After Mr. McVeigh's call, Ansel didn't hesitate for a moment. He left immediately, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
When he finally reached the familiar doorstep, he stopped dead in his tracks. The house stood quietly before him, its walls holding the weight of the consequences he was about to face. He just stood there, frozen, unable to summon the courage to cross the threshold.
The responsibility pressed down on him like a suffocating shroud. He knew, with painful clarity, that everything that was about to unfold was because of his own choices.
He had brought Heka into this tangled web, and offered to open the door for her, to welcome her into his life. But now, standing there, dread wrapped around his heart like a vice, squeezing out any remnants of bravery.
There was one word that described Ansel's current feelings, "regret". Yet, deep down, he understood that no matter how far he ran, no matter how desperately he tried to escape, fate had a way of catching up.
His hands trembled as he reached out toward the door. The cold metal felt foreign beneath his fingertips, a barrier between him and the reality he feared.
Tears welled up in his eyes, at first slow and hesitant, then spilling over in a relentless stream.
Suddenly, the weight of it all became unbearable. Ansel stepped back from the door, his legs weak and unsteady. The burden of responsibility felt like a mountain on his shoulders, and his steps away from the house were heavy, reluctant.
Then he took a step back from the door. Ansel felt his steps felt very heavy. He turned around and ran away. He didn't mean to run away. He just wasn't ready enough to face anything.
He turned and fled, not out of cowardice, but because his heart wasn't ready to confront the storm waiting inside.
He ran with a desperate urgency, tears blurring his vision, his breath ragged in his chest. His mind raced, filled with images of what might come, haunted by the shadows of his own choices.
Eventually, exhaustion forced him to stop. His legs trembled beneath him as he looked up, his gaze drawn to the vast expanse of the sky.
For a moment, the sunlight seemed to soothe the ache within him, as if it could wash away the sorrow and fear.
His tears ceased, evaporating into the air like mist under the sun's gentle touch. Ansel's eyes remained fixed on the sky, his thoughts swirling with a strange clarity.
His eyes continued to stare at the sky. His entire eyes and mind were centered on the sun. It made him lose control, and he had a precognition of a bloody marriage.
The sun that had been bright slowly began to dim and overcast. After a long time, the sunlight decreased and made the sky darker.
There were raindrops from the sky. He put his hand above his head. He caught the rain until it was full. After that, he spilled it right at Ansel's head. Then, it turned into blood.
Ansel gasped sharply, jolted awake from the haunting precognition that had gripped his mind. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins. He quickly turned around and headed home. He walked quickly.
He stepped outside into the crisp air, his pace quick and determined. The familiar streets blurred past him as he walked briskly, each step fueled by a mixture of hope and dread.
At last, he reached the house. The sight of it brought a strange comfort, yet also a sharp pang of anxiety.
He moved directly to the kitchen, where the warm glow of the evening light spilled through the windows. There, sitting comfortably at the table, were Heka and Mr. McVeigh.
"Grandpa, I'm home!!! " Ansel's voice rang out with a mixture of relief and joy, breaking the silence. They were drinking hot chocolate.
"Heka, you've come!!!" Ansel said again, his eyes lighting up with happiness.
Heka responded with a large, serene smile, but no words. Her silence spoke volumes, a quiet strength, without any single word.
As he looked closely at Heka, Ansel's heart tightened. He could feel the echoes of suffering etched into every line of his face, the weight of invisible scars he carried.
He was not a bad person, far from it. But fate had dealt his a cruel hand, forcing him to endure hardships no one should face.
Ansel moved to sit beside him. The chair was scraping softly against the floor. He reached out and took her hand gently in his. The touch was colder than he expected, a stark contrast to the warmth of the cup he had just held.
He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on the faint pulse beneath his fingertips. Slowly, the cold that had gripped his hand began to ebb away, replaced by a subtle warmth that spread like a fragile ember rekindling.
Carefully, he released her hand, not wanting to disturb the fragile moment. In that silence, Ansel felt a renewed determination.
He knew very well what would happen to Heka. It caused his hands to feel cold. But he was deliberately silent and did not bring it up. He thought it would be better if he kept silent. It made everything get worse.
"Heka, don't worry. Everything will definitely go well. Don't be afraid and worried, leave everything to Grandpa. After that you will definitely return to normal." Ansel said softly, his voice steady and reassuring as he reached out to gently squeeze his hand.
"I know and I believe that. That's why I came." He replied quietly. His voice carried a quiet strength born from determination.
Ansel smiled warmly, the tension in his chest easing just a little. "Did Grandpa tell you what will happen and what you have to do to receive Soul Delivery?"
Heka nodded without hesitation, his expression serious but calm.
Just then, Mr. McVeigh, sitting nearby with a mischievous glint in his eye, suddenly tapped Ansel's head with a spoon. He said with a teasing tone that barely masked the seriousness beneath. "You better prepare everything."
Ansel winced, rubbing the spot where the spoon had struck. "Okay!!!" He exclaimed with a mix of excitement and mock pain. Despite the sting, he could handle it.
"What about my order?" Mr. McVeigh asked, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow.
"You don't need to worry, everything is fine." Ansel assured him confidently. Then, turning his gaze to Heka, he searched his eyes with concern. "Hey, didn't you sleep last night?"
"No." Heka answered briefly, his voice tired but resolute.
"You must be exhausted. Then, I'll prepare everything first. Grandpa, I'm going upstairs." Ansel said gently. As he climbed the stairs, his mind raced through the tasks ahead.
Actually, he had no intention of leaving just like that. But it was better, because he'd been too tired to get precognition again and again.
The only way to end it was to move quickly. So that time seemed to pass quickly. What he saw was what definitely happened.
****
Ansel was in his brother's room, Hansel. The room would be prepared for Heka for a while.
Though Hansel had passed away, Ansel took it upon himself to maintain the room as if his brother were still there. He cleaned it regularly, dusted the shelves.
He arranged the belongings with meticulous care, ensuring that every item remained exactly as Hansel had left it. This room was more than just a space; it was a living memory, a bridge to the past that Ansel clung to in moments of loneliness and doubt.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress still holding the faint imprint of Hansel's presence. In his hands, he held a photograph. One of the few tangible memories he had left of his brother.
Ansel's gaze lingered on the photo, his heart aching with a deep, unspoken longing. He whispered softly to the empty room.
"Hansel, what I have done is a mistake? Is this too hard for me? I feel so struggling with my recognition. It makes my energy drain. Do you think I can get through it?"
Closing his eyes, Ansel tried to reach out beyond the veil of the living world, hoping for a sign, a whisper, anything from Hansel. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10." He counted slowly in his mind.
When he opened his eyes, the room was still and silent, but he held onto a fragile hope that somehow, his brother was listening.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ansel rose from the bed and moved to the cupboard. He pulled out fresh bedding and a blanket, preparing the bed for Heka's arrival. As he spread the new linens carefully over the mattress, a sudden chill swept through the room.
He walked over to the window and opened it wide. A strong wind rushed in, cold and sharp, yet strangely gentle.
The curtains remained still, untouched by the gust, and none of the objects in the room stirred. It was a peculiar wind. One that Ansel had come to recognize as a sign of a spirit's presence.
"Hansel, is that you?" Ansel's voice trembled slightly, a mixture of hope and fear threading through his words.
He knew it was nonsense to find out his brother's presence. It was just his biggest wish.
Hence, the spirit did not show his form at all. He also tried to feel the smell of the incoming spirit. There was no sign of anything that was related to his brother. That meant, it wasn't his brother who entered the room.
Ansel didn't even want to think about who it was. For him, the most important thing was to help Heka. He tried not to be easily distracted by anything else.
Ansel closed the window gently, the cold breeze ceasing as the sash clicked shut. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves after the strange encounter. With a final glance around Hansel's room, he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.
But the moment the door latched, a flicker of movement caught his eye, a black shadow lingering just beside the doorframe. Without hesitation, Ansel swung the door open again, eyes scanning the dimly lit room for the source of the shadow.
To his surprise, the shadow had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Ansel's gaze drifted downward, and there, beneath the bed, he saw it. A faint, dark form, barely perceptible but undeniably present.
Since he felt that the spirit was completely harmless, it meant there was nothing he needed to worry about.
Ansel closed the door once more, the latch clicking firmly into place. As he walked away, a strange warmth settled in his chest.