock.
With a sweeping gesture, the man in the suit beckoned, and the air around them shimmered.
The young man pulled himself upright, still unsteady, straightened his cufflinks, fixing his gaze on the lady laying still on the ground.
"You amuse me! I thought you would be resting with your ancestors by now. Look here you are, A live and kickin'."
He placed his hands in his pocket and casually stood as if nothing had just occured. His dark eyes fixed on the conscious lady on the ground. He said reactantly.
"Since you refused to die, I will take you to home. My little.... wife!"
He devilishly smiled, then scooped her into his arms, and he placed her gently in the warm embrace of his car. As he resumed his journey.
Momentsa later, they arrived at Marcelo's mansion, a sprawling estate that rose majestically from the earth, its facade gleaming in the low light.
He carried her through the grand entrance, where gilded chandeliers dripped with crystals like melting dreams. The butler, an old sentinel of the house, emerged from the shadows, his eyes widening in surprise as he beheld the scene before him.
"Sir, what ha—" the butler began, confusion knitting his brow.
With a cold sidelong glance, Marcelo silenced him, the tension in the room thickening like the air before a storm.
Something in Marcelo's demeanor quelled the words in the butler's throat, and he stepped back, uncertain, his mind a whirlwind of queries. Marcelo, with a heavy heart, ascended the grand staircase, each step resonating with unspoken thoughts.
He gently laid the lady on a silk-draped bed, her beauty softening the sharp edges of his spirit yet he remained indifferent. Her chestnut hair cascaded like a waterfall across the pillows.
As he knelt beside her, he saw the stone in her hands pulsing a faint, ethereal light.
"What is this? And where did she get it from?"
His eyes widen as his gaze remained fixed in the stone.
The butler, unable to contain his curiosity, followed, watching from a distance. "Sir," he finally managed to utter,
"She was dead when l dumped her body in the drainage, how is it even possible that she is a—"
"She needs rest," Marcelo interrupted, his voice low and grave. " Now leave."
Turning his back to the butler, he strode to the balcony, gazing out into the void where the storm still raged, as if the skies themselves mourned.
"Is this a dream? She was dead earlier, how is it even possible for her to be alive. I personally checked her pulse and l can swear, she was dead." He said inwardly.
''''
The sun cast arosy hue light strip through the window, waking up the last night visitor, she rubbed sleep from her face. Then stood up to go to the bathroom.
She did not bother to glance around the bed he slept in. All she knew was her spirit was alive and vibrant.
"Why are my on women's nightgown, anyways as long as am safe from that old wicked b*stard! There's nothing to worry."
She easily dismissed it. At the bathroom she raised up the dress to pick his d*ck to urinate but it was not there .
"Aaaaah...!"
The scream echoed louder in the bathroom waking up everyone. Mercelo hurriedly ran to aid.
"Honey, are you okay?"
"Do l look like am okay to you?" She paused. "Wait! What did you just call me? Who is your honey? Am a man not a woman."
She was so confused that she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Then hooked her thin delicate lips and raised her eyebrows glancing at the man Infront of her like a stranger.
" Who are you?" she askance, her voice barely a breath.
He slightly chuckled, his heart inexplicably heavy as he replied politely.
"Am you husband."
Eva rubbed her hair, " How's this possible, and what can't l remember you?"
"What's wrong with you? Did the rain of yesterday affect you, my dearest wife?"
"Am not your f*ckin' wife! Am Lewis, how l got in here, l don't remember. But am a man. Read-my-lips, am a man!"