Capítulo 2: Chapter 2 The First Fall (Almost)
Charlie didn't usually feel much about anything. Emotions, like effort, were just another thing to avoid. But today, something was different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it—maybe it was the way his mom had looked at him during breakfast, her gaze lingering a second too long on the grease-stained hoodie he hadn't washed in weeks. Or maybe it was the way the chair in homeroom had creaked ominously under his weight, a sound so loud it made everyone turn and look. Bobby Klein's snicker had been like a knife to the gut.
But that wasn't it, not really.
It was the stairs.
After school, Charlie trudged up the short flight of stairs to his basement lair. He hated those stairs, hated how they seemed to stretch higher every time, hated the way his breath came in ragged gasps halfway up. But today, when he reached the top, his foot slipped. His weight shifted backward, and for one terrifying moment, he thought he was going to tumble.
He didn't, but the panic was enough to set his heart racing. By the time he collapsed onto the couch, sweat pouring down his face, his chest heaving, he felt something he hadn't felt in years: shame.
What if I had fallen? he thought, staring at the ceiling. The stairs weren't even that high. What kind of person couldn't handle a few lousy steps?
---
The feeling was building up—slowly, steadily. The looks people gave him, the way his body didn't quite fit into the school desks, his parents' disappointed stares. It all weighed on him like a storm cloud gathering above. Today, after class, he didn't go home.
"It looks like it's about to rain," he muttered, glancing at the overcast sky as he walked.
Maplewood wasn't big, barely more than a quiet, forgettable town. It didn't take long for him to find his way to an old, abandoned building at the edge of the city. He often came here when he wanted to be alone, to think—or to avoid thinking too much.
He sat on a splintered windowsill, staring out at the gloomy horizon. "Why is everything like this?" he whispered to no one. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. "I hate everything."
The words hung in the air, heavy and bitter.
He got up and began pacing the dusty floor, the boards creaking under his weight. His thoughts churned, a tangled mess of frustration and self-loathing.
And then it happened.
The rotten wood beneath him gave way with a sharp crack. He barely had time to react before he was falling, the jagged edges of the broken boards splintering around him.
He hit the ground hard. Pain exploded in his head, and everything went dark.
---
After some time, Charlie woke up. His eyes fluttered open, and he stared at the dusty ceiling of the abandoned building. His head throbbed, and his body ached, though he couldn't tell exactly where he was hurt. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, wincing as he tried to sit up.
The room seemed darker than before, the dim light filtering through cracks in the boarded windows casting long shadows across the walls. How long had he been out? What time was it? He turned his head, scanning the room.
The place was as decrepit as ever. Cracked plaster peeled from the walls like dead skin, and graffiti in faded reds and blues sprawled across every surface, some of it unintelligible, some crude. A rusted metal staircase coiled up to nowhere, its upper half long collapsed. Broken furniture lay scattered around: a rotting chair missing a leg, a table leaning awkwardly against the wall, and glass shards from a shattered window glinting faintly on the floor.
That's when he noticed it.
A door.
It stood in the far corner of the room, where there definitely hadn't been one before. It was old—far older than anything else in the building—with dark, weathered wood that seemed almost to absorb the dim light. The edges were adorned with faint carvings, spiraling patterns that shifted ever so slightly when he tried to focus on them.
Charlie froze, his breath catching in his throat. He pushed himself up with difficulty, his weight making the movement slow and clumsy. His knees ached as he stood, the pain in his head briefly forgotten.
The door creaked open by itself, moving with an eerie, deliberate slowness.
"What in the actual… no, please… no," Charlie stammered, his voice trembling. His eyes widened as he stared at the gaping darkness beyond the doorway.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice cracking. "Is anybody there?"
The silence that followed was suffocating, pressing against his ears like a heavy fog. The door remained open, the darkness beyond almost inviting in its stillness.
Charlie hesitated, glancing back at the room. There was nowhere to go. If something—or someone—was waiting for him in the shadows, running wasn't an option. He couldn't outrun anybody, not even a stray dog.
"Fuck it," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He took a shaky step forward, his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his ears.
As he crossed the threshold, the air seemed to shift around him, cooler and heavier, like stepping into a cave. The door groaned shut behind him, the sound reverberating like a final warning.
And Charlie kept going.
Charlie stepped into the darkness, his breath shallow and unsteady. The cool air clung to his skin, carrying a faint metallic tang. He squinted into the void, unsure of what lay ahead, until he saw it—a light.
It wasn't just any light. It was brilliant, almost alive, shimmering with hues of gold and white that pulsed softly, like a heartbeat. It floated in the air, a radiant sphere that seemed to beckon him closer.
"Woah," Charlie whispered, his voice barely audible as he stumbled forward, unable to tear his eyes away.
The light was mesmerizing, warm and inviting, yet otherworldly. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they neared the glowing orb. But just as he was about to touch it, the light darted away, slipping past his hand like a teasing flame.
"Hey!" he muttered, startled, but before he could react, the light shot forward—straight into his chest.
A searing heat erupted inside him, and he screamed, clutching at his body as if he could tear the sensation away. His skin prickled, every nerve alive with an intensity he couldn't comprehend.
"What—what the hell is this?!" he cried, his voice breaking as the room around him seemed to dissolve into darkness.
Then, something changed.
Charlie's chest began to glow, faint at first, then brighter and brighter, until his entire body was emitting a radiant, golden light. His arms, his legs, even his face shone like molten metal, casting shadows that danced wildly across the crumbling walls.
The abandoned house outside wasn't spared. Through every crack and broken window, the light poured out, illuminating the night like a beacon. The building, once forgotten and decaying, now stood ablaze with brilliance.
And just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
The light in Charlie dimmed, and he staggered backward, his vision swimming. He tried to hold onto consciousness, but his legs buckled beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground.
Darkness claimed him once more.
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