Elmer had himself curled up within the shadows clouding the left corner of his room, and he did it in such a manner that made it seem as though he was fearfully hiding from some sort of otherworldly monster, reminiscent of a Lost, that was seeking to devour him.
His body trembled softly and his narrow eyes were solidly, though kind of blurred, placed upon the now-repulsive revolver that was an inch away from the points of his boots.
He could feel the rim of his glasses seated atop the bridge of his nose, so he knew he was not devoid of them. But still, his vision was somewhat impaired. He should be seeing clearly, but he could not, and so he believed it to be as a result of his restlessness.
But even with his weakened view, he was still able to make out the items he had arranged on the wooden floor to flank his revolver. Items which included a small, brown paper bag—seemingly holding something within it—the messenger's letter, and as well his waist bag.
The image of what he had done, which had brought about his shirt being stained by streaks of blood in a few places than most, could not leave his head. He was unable to wipe it off his mind no matter how much he tried, and the unrelenting fear that he would never be able to, gave rise to a biting chill creeping onto his skin, one even greater than the kind that was prevalent on winter nights.
Elmer released his palms from holding onto his biceps and stretched them out before his eyes. But even though his sight had been far too enfeebled due to the anxiety that was latching onto him, it still did not prevent him from seeing the illusion that had been haunting him for something which had now begun to seem like hours. The illusion of blood dripping relentlessly from his hands—blood which obviously wasn't his.
After he had committed his heinous acts of sending Craig, Eddie, and Ms. Edna to their deaths because of his personal goals, a straight jab of realization pertaining to what his situation entailed had flown straight into his stomach, and had caused him to take on actions that even further disgusted him.
Ms. Edna's words, which involved how the Church would haunt him for having taken such barbaric steps, had been the catalyst that had spurred him into a panic to clean up whatever he felt would give his exploits off, which in return had led him to retrieving his bullets from his victims.
It had been unpleasant, digging his fingers into the skulls of the people he had murdered and pulling out the source of their death from it. As for Craig, it had also involved his abdomen, and it had been mainly that process which had caused Elmer's hands to have become a bloodied mess.
All that he had done to prevent the divination of his location from being possible, seeing as one of the basis for that to work was to have an item the person being sought after had come in contact with, and his bullets met that requirement.
But that had not been the be all for his actions, at least when relating to Ms. Edna. Since he needed her blood to mix up the elixir for ascending into the Echelon 10, the bullet coated by her blood was necessary.
While for Eddie's Echelon, Elmer had found himself having doubts about going through with ascending into it.
The Echelon 10 was closer to his Baseborn Echelon, so he had not much worries that he could successfully ascend into it. But for the Echelon 9, he was fearful that without giving himself time to adjust into the Echelon 10, his spirituality would not be able to handle the ascent, and then all he had done would be for naught as he would succumb to madness and turn into a Lost.
Still, wasn't the way he was leading his life now all about risks? Why should he have to delay his ascent because he feared losing his mind when he had a way right before him? What would he do if his hesitance came around to cost him?
The situation he had been in at that moment had not let him settle down his fervent thoughts, so he had quickly shifted them aside in his anxiety, allowing himself to focus on the importance of what had been at hand.
He had then taken the bullet soaked with Ms. Edna's blood and wrapped it in a piece of money before dropping it into his waist bag. Then for Craig's and Eddie's, he had shared between his pockets, his mind of the thought to dispose of Craig's someplace where it would be unattainable for the foreseeable future, while Eddie's would end up being of the same fate if he later decided against ascending into the Echelon 9.
After he had been done with the separation of the bullets, and cleansing off anything related to him from the corpses, he had gone ahead to seek a pothole where water from the the dwindled onslaught of the rain was lodged to wash the blood of his murders off his hands.
Subsequently, he had taken the initiative to use his heightened hearing to curb the restlessness his accelerated breathing and churning stomach were causing him, knowing that for the final phase of his plan to work he had to be of a calm mind.
But because of that decision, the world had become hazy and slow to him at the time, constantly forcing him to look over his shoulders as he took away The Warlock's Torch from the tightened grip of Ms. Edna's corpse and approached the dock's gate.
His mind was calm, his heart was calm, but his senses were not for some reason.
The feeling of him being watched by countless eyes had shrouded his body, and for that he had hastened his steps in a hurry to leave the scene of his crimes.
When Elmer had come into view with the dock's guard, following the unlocking of the side gate due to his constant knocking, he had tightened his lips and furrowed his brows in order to seem both tensed and cautious, then he had said in an agitated tone, "Lock the gate immediately and wait in your shack. Make sure to lock its door as well. We have found the person we're looking for and my companions are currently engaging them. I'm on my way to request for back up from the police, so make sure to remain hidden until they arrive."
His manner of speech had caused the young guard to shudder in fright, and of course heed his words without question, while having allowed him free roam to the carriage Eddie had hired.
From the coachman Elmer had firstly confirmed that Eddie had indeed given him a piece of agreement paper, one which had a seal of the Crest of Time imbued with the essence of vitality, and also that it had only been eight minutes left until the clock struck ten.
Knowing that there was no need to trick the coachman with his words, since to the man's eyes he was a companion of the one who had employed him, Elmer had asked that he'd be taken to the Orb of Fate's pub at the Foreign District, and the coachman had obeyed at once.
Upon having arrived at his requested destination, Elmer had cajoled the coachman into borrowing him thirty mints under the disguise of 'for the mission', and also promising that it would be paid back with interest.
The man had not argued, seemingly of the feeling that the situation was dire, and had handed the amount which had been requested.
Elmer had allowed himself no time wastage with that, as he had begun to feel the dwindling of his efforts with his heightened hearing to keep his emotions in check, knowing that his rationality would be lost with the return of the sense of turmoil his body had been feeling at the dock.
Having noticed, with a push of the door, that the guess he had had in the carriage of pubs probably closing later than other businesses was true, Elmer had rushed toward the ponytailed barman who was still in the process of wiping cups clean and placing them back onto their shelves in preparation to close up.
"Black market," he had mumbled in a hurry while unsure if the secret underground place would have still had people bustling about it despite the incoming curfew at the time. And in that regard he'd relied on the reply he would get from the barman to help with that.
The youthful barman had allowed hesitance to stain his face with Elmer's words.
"It's less than an hour until the curfew," he replied.
"I just need ten minutes," Elmer quickly put in without relenting. "Is it still open?"
The barman nodded, then turned around, facing the clock, to confirm the time to be 10:15.
"Ten minutes," he said. "That is all you have. It closes in thirty, and anyone in there by that time will be unable to leave."
Elmer had immediately proceeded down then, past the burly man in a trench coat and top hat guarding the first door, and as well the two men guarding the one leading into the descending stairs, the latter words having done nothing to stir his steady heart into turmoil.
The Black market had been far too scanty, at least compared to his previous times there, and each one of the remaining people about it hurried with their deeds, seemingly to exit before the curfew had caught up to them. Elmer had been no different, and he was glad that the ingredients shop had been of help as well by being empty and the seller had still remained on the other side of the shaded counter.
He had immediately purchased two shedded skins of leopard geckos, his estimate from his previous purchase of a skin being priced at about ten mints each proving correct as he had bought them for twenty five mints at a bargain.
Having concluded his dealings at the Foreign District, he had instructed the driver to head to Farend's Avenue next.
There, Elmer had marked his job complete by handing The Warlock's Torch to its owner, while also apologizing for his inability to prevent it from being used, after which he'd received his sixty percent pay remnant.
He knew he had to acquire it for his next step considering his status.
From his pay he had paid back the thirty mints he had borrowed, with an additional twenty as the interest, then he had given the coachman a hundred mints as the fee for his hiring, obviously well past what was owed.
But he had done that for a reason, one which had been for the coachman to head to the police station and bring officers to the dock—to the scene of his murders. He could not just leave Ms. Edna's and Eddie's bodies lying on the cold ground of the dock; he was not that far gone.
The coachman had not tried to find out why Elmer was not going with him, probably because he had felt there was a reason for such, or maybe because he had been paid. He had just whipped his pulling horses into quickened trods without complaints after Elmer had told him to simply report to the police what he had witnessed accordingly.
Elmer had not formulated a lie to remove himself from the scene because he knew that any would only worsen his situation.
Under the present circumstances, he would be seen as simply an Ascender who had run away from the scene—a coward. So he would not be tagged by the police officials as a murderer, hence reducing his chances of being caught later on.
And based on how the processes had gone with his own jobs, he believed that only the Ascenders of the Lower Echelon would seek him once they had found out what had really happened at the dock, owing his thoughts to the notion that him being tagged as a corrupted one would in no way cause him to be involved with the city's police officials.
That way he'd only be chased by one side and not two. It was okay—he was fine with it.
Those were the thoughts that had remained with Elmer as he'd boarded a night carriage, one which had been retreating home for the day, and paid them forty pence for their troubles.
Upon entering his room, he had instantly packed up his and Mabel's things, his mind of the one that involved them fleeing, which had been the major reason why he had not allowed his sixty percent pay to be left behind.
But just when he had been done tidying things up, then had his power's effects worn off, instantly causing his caged emotions to return, bringing with themselves a feeling that had left Elmer's legs restless. One which had impregnated him with the fright of being watched, a tightened chest, and as well incited the quivering of his stomach as the illusion of his hands being stained by blood had appeared before his eyes.
The turbulence of those sensations overlapping within his body had been what had sent him into a corner of his room, made him separate all the materials that had involved his heinous acts from himself, and watch them as time passed.
Now, he was not sure how long he had spent hiding from nothing, and if he was already being searched for by an Ascender of the Lower Echelon—the latter though he believed would be too soon to be happening.
Elmer breathed out an exhale as the illusion of his hands being stained by blood vanished. Then he took his eyes toward Mabel who was lying as lifeless as she had been for years. The single flame from the candle standing on the table beside the bed, was the only thing that allowed Elmer to see his sister's face clearly, as well as her defunct eyes gazing straight at the ceiling.
He bit down on his lower lip in a way so hard that he cut it, causing blood to trickle onto his tongue.
"What am I doing?" Elmer asked himself with a voice far below a whisper as he made out the metallic tinge that was customary to blood. The taste seemed to have jogged his body free from the sense of anxiety he had been feeling, and in return, brought his mind back to normal.
He did not need to throw anymore questions at himself, he already knew what he was to do. He had already readied himself for it even before he had shot Craig Wiley.
Wasting not a single second any longer, Elmer instantly took in a deep breath and heightened his hearing once more, using it to stabilize his heartbeat and the onslaught of emotions that had been cloaking his body. After which he scooped up the paper bag bearing his gecko skins, the ingredients of the Pathway of Time, along with his waist bag, and took to his feet.
"We'll leave soon." Elmer threw a quick glance at Mabel. "Just… Just spare me a moment."
And with that, he hurried out of the building he was a tenant of and, beneath the full moon's light, snuck himself to apartment eight—his landlord's home.