The Sunday morning sunlight sneaked its way through the wine-colored velvet curtains, slid on the black marbled floor and rushed up on the bed to strategically, though metaphorically, stab Hale Dorian's eyes.
The said male winced in annoyance, as he shuffled his head underneath the pillows and sighed against the cool, soft, fabric in pleasure. He rubbed his feet on the satin sheets and mewled while relishing the happiness of a weekend without any appointments.
The grandfather clock in his room struck seven in the morning and with sheer repulsiveness of a fangirl defending her criminal idol, the door bell rang.
RIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!
Went the screeching the sound like a banshee announcing death.
TIIIINNGGGG TOOONNNGGG!
The obnoxious alarm of an unwanted guest's arrival echoed into Hale's ear who undoubtedly scowled under the defenses of his cotton stuffed pillows.
"It's fucking 7 A.M. on a Sunday morning! Why the fuck would anyone want to get out of their beds and roam about the place?!" Hale cursed out loud as the doorbell resounded against the walls of his home, getting louder by the second.
"I swear to lord if its Dion, I will incinerate him," he vehemently threatened as he kicked the quilt away, the poor fabric descended to the floor and Hale stomped on it, picking up his dark robe from the couch in front of the bed and flung the door open. His bare feet thumped against the marble as he tightened the robe knot against his waist—waiting only to admire his face in the mirror endowed gallery outside of his room.
The doorbell's pace hastened and unintentionally, Hale's feet synced with the sound.
TING! TING! TING!
Went the bell.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
Went his feet down the spiral staircase.
"I'm coming, holy shit, get some chill dude," Hale muttered under his breath while striding across the hallway, not bothering to peek through the peephole and flung the door open.
A gust of dry air and cawing crows greeted him.
His hand tightened against the doorknob, suppressing the rage of kickboxing thin air.
"Motherfucker," Hale scowled, taking in a deep breath as his jaw clenched. He swung the door wider and looked left and right, shouting, "Whosoever it was, I hope your barista spits in your coffee! And I hope you fall facefirst over lego!"
His shouts were only replied by the birds chirping on the cable wires.
Hale swore again, "Fucking birds and their chirping everywhere. What do they even talk about so diligently all day?!"
Another gust of wind hit face and just when he was about to close the door—he heard it.
A cry? A sob? Whimper?
Contorting eyebrows into a frown as his postured hunched a tad, all senses on alert now, he whispered, "What in the name of butter toast has possessed my home?"
Gripping the door knob like his life depended on it; Hale peeked behind the door and found a crème basket placed on his porch.
'For all you know, it could be a bomb! Do not touch it! Run inside and call 911--!' one part of his consciousness reasoned. It was probably the left brain.
'For all you know it could be one of Pan's dumb pranks. Just touch it, what if he's filming this and airs it at school? You'll come off as a coward if you run away!' the other part countered and Hale gulped hastily bending down and shoving the yellow cloth away to witness an amethyst eyed child whimpering.
Between the blinks, Hale saw a strange glimmer flutter in its eyes.
A cold shudder ran through his body and he scoffed. It's a doll.
"Ha! Ha! Funny! Nice try Pan! Anthony! Guys, you can come out!" Hale called out, leaning against the doorframe and scrutinizing his surroundings to find traces of his friends.
To his misfortune, no branches moved. No bushes shuddered. No footsteps were heard.
With widened eyes, Hale looked back at the child who was giggling now and gulped.
"What the fuck is this?! This must be a nightmare. I think I overworked myself last week, now my brain is messing with me," Hale tried talking to himself as the child made grabby hands at him. Hale pinched himself and the pain he felt was real. He then leaned in to poke the baby's squishy cheeks but it growled at him.
Repulsed, Hale got back up and looked around shouting, "Anyone here? There is an abandoned child here! Come and get it!"
The only sign of life around his villa was a park almost a kilometer away and it was usually visited by the old people trying to exercise this early in the morning.
Hale run up and down the road, looking left and right to see if anyone was hiding. "Okay, I'll have to do it the hard way then," Hale muttered, walking back inside to bring his phone.
"I did not want to call the police and make a hassle about this prank, but nevermind, you should have thought about that before you decided to ruin my sleep!" he stomped inside, while still keeping a glare on the basket outside, he picked up a receiver-phone and dialed 911.
"Hello! You have reached the sheriff's station, how may I help you?"
"Good Morning, I would like to report an abandoned child in front of my home," Hale spoke in the receiver, ashy eyes unmoving from the basket.
"Oh poor child, give me your name and address we'll be deploying two officers, they will reach you in 15," the lady replied and Hale nodded to the receiver.
"That would be nice, thank you," he spoke and hung up.
Another gust of chill ran inside his home and Hale witnessed the morning sun shielding itself behind the clouds. Instinctively, he headed to close the door, but something within him bugged.
"Should I leave it there--?" he asked himself, leaning against the door and peeking only to see the child already staring at him. What a creep!
"Yeah, I should probably leave it there," he nodded to himself and proceeded to shut the door close and relish himself a nice cup of freshly brewed coffee when... what he dreaded struck with full force.
The obnoxious crying of a child, so freaking early in the morning made Hale pull his hair and take in deep breaths.
The cries were revolting, they weren't cute or lovely, they were absolutely terrifying! To the point where Hale could feel the ground move from its impact.
Maybe it was just his own dizziness as he ran upstairs to hide in his room and give up on the noise, but surprisingly so, the impact did not lessen a bit. They were still as brilliantly clear and annoying.
Sobbing with dramatics, Hale descended to the ground. "It's as if that thing is crying right inside my head!" he gasped to himself, holding his head in a predicament. The sound waves bounced against his ears like a technique of pure torture and Hale couldn't help the involuntary motion of his feet heading towards the door.
It was too loud. Too screeching. The voice prickled against his skin and made him squirm. He wanted to cry but he couldn't, shout but he couldn't. It was as if one of his senses had overwhelmed all.
Gulping, he opened the door and peeked out and in that instant, the child stopped crying.
"Fucking Mercy!" Hale cursed, his legs giving up as relief washed over and he plopped in front of the basket like a proper boiled noodle. "What are you, why are you and what do you have against me?" Hale's exasperation came out in a croaky whisper as he repeatedly hit his head against the basket. Over and over again.
The thumping vibrations didn't falter even a tad. Though the baby innocently giggled at his antics, clearly driving pleasure from his pain.
Giving in to the situation at hand, Hale picked up his head and shuffled with its yellow blankets to find a source of identification. The baby giggled cutely as Hale scowled at its face and found a plastic card buried inside.
"Finally, hope!"
He flipped the crème card to find words engraved with gold.
Dear Chosen Guardian,
Keep our Prophet Ahren safe. I will be back when the time's right.
"What, that's it?! Prophet who? Chosen guardian what the fuck who is into role-play nowadays what is it a tik-tok?! Stop!" he whined out, rubbing his slipper clad feet against the marble of his porch. "There's nothing more!! Jesus this is frustrating!" he cried out, trying to find another hint or a name or something on the relatively blank piece.
As a cloud moved above, a stray ray hit the card and the words, 'A property of the Messenger of Fate,' appeared on the bottom right corner for a split second before it was gone with the light.
"What the hell are you?" Hale all but whined, turning to grimace at the giggling baby who now began to wiggle in excitement. "Prophet Ahren my foot, you're a purple eyed worm," Hale rolled his eyes at the child, shoving the card back in the basket.
The police arrived in due time and Hale couldn't be happier enough. The red-head all but jumped in excitement and waved at the officers.
"G'day sir! The child's here," he pointed at the basket sitting beside his door and wiggled his fingers in a shooing gesture, "take it away, I want to see no more of its obnoxious purple eyes."
"G'day sire, Harold and Ken at your service," the officer cleared his throat, eyes narrowing in confusion as he continued, "what…exactly are you pointing at?"
"Huh?" Hale mumbled and pointed at the baby basket, "That thing. This right here. It even has a note in it, from fate's messenger or something.
Harold, the stubby officer, walked up on Hale's porch and scrutinized the surroundings. "Are you okay, mister--?"
"Hale, Hale Dorian, and yes I'm perfectly fine, thank you," the redhead supplied as Ken, the tall and lean one, took out his notepad and pen.
"So, Mr. Dorian, you called our office at 7:15 in the morning reporting a case of an abandoned child—and now you are pointing at thin air… are you high? You don't look a day older than 17," the raven head officer walked up to Hale and pinched his cheeks between his hands, sniffing a little around, "You don't smell like you're on something."
Exasperated, with wide eyes and open mouth, Hale pushed Ken away and all but shouted, "Am I high or are you guys high on duty?! Aren't you both seeing this?!" Hale bent down to pick up the basket, but it was too heavy. "Fuck what the hell did they feed you?!" he swore, trying to hold the basket in place. As a reigning athlete and a teenager, this was highly shameful.
"You guys see this dead weight in here?" he pointed at the now annoyed looking child.
Harold and Ken coughed awkwardly, "Nice method acting sir, I hope you have a great career, we'll take our leave now."
"This was clearly a wastage of time," Ken added.
"Wait! Stop! What are you doing?! Don't go away! Take this! It's a creepy child!" he cried out, trying to carry the weight of his basket. Channeling all his athletic might in one blow, Hale managed to pull the baby basket up to his waist only to look back up and find the officers gone.
"What the fuck? Don't leave me with this demon worm! Please! someone help!" he cried out to no one in particular, but before his pleas could reach any ears—Ahren bit his dick.