As Fatty's initial seriousness gave way to amusement, he let out a hearty laugh. "You're pulling my leg, right?" he said, sauntering over to the shelf to retrieve a book. He handed it to Eli, whose curiosity was piqued.
Eli's eyes scanned Fatty's face, searching for answers. The room was silent for a moment, the only sound the soft creaking of the old wooden shelf. Fatty broke the silence, his voice low and thoughtful. "He was holding this book last night."
Eli's fingers drummed against the cover as he opened the book, flipping through the pages. But the language was unfamiliar, the symbols and markings, unlike anything he had ever seen. "What kind of book do you think this is?" Eli asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Fatty's eyes narrowed as he examined the book over Eli's shoulder. "Judging from the style of writing, it's probably a novel...or at least, that's my guess."
Eli's gaze snapped up to Fatty's face. "But why was he holding a book in the first place?"
Fatty's eyes sparkled with intrigue. "What if it's a code book? Maybe it's the key to unlocking something huge. That could be why he was attacked."
Eli's fingers flew across the keyboard as he booted up his computer. "I'll try to translate the language," he said, his eyes fixed intently on the screen.
But as the results loaded, Eli's face fell. "It says the language isn't available."
Fatty's shoulders shrugged. "Maybe we should just ask him when he wakes up."
Eli's gaze drifted toward the door, and Fatty followed his gaze. That was when they saw him – the stranger, standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed intently on the book in Eli's hand.
Fatty's jaw dropped, and Eli's eyes went wide. The stranger was breathtakingly beautiful, with silver hair cascading down his back like a river of moonlight. His muscles rippled beneath his clothes, giving him a chiselled, godlike appearance.
Fatty's voice was barely above a whisper. "Look at those muscles. Do you think he used to be a bouncer?"
Eli's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the stranger. But the stranger didn't seem to notice them, his gaze still fixed intently on the book.
As the stranger's eyes locked onto the book, he moved swiftly to retrieve it, his sudden rush causing Eli to dart to the other side of the room.
Eli watched warily as the stranger secured the book,
Fatty watched in amusement as Eli fled, a teasing glint in his eye. "Why are you running? It's your house...don't tell me you're going to abandon it," he joked, chuckling to himself. Eli shot him a withering look, his elbow connecting with Fatty's stomach in a gentle reprimand.
As they watched from the doorway, the stranger collected the book, his gaze scanning the room with an air of quiet intensity. Eli took a deep breath, steeling himself to approach the stranger. "Buddy, now that you've got your book back, I think it's time we went our separate ways...like we never met," he said, his voice low and even.
The stranger's gaze snapped to Eli, his eyes locking onto his with an unnerving intensity. Eli stumbled backwards, precarious, and Fatty chuckled at his friend's misfortune.
The stranger's voice was hesitant, his words stuttering out in a quiet rush. "Can...I stay?"
Eli's response was immediate, his voice firm. "No," he said, but then his gaze caught on the stranger's face, and he saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. Something about that look stayed Eli's hand, and he found himself softening. "I mean...not until I know your name," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Fatty chimed in, his voice warm and friendly. "Buddy, what's your name? We rescued you last night, and we didn't even get a thank you!"
The stranger's gaze dropped, his eyes fixed on the floor as he struggled to find his voice. Eli's patience was wearing thin, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. But just as he was about to give up, the stranger spoke, his voice barely audible. "Smith...I remember being called that."
Eli's thoughts were a jumbled mess as he stood there, his heart racing with a mix of fear and adrenaline. 'What do I do now?' he thought, his eyes darting to Fatty, who was watching the scene with interest. 'Why do I feel so intimidated? This is my house, for crying out loud!' But as he looked into the stranger's eyes, he saw something there that gave him pause. Something that made him feel like he was in way over his head.
Fatty, sensing Eli's unease, cleared his throat and stepped forward, his voice low and even. "Let's take this outside, shall we?" he said, his eyes never leaving the stranger's face as he gently dragged Eli away.
Fatty's brow furrowed in concern as he asked, "What's going on, man?" The situation had initially seemed comical, but Fatty's expression turned serious as he noticed Eli's growing unease.
Eli's emotions were in turmoil, his mind a jumbled mess of conflicting feelings. "I don't know, Fatty...I'm all over the place. One minute I feel sorry for him, and the next, I want to kick him out." Eli's voice was laced with frustration as he struggled to articulate his emotions. "And when he looks at me...it's like he's seeing right through me. It's freaking me out, Fatty. You know I'm not easily intimidated, but there's something about him that's got me spooked."
Fatty's expression was calm and soothing. "Hey, calm down, okay? I noticed it too...he's got an intense vibe going on. But maybe we should give him a chance. He seems like a nice guy." Fatty's words were meant to be reassuring, but Eli's anxiety lingered.
The stranger's request to stay had caught Eli off guard, and he was still reeling from the encounter. "That's easy for you to say, Fatty...it's not your house he's asking to stay in." Eli's voice was laced with frustration.
Fatty's expression was thoughtful. "Do you want him to stay or not?" he asked, his voice neutral.
Eli hesitated, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. Finally, he made a decision. "Okay, fine...he can stay for three days."
Fatty nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Okay, deal."
*******REALITY*********
As I sit here, reflecting on the past, I am still struck by the sheer strangeness of it all. It was as if my life had been turned upside down, and I was left to navigate a world that was both familiar and yet, utterly alien.
I remember the day he arrived like it was yesterday. He was a mystery, an enigma wrapped in a shroud of secrecy. And yet, as the days passed, I found myself growing more and more accustomed to his presence. Within three days, I had grown used to him, and I felt a pang of reluctance at the thought of telling him to leave.
It wasn't just that he seemed helpless, like a ship without anchor or rudder. It was the way he seemed to absorb pain, like a sponge soaking up water. He never flinched, never winced, no matter how hard I pushed him. And yet, despite his stoic exterior, there were moments when he seemed...broken. Like a toy that had been shattered, and then hastily reassembled.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into a month, I found myself growing more and more entwined in his life. I began to feel a sense of responsibility towards him, like a guardian watching over a wayward child. And yet, despite my growing attachment to him, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to him, something that lay just beneath the surface.
The book, of course, was a major part of the mystery. He seemed to be its author, and yet, the language in which it was written was like nothing I had ever seen before. It was as if he had created his language, his world, and was inviting me to enter it.
And now, as I sit here, I find myself drawn to the book once again. The ripped pages lie scattered on the floor, a testament to the strange and violent encounter that had occurred just hours before. I feel a sense of trepidation as I bend down to pick up the pages, my heart racing with anticipation. What secrets lay hidden within the book's pages? What mysteries would it reveal to me, if I could only decipher its code?
I begin to patch the pages together, my fingers moving with a sense of purpose. As I work, I feel a sense of excitement building within me. And then, as I finally finish repairing the book, I notice something strange. The language has changed. It's no longer the strange, hieroglyphic-like script that I had grown accustomed to. It's English, plain and simple.
I feel a shiver run down my spine as I realize the implications. What secrets had the book been hiding? And what did it mean, now that the language had changed? I open the book, my heart racing with anticipation, and begin to read.