Back of the Envelope

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This one's short. It's another example of where I write a lengthy chapter, then realize that I'm not sure I like half of it. When I'm lucky, it's the second half I'm not sure about, so I split it in two and just use the first part. When I'm unlucky, it's the first half that's problematic, and either I delay for two weeks, or I spend a few hours trying to make it something I'm happy with. This is one of those times where the first half worked.

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Chapter 12
Awake

Remember it. Remember it, damn it! Don’t forget the word… Ryan put his left hand to his head, but the memory was fading fast. He blinked and yawned. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep at all. He needed to guard against Dominic, and especially to make sure he didn’t get to the gun cabinet. He must have dozed off. He leaned his back against the wall, and almost fell asleep where he stood before it occurred to him to ask why he was standing. I was lying on the couch, he recalled. Did I actually get up before coming fully awake? God, that’s crazy. He opened his eyes and looked around as he tried to figure out where he was. A yellow nightlight glowed from a doorway just across the hall from him—that must be the bathroom. The glow showed him the door whose jamb was digging into his right shoulder: Dominic’s room, if his sluggish mind remembered correctly. The door was ajar, and a trickle of moonlight paled the nightlight’s yellow glow at the door’s edge. I must have been heading to the bathroom.

His right arm felt dead and heavy. It was totally numb below the elbow now, not a hint of the prickling that had bothered him earlier, but he could not feel his fingers at all, or move them in the slightest. It felt heavier than it should, too, pulling down on his shoulder. I need to see a doctor about this. He glanced at his arm, and blinked again.

“That’s… wrong. I have to be dreaming still.” He reached his left hand out and gingerly tapped the thing that his right hand was holding without bothering to communicate any sensation to the rest of him. The gun was real. It was a black revolver with a short barrel, an exact match for the pistol in his dream, and the hand he couldn’t even feel, much less move, held it tightly, his fingers wrapped around the grip and his index finger pressed against the trigger. Ryan carefully pried the index finger loose with his left hand, disturbed at how much pressure it had been putting on the trigger. Not quite enough to fire, it seemed, but it had to be close. He pulled his other fingers loose one by one. I can’t move those fingers at all, can’t even command them to let go, but I find them holding a gun? The fingers were pliant enough when he moved them off. He almost dropped the weapon as it slipped from his reduced grip, but his left hand caught it around the cylinder just in time. When he realized that he was holding it with the barrel pointed directly towards his belly, he almost dropped it again. He had to remind himself that it was much more likely to go off if it fell than if he just held it, but he twisted his hand to point the barrel away from him.

He went into the bathroom and set the gun on the sink’s countertop, then closed the door, and, after a moment’s hesitation, locked it. Switching on the overhead bulb lit up the room, causing Ryan to squint. The hall bathroom was cozy, with a pink marble countertop and a lily pad soap dish filled with tiny green frog-shaped soaps. There was a tub with a sky-blue shower curtain, a knit cover on the toilet seat, and white and blue towels. The black gun sitting on the countertop was decidedly out of place. Ryan stared at it, wondering where it had come from. He couldn’t tell one gun from another, but this thing just looked ugly, with its snubbed barrel, oversized cylinder, and a handgrip of brown rubber. Ryan thought it was loaded, from what he could see of the cylinder, but he didn’t know how to open it to make sure. He could probably figure it out, but the last thing he wanted to do was try figuring out a loaded weapon. He did check for the safety, and if the red ring clearly showing was any indication, then it was off. He knew nothing about guns, and he had no desire to learn, so what had he been doing with it in his hand?

He tried to remember it. Where had it come from? Had he even seen it before? Could it have come from the gun cabinet? That made the most sense. But how had he gotten it from the cabinet? It had been locked, and the guns—mostly rifles, he hadn’t seen this pistol—should have been unloaded. He would have had to have gotten the key first. Meaning… “No, that doesn’t make sense at all.” Ryan had never sleepwalked before. Oh, he sometimes got up and moving while his brain was still working on waking up, but he was always fully aware by the time he had gotten more than a few steps. This was different. He would have had to get the keys from the kitchen table, where Dominic had left them, find the right one and unlock the gun cabinet, get the gun, load it, and then come here. He didn’t even know how to load a gun. He couldn’t have done it in his sleep.

Where did I think I was going anyway? “To kill Red-eyes.” That’s what his dream had been about. Only, Red-eyes was dead, and instead it had been Dominic in his place, different but disconcertingly similar, his trenchcoat and sunglasses so like what Red-eyes had worn in the earlier dream. “I was going to kill Dominic. Because I thought he was Red-eyes.” And, maybe, he is. “I was outside his door with a gun and… In the dream, I didn’t even pause. I just pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. Could I really shoot someone so easily? Could I really kill Emily’s brother that easily?”

Oh God, what’s going on here? Ryan’s mind just wouldn’t wrap around it. He couldn’t imagine how he… His thoughts froze in their track as he heard a door creak open in the hallway. Whose? Emily’s or Dominic’s? Footsteps approached, muffled by the carpeted hallway yet still causing the floorboards to creak. It was coming from further away than Dominic’s room, so it had to be-- A knock rattled the bathroom door and he jumped despite his best efforts.

“Dom, is that you in there?” Emily’s voice asked.

Ryan looked at the door, then at the gun. He had to hide it. “No, no, it’s Ryan. I’m almost done… I’ll be out in a second.” He started the faucet running, then slowly pulled open the cabinet below the sink. Its hinges squealed but not too loudly. Maybe Emily wouldn’t hear. He placed the gun inside, setting it down at the very back of the cabinet. When he had shut the cabinet door, he ran his left hand under the tap, then wiped it off on the towel hanging by the sink. His right arm hung uselessly by his side, so he didn’t even try to wash it. Only then did he open the door, where Emily stood blinking at the bright light coming from the bathroom. She was dressed in a simple blue nightgown that went to her calves, her long hair was disarrayed, and she had a fading red line imprinted on her cheek. She still looked lovely.

“Ryan…,” she began. “I’m sorry for earlier tonight.”

“Don’t be silly, Emily. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m sorry I blew up like that. I, I just can’t seem to hold onto my temper tonight.”

“Do you really think Dominic might be… I mean, that Red-eyes could possess him? It seems impossible, but if you say you saw something, I believe you.”

But why? Why would you believe me over your own brother? “I don’t know, Emily. The thing inside of Red-eyes could be anywhere. I don’t think you should trust anyone.”

“Except you?”

“Well, I know I’m not possessed, but why should you take my word for that? And even if I’m not, that doesn’t mean I can’t be.”

“Don’t talk like that, Ryan! If I can’t trust you, then I’m all alone in this. I refuse to believe that.”

“Emily, I’m sorry. I wish I knew what was going on, or I could tell you there was nothing to worry about, but I don’t understand half the things that are happening to us.” I should tell her about the shadow-thing, and the dreams. She needs to know, but… Looking at those wide eyes, Ryan couldn’t. She was scared enough as it was. “Just be careful, okay.”

“I will, and I’ll be praying for all of us,” she said, and then looked at the arm that hung by his side. “Is something wrong with your arm?”

“I just landed funny when I fell into the pit,” Ryan lied. “My whole body hurts.”

“You should have said something,” she said. “Maybe we should take you to a doctor.”

“Tomorrow. Just let me get some sleep and see how it feels in the morning.”

“Okay,” she said doubtfully. “We’ll wait until tomorrow, but if it’s not better then, we’re going to the doctor.”

“That’s fine,” Ryan said, slipping past her. She went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her, and Ryan headed back to the living room, his left hand on the wall to guide him in the dark. Why hadn’t he just told her about the shadow-thing? He should have. He kept meaning to, but every time he chickened out. He needed to decide for himself what was real and what was false before he started telling other people about them. What happened to it? Where did it go? Is it in Dominic? Or somewhere else?

He fumbled into the living room, and then felt around on the end table until he found his keys. He picked them up and clicked on his flashlight. The outer clothing he had removed lay next to the couch, and his heavy jacket lay on the floor with it. He went over to the gun cabinet. Two of the drawers were open, and Dominic’s key hung from the lock of the one on the right. He knelt beside it and looked inside. It was filled with boxes of ammo, one of which was open. He had to set down the flashlight in order to do so, but he closed the box, fumbling with the lid in the dark, then the drawer, which he locked. He checked the next drawer, inside of which were three wooden boxes, one of them open. The felt-covered packing material was shaped for a revolver which wasn’t there, a revolver which, as far as Ryan could tell, would perfectly match the one he had woken up holding. Ryan closed and latched this box, then closed and locked the drawer. He’d have to wait until Emily was done and then get the gun and put it back. Meanwhile, he carried Dominic’s keys to the kitchen table and put them back. As soon as he had set them down, the bathroom door opened. He stepped away from the table just before Emily noticed him.

She gave a startled little gasp. “Who’s--? Oh, Ryan, it’s you. Are you looking for something?”

“I was just wondering where you kept the blankets,” he replied.

“Oh. Oh! I’m so sorry! I forgot all about getting you set up.” Emily came into the dining room and opened up a door which turned out to be the linen closet, and brought out some sheets, a pillow, and a blanket. She quickly set up the couch to a halfway decent semblance of a bed, then left him to get back to sleep. Ryan sat on the couch, this time even more determined to stay awake. He had to put the gun back. After that… no, he didn’t think he would be getting any sleep tonight. If he could find and load a gun while sleepwalking, then falling asleep was dangerous as much because of what he might do as because of what Dominic might attempt.

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This chapter is 2,028 words long, bringing the total length of the story to 38,003 words.

The Rest of the Story: If you missed the last chapter, it's here, or you can see the whole story on one page.

This is the next chapter of Eyes in the Shadow, a continuing story involving dreams, visions, a demon, and one very skeptical and cynical Grad student. Although I had this whole chapter written over two weeks ago, it still took a great deal of time to get ready. It looks like I was right in thinking that these chapters would be some of the hardest to write. Hopefully, it's paid off, and it won't be a chore to read. I just wish I was as far ahead in the next chapter, but I only have a couple of paragraphs of that so far.

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Chapter 11
Home

The most remarkable thing about the house was how small it was. Ryan had seen larger apartments. It was a white ranch with a small front porch and an attached one-car garage. Ryan didn’t think the garage would hold their rental car, even if it were otherwise empty, so he wasn’t surprised when they parked in the driveway. The yard was a decent size, with some sort of shrubs clustered near the porch, but Ryan couldn’t see much of it as none of the lights were on. It was nearly eleven, so Em’s family might have gone to bed, but Ryan still would have expected a light to be left on for them. In fact, most of the other small houses in this overcrowded neighborhood still had their front lights on.

“You did tell them we were coming, right, Em?” Dominic asked as Emily turned off the rumbling engine. When she switched the headlights off the yard became a dark island in the residential night.

“Not exactly,” she admitted as she got out of the car door.

“And what does that mean?” Dominic also stepped out of the car to continue the conversation over the roof. Ryan got out with them, but he immediately moved toward the front of the car, keeping his distance from Dominic.

“I was going to call them, really, but we were at a hotel and they would have charged a fortune to make a phone call. I thought about calling collect, but then Mom and Dad would have had to pay for it. So anyway I put it off, thinking I’d call them from a payphone, which would be cheaper than the hotel, but I kind of forgot about that until we got to Atlanta, and then we ran into Red-eyes. I was thinking that I had to find a payphone and call them when I remembered that you were in town, so I called you instead, thinking that I could use your cell phone to call and it wouldn’t cost anything. Not that I just wanted to talk to you for your cell phone or whatever. I did ask to borrow it when we met up, remember? But you told me the battery was about dead and it was charging up in your room? After you went and got your stuff, I kind of forgot to ask if you had gotten your cell phone, what with all the running from Red-eyes again. Do you have your cell phone?”

Dominic sighed, a reaction that Ryan often had when Emily rambled. “Yes, I do. Not that it does us much good now. We’re just going to have to ring the doorbell and wake them up.”

“Uh, maybe not,” Ryan said. He had taken a look in the garage while Emily was talking, his keychain flashlight just penetrating the dust filmed glass. “I don’t see a car in here. Are you sure they’re home?”

“Why would they be gone?” Emily asked, coming up beside Ryan. Dominic followed. Ryan moved back, ostensibly to let Emily look, but also so he could turn to look at Dominic.

“Hmm, wasn’t there some kind of retreat this month?” Dominic asked. “I don’t remember which weekend it was, but it could be this one.”

“I was hoping they would be here, that they could help. What are we going to do now?” Emily asked.

“Don’t worry, Em. I’m sure they’ll be back tomorrow. We’ll just go inside and get some sleep tonight.”

Dominic rang the doorbell anyway, just to make sure no one was home, before taking out his key and letting them in. From the small living room where they entered, Ryan could see straight to the other side of the house, a sliding glass door in the next room, which looked like a dining room. The house didn’t have any hidden depth to make up for its lack in the other dimensions. Ryan wiped off his shoes on the floor mat to avoid tracking mud or sand or whatever was on his shoes onto the light blue carpet. He felt grimy all over; he was grimy. Wearing the same clothes for two days in a row while running through snow and falling into sand-filled wells could do that. He stepped onto the carpet and looked around. Ryan had become used to sharing an apartment with two other guys, so while he had grown accustomed to small living spaces, when guys shared a place the furnishing was sparse at best. The furniture here made the cramped space seem even smaller. The living room overflowed with it, with couches, and reclining chairs, and end tables, and lamps, and an entertainment center, and a gun cabinet, and a coffee table, and—Gun cabinet?

“Whoa, what’s with the weapons?” he asked. It was a cabinet set against the wall, with a cherrywood finish and two rows of drawers at the bottom and glass doors above, behind which were four rifles hanging on racks. One of them might have been a shotgun--Ryan really didn’t know all that much about firearms. There were locks on every opening, ensuring that no one could get in without a key. Or at least a prybar.

“What about them?” Emily asked.

“I thought your father was a minister.”

“So?”

“So? So?! What, is he an armed minister?”

“Around here, most of them are. He likes to go hunting with his friends, and do some sport shooting with the pistols. I’m a pretty good shot with the twenty-two myself.”

“Better than me,” Dominic said with a small smile.

“That’s because you always use the forty-five. The recoil on that thing throws off your aim.”

“You don’t have a key to that thing, do you?” Ryan asked nervously.

“Well, I left mine in my apartment. Dom has his key though, right?”

“Right,” Dominic affirmed. “Do you really think we’ll need the guns, Ryan?”

I’m much more concerned about you getting your hands on one. He couldn’t say that aloud, though, so he just shook his head. “I guess not.”

“Good,” Emily said. “Even if Red-eyes is demon-possessed, we don’t want to kill him. Especially if he’s demon-possessed. He’s not really to blame for his actions then.”

“I told you that he was dead,” Ryan growled, angry now. Hadn’t they believed him? “I don’t care whether the body was gone or not, there wasn’t any pulse! If I thought he was coming back, I’d recommend we arm ourselves to the teeth and keep shooting until he stays down, ’cause he’d be some sort of zombie! The reason we don’t need guns is because he’s gone for good!”

“Whoa, dude, calm down!” Dominic said. “We’re not doubting what you saw, but maybe what you saw isn’t all there was to it. I think we’re all agreed that he isn’t human, at least.”

You’re wrong. Red-eyes was human. It’s the shadow-thing that isn’t. That wasn’t dead, and it was probably with them right now. Was it speaking through Dominic’s mouth, just pretending to be him? If so, it must have stolen his memories, since it knew all the things that Dominic should. Or was Dominic still himself, while it was only beginning to take him over from the inside? Or had the red irises just been Ryan’s imagination or some trick of the light? He had spent most of the last day trying to convince himself that the things he was seeing were wild imaginings or optical illusions, and he hadn’t succeeded once. Too many times his stubborn disbelief had made him hesitate when he should have acted. From now on he would trust what his eyes told him, and they had told him that Dominic’s eyes had been just as red as Red-eyes’, which had happened right when the body had disappeared, and Ryan wasn’t even going to try to put a positive spin on that coincidence.

“Okay, okay,” Ryan said, forcing himself to calm down. “So what do you think we should do?”

“If you’re certain Red-eyes won’t be coming, then maybe we should just get some sleep. You can have my room, if you want, and I’ll sleep on the couch here,” Dominic said.

Next to the gun cabinet? I don’t think so! “No, I’ll take the couch,” said Ryan. “You can sleep in your own bed.”

Dominic shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He headed off to his room with his suitcase and laptop, pausing to hang his coat in the coat closet nearby and toss his keys on the dining room table. Ryan heard the door open and close.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, just…” Ryan dropped his voice to a near whisper. “Sit down: I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Emily asked, sitting down on the couch.

Ryan sat down next to her, at the very edge of the seat cushion as if ready to bounce to his feet and start pacing. He forced himself to stay where he was and ignore the butterflies in his stomach. Calm down, you’re not asking her on a date. No, just telling her that her brother is a demon. “Let’s say Red-eyes was demon-possessed or something,” Ryan began. He forced himself to look her in the eyes, primarily because this was important, but also so he could watch how she would react. This was the first time he’d admitted to her that he thought Red-eyes might have been a demon. She just continued to look at him, her tongue moistening her lips. Ryan forced himself to continue. “I’m pretty sure Red-eyes is dead, but that doesn’t mean the thing that was inside him is. It could possess… someone…”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Really? You’re… you are Ryan, right?”

“Not me!” he said more loudly than he intended. He dropped his voice again. “When we were standing by the pit, I thought… Dominic’s irises looked red.”

“I didn’t see anything,” she said. Emily wasn’t speaking softly at all, and Ryan kept expecting Dominic to come back through the doorway asking what they were talking about. Emily’s brow furrowed. “Besides, Dominic seems fine to me. Maybe it was just a trick of the light or whatever.”

“Emily, I’ve blamed everything I’ve seen over the last twenty-four hours on a trick of the light and I’ve been wrong every time. This time I’m going to believe what I saw.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense! Christians can’t be possessed,” she said.

“I’ve had just about enough of your condescension,” he said, angry. “Yeah, I’m not a Christian, and the more you keep treating me like that means I’m a fool or a devil, the gladder I am that I’m not. Don’t you dare look down on me!” He realized that he was shaking his right fist at her.

“But, but, I don’t! I…” There were tears in Emily’s eyes, but Ryan was too angry to care. “I’m sorry, Ryan,” she said, getting off the couch and all but running from the room.

Ryan just watched her go, then looked at the hand in front of his face. He had almost no sensation in his fingers—it was a wonder he could clench his fist. He let it drop to his side, and his fingers slowly uncurled on their own. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. I know she has odd beliefs; I thought I was used to them by now. Since when did I start taking offense when someone worried about the state of my soul? He was still angry now; he could feel it like a snake tightening around his chest. Then again, that might have just been his bruises. Considering that he hurt all over, it was no wonder he got angry so easily. And Emily thought he was wrong about Dominic. Worse, she had immediately thought he might be possessed, while there was no way her saintly brother could be. If the fact that he’s a Christian makes him so wonderful, how come he’s such a selfish coward? He admitted as much when he said he didn’t want to come with us. Ryan took several deep breaths and tried to tamp down his anger. Still, that’s not Emily’s fault, and I can’t blame her for wanting to think well of her brother. Maybe I should apologize to her.

He poked his head through the doorway. Straight ahead was the dining room he had noticed earlier, to the left was the kitchen, and to the right a hallway. Yellow light came from a nightlight in the bathroom, which was on the left side of the hallway. There were two doors on the right side, both closed, although light seeped underneath each one. Those must be Dominic’s and Emily’s bedrooms. At the end of the hall was another door, closed, which probably led to the master bedroom. He crept down the hallway as quietly as he could. At the first door he heard someone moving around, opening and closing drawers. Dominic unpacking, probably. He went to the next door. Yes, this one was Emily’s room, judging by the small ceramic teddy bear mounted on the door. No guy would have something like that on his bedroom door. He lifted his left hand to knock, then paused when he heard something. He held his breath as he listened. Muffled sobs were coming from the other side of the door. Damn, I made her cry. I should apologize… He swallowed at the tightness in his own throat, but his raised left hand didn’t move. I can’t face her, not when she’s like this. When she’s calmed down, I’ll tell her I’m sorry. But, but not right now. He let his hand drop and turned away, his eyes on the grey toes of his tennis shoes, barely visible in the dim light.

He paused when he passed the bathroom. A shower might be nice. His face felt greasy and his scalp itched, and he was pretty sure that he had gotten some sand in his shirt. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any clean clothes to change into, so he’d just end up putting the dirt back on afterwards. Instead he went into the living room and took off his coat and his sweater, his shoes and his socks. They hadn’t even brought him a blanket. Or, to be honest, I chased Emily off before she could. He leaned back on the couch, using his heavy jacket to cover himself. This might be South Carolina, but it was still chilly, and apparently no one was going to turn up the thermostat. I’m not planning on sleeping anyway. He considered getting up and checking the doors, but Red-eyes was dead. The danger was inside with them, and he was going to keep watch for it even if he had to stay up all night.



Once again, Ryan fled from room to room, while Red-eyes’ echoing footsteps haunted him.

The maze he was running through seemed familiar, but he could not remember when he had seen it before, could not remember whether he had been able to make sense of it then. It didn’t make sense now. This building was all identical rooms without windows or furniture. All the rooms were the same, small, square chambers with doors in every wall, faded yellow paper covering the walls, dust-covered wooden floors, and bare bulbs shedding disinterested yellow light. For all he knew, he was going in circles as he chose his route at random, trying not to leave an easy trail for Red-eyes to follow. He could hear him, his steps thudding nearby, and doors creaking open and slamming shut. He tried to keep heading away from those sounds, sometimes fleeing from the room just as he heard the steps approach the door, slipping quietly into the next room and shutting the door as softly as possible given his haste. He could not remember seeing his pursuer, nor seeing any sign of Emily, though he thought she was here too. He kept looking in the dust, expecting to see a footprint which told of either’s passage, but not even his own shoes left a mark.

There was so much he couldn’t remember, including how this had begun. He knew he must have been running for hours, simply because his sore legs and tired heart told him so. The stress was getting to him worse than the physical exertion, wearing him down with each close call as he barely slipped out of Red-eyes’ reach one more time. He wasn’t sure how long he could continue.

Ryan heard the heavy tread of booted feet to his left, and he went straight, opening the door in front of him as quietly as he could, praying that it would open silently.

He had heard wrong. His pursuer was not in the room to his left, but in the room directly before him. His hand was extended towards the door, and as Ryan tried to slam it shut, he caught it on his open palm and flung it back open with enough force to push Ryan back. He skidded in the dust and fell back, with his pursuer towering above him.

But it was not Red-eyes. Though he was taller than Ryan, he was not the massive man that Red-eyes had been. He wore sunglasses, and as with Red-eyes, they could not hide the crimson glow coming from his eyes. He had the long trenchcoat as well, but it was tan, not black. It was all so familiar, as it had been from the beginning. Also familiar was the darkness which seemed to leak out from within. He both was and was not Red-eyes. Though he might look like Dominic, what was inside was the same shadow-thing that had animated the large man who had tried so many times to kill Ryan and Emily.

Ryan pushed himself backwards with his feet while using his elbows for support, and felt the left pocket of his coat dragging on the floor, pulling up a cloud of dust as it did so. His hand fumbled at his pocket, and even before he had drawn it out, he knew what it was, even though he had never seen it before. It had a round cylinder the size of his fist, a narrow barrel as wide as his finger and no longer than his thumb, a brown rubber grip. It was a black revolver, like what appeared in the hands of the police in so many old television shows. Why was he thinking that it should be a larger, silver pistol out of a Western? As he closed both hands around the grip, he was surprised at how comfortably it fit his hands. Ryan had never fired a pistol before—or had he? Why this weird feeling of déjà vu? Dominic's twisted hands were mere inches from his throat, so Ryan pointed the pistol at his forehead and pulled the trigger.

Even someone as unskilled as Ryan could not miss at this range, and the pistol's report echoed back and forth through the small room even as its recoil sent him sliding back another couple of inches. He kept the pistol pointed at Dominic, or rather at where he had been. Dominic himself had crumpled to the ground, a hole in his forehead and the red eyes and dark aura gone from his body and instead standing where he had stood, the black shadow-thing shed of human body. Only this time the shadow lacked substance. It was just a wavering mist with fading red eyes. The shape, never distinct in dreams or visions, grew blurrier, its twitching claws dissipating even as they reached for Ryan. The mouth opened, and even though the horrid beak lacked the lips to form human words, a voice echoed from within the crimson glow inside its throat. Ryan heard a single word in that deep, resonant voice which was growing even more distant, a word which he had never heard before, but that was as familiar to him as his own name.

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This chapter is 3,343 words long, bringing the total length to 35,975 words.