"Bump, bump, bump", that deceitful noise which taunts me, knowing that it will never be the sound in which it mimics."Tap, tap, tap", the first noise's predecessor, and holds the same goal of driving me further into insanity.

They say that, "It's the little things in life that you will come to cherish and miss when they are gone"... I never once thought that a simple auditory cue would be one of the many things I would give anything to hear again.

Instead I have these skilled impersonators. Bump comes from a low place, far lower than the noise locked away in my memories. Their skills at playing the wooden vessel are amateur at best, with the cadence being entire seconds off of the tempo. Tap is more refined in it's deception, being closer to a higher place, such as it's (supposed) doppelganger. They too, cannot play the angelic symphony of the victimized sound, however, they are well enough to fool a lesser man. The identity theft of the music goes even beyond HOW it is played and chooses to copy WHAT the notes are played WITH. You see, a veteran in this field may choose to adorn themselves in golds and silvers (both of which may contain the most priceless of jewels), as it is often used to add a more defined punctuation to there performance. Tap recognizes this and (crudely) will use iron in a vain attempt to follow suit.

... A knock...

A FUCKING KNOCK!!!!!!

I'm starting to monologue like a god-damn psychopath over the technicalities of what is and is-not a knock!?!?!?!?! How much longer until I completely lose it? How much longer until I forget everything of what I once was? How many more nights will I only have the most blissful sleep come from when I can't remember the night prior? How many more strolls through the woods looking for the sturdy tree? Years? Months? Weeks!? Days!?!?!

No... I made a promise to myself. I have the plan, I just need to follow it. If that plan fails... then I will allow myself peace everlasting.

I'm brought out of my existential crisis from the being outside the door "David? Are you home?". I know that voice and while I'm not exactly against interacting with her specifically, there are circumstances put in place so I don't have to. "I know you just put up the new mailbox and all, but I have a letter here that was paid to be delivered personally"... Well that answers that question, don't it? I still have a love-hate relationship with this place and convenient timings.

"Yea- *cough, cough, cough*..." It takes me a minute to get my coughing fit under control before I am able to respond. With hoarse (again with the puns!) voice through a burning throat, I reply "One minute, I'll be right there". I make to stand and immediately regret it for a multitude of reasons. The most prominent being the headache and spinning vision I get from standing up to fast. This, in turn, leads to my stomach deciding now is a good time to voice his opinion. I elect to listen to his statement in the bathroom. Scrambling to my feet, I make a mad dash for the bathroom door on the other side of the room. I practically face plant onto the toilet after shoulder checking the innocent door. Following the voiding of my internals, I remain to dry-heave until my gut figures that the point has been made. My throat and mouth burn with the feeling of stomach acid and booze. Speaking of burning, "Ah fuck" , my everything is on fire. I seize up and dare not to move, for fear of a cramp. I start to perform micro stretches to my limbs and their joints, but find it difficult to do so without aggravating the claw/bite marks.

"Um David, are you o.k.?". Of course she can here me. The walls are the same from the previous owner and I didn't think I would need to change that... until yesterday that is.

Note to self: experiment with SOUND insulation on top of heating/cooling insulation... actually scratch that, we'll just go for a 2 in 1. " I'm fine, I just... tripped. I'm such a klutz I swear." I know it might be underhanded, but being the biggest (by far) klutz I know (hell, maybe even this town knows), I figure she would be a prime candidate to sympathies for my delay to answer the door.

"Oh, tell me about it. I swear those poles come out of nowhere!" It sounds like she is talking more to herself than me, but hey, it worked. Not wanting to waste the distraction, I mechanically unwind myself from the commode and stand to my full height. I'm halfway to the door when my reflection in a mirror gives me pause.

I do not have time to deal with the questions this we'll bring. The smell of booze (even this early in the morning) would be something I could make an excuse for, but the same can't be said for the rest. Thinking fast, I strip off, what has essentially been reduced to rags, and begin putting on a sweat-set to cover everything but my face and hands... which are really pruned for some reason. Drama queen will want an explanation following her act of COMPLETLEY FLIPPING-SHIT if I ever want those "presentable" again. I take a whiff of myself and visibly wince. I reek of sweat, blood, vomit, and alcohol... with a slight undertone of pine. Damnit, a shower will take to long and it's not like I have Old Spi-. My eyes go wide as my head snaps to the glass bottle still sitting on the top shelf. God? I would like to restate my last message. Fuck you. I take a moment to appreciate how nice (and not smelling like death) my house smells... before immediately changing that. I take a lung-full of sweet oxygen and give myself a few conservative sprits in the most potent areas of my body. Don't think about what's inside of it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it... With the mantra in my head, I fast-walk (eager to get this over with) to the door. I step on my clothes pile as it makes a muted crunch from all the small brush still attached to it. Donning a casual face, my posture relaxes and I open the door. "Morning Dixie". I give my best attempt at a genuine smile to follow-up the greeting.

"Morning Mr. Daniel. I got another letter from Pi- what happened to your face!?" she askes with no hint of subtlety. I couldn't exactly come up with a reason as to why I would be wearing a ski mask to open the door, so I skipped covering the cuts on my face and decided to just wing it...

If it's not myself, then these puns are what's going to end me. "Oh this? Just some nicks I got from trimming a hedge that had thorns in it." I guess that's not a total lie. "That another one from Dianne?" I ask, changing the topic to the bright pink letter she was about to give me.

"Huh? Oh! Right, here you go." She gives me the letter with her standard cross-eyed smile.

This town has an optometrist. Why has she never had her eyes looked at? I guess delivering mail might not come with good benefits. That could be a nice birthday pres- IDIOT FOCUS!!! I'm talking like I'm planning on staying here! If I want out of this hell, then I need to pull my head out of my ass! It's at this point I realize that my postal carrier has been talking.

"-ie seemed to be in a real hurry when I saw her and paid me a lot to make a direct delivery. I tried to tell her that I would do it for free, but she was already gone."

"Well you know her, always up to something." The smile on my face takes more effort to hold, as I begin to piece things together in my head.

"* giggle* Yeah, that's true. Love the new mailbox by the way!" She says with complete ignorance to my internal conundrum. The mailbox in-turn, dimly reflects the sunlight off of its brownish-gray exterior.

I love you cast-iron. I really do. "Thanks, just thought I would do something a little different" Yeah, keeping my mailbox intact.

"Well it certainly... *sniff* *sniff* Sorry, are you wearing cologne?" She asks with the signs of a blush creeping to her face.

Fuck. "Yeah, I got it as a gift and wanted to know what it smelled like. More came out then I was expecting so here we are heh heh" My explanation does little to deter her case of "tomato face" and she begins to fidget.

"W-wow that sure smells nice. Um... well I'll see you around. These letters won't deliver themselves after all" She starts taking small steps away from my door and I take the hint.

"Ha! No they won't. Well, I'll let you get to it. Say hi to the little one for me." I re-enter my home at the same pace she is leaving it and hear a quick "will do" before closing the door. I wait until I hear the sound of rapid wing beats, before letting out my breath and slumping to the floor against the door. My mind starts to drift as to why she got embar-NO IT DOSEN'T! Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, soooooo much nope.

With my thoughts (totally not) on the subject, I take a breath and gag. Remembering that I smell like I should be banned by a Geneva Convention, I toss the clothes I'm wearing into the dirty clothes hamper and contemplate setting it on fire. Now standing stark naked (and not rushing), I get a good look at all of the bandages I applied last night. Well, at least I wasn't "completely shit-faced". Putting the card on the coffee table, I stride to the bathroom ready to have a loooooong shower. *sniff* Ahhhh barf. How I missed you so. Thankful for the fact that the atmosphere has changed, I gladly inhale the sent of what I ate yesterday.

The shower is the perfect thing I need to start my day. The sensation of the hot water cascading down my body does wonders for the aches. It stings the cuts, but they needed to be cleaned out regardless. My mouth stays open in order to wet my (very dry) whistle. The drain swirls with the red and brown remnants of last night's festivities. I begin to gently unwrap my last minute patch job (so the water has a better chance to get to the sap) when I notice something. Huh, so that's where those went. The bandages turn out to not be bandages at all and are rather the tattered strips that were missing from my garb. "I really don't give drunk-me enough credit" Even thought the rain would've done a good job of hiding my tracks, I definitely made enough noise to warrant investigation. No evidence. Good. While I'm pretty sure what I did (and almost did) last night wasn't illegal, it would be a cause for concern for my health. That's the last thing I need right now. I have work that needs to be done and I can't do that if they won't leave me alone.

I walk out of the shower smelling more floral than cancerous along with freshly opened wounds. Grabbing the red towel, I dry off the water and blood. I look up from my drying to something that truly haunted my very soul. Is that... me? The man in my bathroom mirror looked so foreign to me, that I thought I was saved for the briefest of moments. That moment ended when we came within a few inches of each other. If I was asked to describe him from a cursory glance, I'd say he was a cross between John Wick and the Terminator. He was toned and well built, but with a cutting board for a body. He wore a wedding band, but it was dulled and chipped. He had an award winning smile, but it was hidden behind a hardened frown. Then there was his eyes, the windows to the soul, set behind a cage silky black hair. They were dull (practically grey), but spoke of tales that would cause the very mountains to bow. A wall of sheer, unbridled rage guarded him, strong and proud. But behind that rage, behind that hate, festered a feeling that wafted the aroma of fatigue and contempt. It was defeat.

{Suggested background music}

Look at yourself. He spoke with venom, pity, and nonchalance all at the same time. It echoed around me. You've gone native. Almost like an... animal. Wouldn't you say? Heh heh.

"Shut up"

It makes sense really. You don't have to work anymore. You have all the free time you could hope for. You're healthier. What else? Oh yeah, YOU'RE IMMORTAL!!!

"Stop talking"

You're practically a god compared to them, with where there society is. You could conquer them. Become their king. Command them! It would be so easy.

"That's enough!"

Let's not forget they're polygamous. Why wait for one wife to be in the mood? When you can just "Fuck em' all, Pokémon!" HA!!!

"Get out of my head!!!"

Oh, and I'm sure your daughter will be fine. After all, you know what they says about girls who don't have a fath-

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHN" *shatter, crunch, rumble*

I threw the first punch. He was the first to fall. We both lost the fight.

My eyes go wide and my pupils turn to pin pricks in the wake of my actions. I just punched my reflection. Where there once was a full sized bathroom mirror now sat a fist sized hole in the wall. Said fist was still in the wall, before shakily slithering out.

The wall of rage has crumbled and only its charge lay exposed for all to see.

I fall to my knees and stare into my hands as they begin to shake like a mad m- Is that what I am? Was it not days and instead mere hours? At this point I'm hyperventilating with a firm grip on the my scalp, just above the temples.

"No, *inhale, pause, exhale* keep it together. *inhale, pause, exhale* Just think about who you're doing this for." I look down at my wedding banded hand and am flooded with memories. I shook your fathers hand with this hand. I asked you to dance with this hand. I proposed to you with this hand. I will always love you with this hand. I turn to the other hand as it continues to bleed from the glass shards.

Looking at the state it is in, causes me to do something I haven't done (sober) in a long time. I cut your umbilical cord with this hand.

I cried.

I tucked you into bed with this hand.

I sobbed.

I wiped your tears away with this hand.

I wailed.

I-am losing a lot of blood.

I acted on auto pilot, to emotionally drained to even think about my actions. I stood, entered the living room, and opened the coat closet by the front door. The contents of the First-Aid kit appeared WWII era at best, but it would have to do. I ended up using all the gauze and bandages in order to keep the bleeding at bay. Manual mode is returned to me on the couch, a pair of shorts on, an apple in one hand, and a glass of water in the other. Both the apple and water are gone in less than a minute.

I make to stand, but instead reach across the coffee table as I spot the pink letter. A thought occurs to me with it in my hand. I know what you're trying to do. All of you think that I need cheering up huh? You think a nice get together with some choice words will make everything right-as-rain, don't you? You all probably tolerate me because it was your ruler who stranded me here in the first place. She probably wants to tell me how sorry she is. That with our quote-unquote "friendship", I'm supposed to forgive her. Well I'm terribly sorry, but... I tossed the letter into the kindlin pile as the sound of a balloon deflating could be heard down the road. ...for as long as I stand here, you are dead to me. Besides...

The wall of rage began to rebuild itself, but it wasn't alone this time.

...I don't need you. I look down the hall to the slightly open office door as parchment spills out the bottom. "Alright buzz boy, lets see what you got." I stand and move to the door.

The wall is being built with mortar. Mortar made from a promise.

I open the door and chuckle. "Definitely not enough credit"

A promise to protect.

From floor to ceiling, there is nothing but parchment.

A promise to guide.

Parchment filled with crazy plans. BRILLIANTLY crazy plans.

A promise to love.

I look back down at my bandaged hand. I will pick you up when you have fallen down, with this hand.

Red strings grip the walls in a spiderweb. They connect history to myths. They connect places to artifacts. They connect legends to hope.

I will give you away on your wedding day with this hand!

A corner of the room is occupied by a mountain of books. Books with an inch of dust on them. Books with demonic symbols on the cover. Books that are bound in chains.

I will be there to love you always, with this hand!!!

"The bastard even moved the coffee machine in here." Spent filters littered the ground, while at least a dozen mugs were being used as paperweights. This explained the occasional round stain that the research adorned.

A smirk makes its way across my face

"Keep the bed warm for me sweetie"

I clear away the loose papers from the center of the desk. There, circled in red (probably my blood), reads REQUIREMENTS FOR DIMMENSIONAL TRAVEL.

"Cause daddy's coming home"

Author's Note

There is a lot to cover here, so I'll just bullet point some of the main things to get across, and try to answer as many questions as I can in the comments.

1.) Yes, this is set in a point in time after Chapter 1.

2.) Yes, there is a LOT of context that isn't shown. It shows that enough time has passed in the story that mentioning it would be redundant.

3.) Yes, there are some grammatical errors here. Some of those are by accident but a lot are probably a choice for style. Mentioning them in the comments is still appreciated as I am my only editor (hint, hint) and just wanted to get the story written down. I have never written any stories (outside of school) before, so constructive criticism is very much appreciated.

4.) I wrote this (mainly) for myself, as I don't think there are enough HIE stories where the MC doesn't just "accept" that their life has been ripped away from them, and that they now are the only human they will ever see again.

Edit) Im a moron who (apparently can't keep the MC'c name straight)