A Night in Shining Armor {An original short story}

[Hypnosis]

A Night in Shining Armor

An original short story by Hypnosis

He wore a suit of steel armor, the likes of which he had never seen before. The surface was bright and polished, and shone in the torchlight of the numerous hallways. In his left hand, he clutched a shield, round and made of solid wood, and in his right he held a gleaming sword whose steel matched his plate.

The corridor and stony surroundings were unfamiliar to him – he had never seen them before in his life – but he knew the way to his goal, as if through some divine clairvoyance. Her voice called to him, echoing about the passages, begging him to save her from captivity, begging for him to protect her.

He ran, boots pounding hard against the flags, his breathing echoing throughout his helmet. It too spurred him forward, as if it mocked his slow movement and cursed him for a failing hero. Anxiety and panic clawed at his mind, attempting to drag him into hopeless pits of despair, yet her voice anchored him, preserved him.

Left, right, down the long hallway, right; he could see the path in his mind’s eye, a sort of metaphysical treasure map that would lead him to his reward.

The knight in shining armor turned a final time and faced a long flight of winding stairs, at the top of which he knew she resided. Her voice came to him strangely, though, becoming softer as he climbed, rather than growing in its intensity. His heart pounded in his chest, reaching for her, dragging his body behind in its sheer desperation.

At the top of the stairwell, the path leveled and wound a moment, following the shape of the tower, and stopped before a closed door. He could hear her now, voice softer still, whispering his name. Attempts to push open the door failed, so the knight began pounding at it with both fists, struggling to break down the final barrier between himself and his love. His actions seemed to be in vain, for the door would not give.

The woman’s voice grew softer, nearly inaudible now, and the silence screamed frantic encouragement to him, and he responded with frantic and violent blows to the door.

It swung open with a crash as her voice dissipated, and the knight bore witness to the final breath of his lover and to the final fluttering of her green eyes. The man dropped his armaments and ran to her, cradling her head in his hands, cursing himself for a failure.

Tears streamed from his eyes as he held his lifeless love, his ruined trophy. He held her close, and noticed a small flower drop from her limp fingers.

The flower was a goldenrod, like the color of her hair.

The knight was disrupted from this realization by a screeching sound, high and sharp, reverberating throughout the keep. It shook the walls and threatened to collapse the room in which he knelt, though he welcomed death now. The noise grew louder and the force grew stronger, and the threat it posed ceased to be idle. Stones fell from the ceiling, and cracks climbed the wall and webbed the floor.

The knight knelt still, protecting her from further harm and hoping for an opportunity to join her. He sighed in relief as the tower broke apart, plunging him and her and the room downward towards the waiting ground.

And it was here James awoke from his dream, no more a “Sir” than he had ever been. The armor had vanished, and had been replaced with a pair of cotton pajama bottoms. In place of a gauntleted hand in which he had grasped and clutched his magnificent sword and shield, he was left with two fleshy hands which grasped and clutched nothing but air. He yawned, and in the same instant silenced the alarm which had shattered his dream of tragic valiance.

To his left, he noticed the sleeping form of Elizabeth. She was fully clothed, as he had assumed she would be, her hair a mess and her skin pallow. Sprawled out as she was, he got the feeling she had come home from her nightly escapade and simply thrown herself onto their bed, too tired and messed up to have considered undressing and putting on some more comfortable clothes.

He sighed again, standing and making his way into the kitchen of their small apartment, hoping some coffee would dispel the weariness from his body and mind. As he scooped the dark grounds into a filter, he couldn’t help but wonder how his girlfriend's had gone.

Had she been okay? Probably not, for Elizabeth was addicted, and addicts could never be considered okay. The people she roamed about with caused him to doubt it even more. His thoughts were disrupted by a voice behind him.

“G’morning, baby,” She said, rubbing her sleepy, dark-circled eyes, “How’d you sleep?”

“I’m okay,” He lied, watching the dark brown liquid dispense from the coffee maker, “I’m a little tired, but I slept okay.”

“Tha’s good,” She said, yawning hard.

James shook his head, continuing to watch the coffee. He had confronted her a number of times about her problem, and every time he was disarmed and shot full of holes. It hurt him, but he couldn’t imagine leaving her this way.

Elizabeth was fragile, as fragile as could be, though she thought she was strong. She needed him, whether she’d admit it or not; he was the only person who truly knew her and wouldn’t judge. He was there when her world was darkest, and he thought he was the one who could pull her from the grave she was digging.

The truth hurt him; he wasn’t really capable of preventing any kind of harm befalling her, and, though he loved her as if she were his own existence made manifest, he was slowly losing faith that she might reflect that feeling back on him.

“Why do you do it?” He asked her for the thousandth time, idly moving his fingers about.

“Do what?” She asked, perking up suddenly.

“You know what, Liz. The drugs, the parties – what’s the point? You’re killing yourself! I’m not sure I can stand by and wait for you to go out one night and not come back. It’s really starting to wear on me.”

Elizabeth stared for a moment, chewing her lip, eyes narrowed in thought, eyebrows furrowed.

“I had a dream last night,” James began, crossing his arms and turning to face the woman in the doorway, “I dreamt I was a knight – I know how ridiculous and lame it sounds, but please humor me for a second – and in this dream I was racing to find you in this tower. It was so far away and at the end of all these twisting halls that just seemed longer and longer the more I came to, but I wouldn’t stop running, and finally I made it to the tower. So I raced up the stairs and made it to the door, but it wouldn’t open. I was so desperate to get in and get to you, and you kept saying my name, but the damn door wouldn’t open!” James paused to catch his breath and slow his frantically beating heart.

“Your voice kept getting softer and softer,” He continued, staring at the floor, unable to meet her eyes, however much he wanted to, ”And finally, when you stopped calling for me, the door opened and you were just laying there, dead.”

The final word caught Elizabeth’s attention, her head snapping up, her eyes wide, albeit slightly tight with emotion.

“I’m so sorry,” She said, rushing forward to embrace him, stroking his hair softly, struggling to console the man she knew was fighting to maintain his composure.

He returned the embrace after a moment, then pulled back to look at her, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“I refuse to lose you,” He told her, giving her a half smile. She just smiled and pushed him away.

“You have to work, Mister,” She said, pointing to the bathroom. Sighing, he poured himself some coffee, and then made to get ready for the day. As he gathered his clothes, he couldn’t help but feel a kind of confidence in the reaction his dream had inspired in her.

James didn’t do anything great as far as work went, and nothing that could be considered a career, but he worked to support the two of them and that was all that really mattered.

The man worked on the line at a restaurant a few blocks down from their apartment, a quaint little place with a good reputation and decent business. The hours were long and the pay was never anything that could be considered good, but it was all a necessary evil, or so was his belief.

This night, James struggled to fry and sauté and grill his way through one of the largest dinner rushes they had ever had. The kitchen was sweltering, boiling them all in the large amount of steam, cooking them like the very food they were preparing, and it was not anything he enjoyed. He was sweaty and exhausted, and he couldn’t seem to shake this bad feeling in his head, almost like a headache, but it seemed to be more.

The rush went on for hours, until the tide of customers finally seemed to recede. The kitchen closed, and the employees went about their twilight hour duties, the cleaning and the prepping and the once overs of the inventory. James happily did his share, for it meant he could go home, relax, and spend time with the girl he rarely got to see.

Closing was a long process, however, and was never completely finished without stopping part of the way through to have a break. James had stopped a good portion of the way through to take one such break, and noticed, as he did so, a number of missed calls on his cell phone.

The number was not one he recognized, and that was the first thing to strike him as odd.

(404)-018-6614

Nobody he knew had this number, or he didn’t believe anyone he knew did. Whoever it was had left the man a voicemail, though, which he checked immediately. The voice on the other end of the line sent shivers down his spine.

“Hello. I’m looking for one James Ellerd who we believe could be reached at this number. My name is Doctor Luwell; I am a doctor down at St. Marcus’. We’re calling in regards to one Elizabeth Roe. If this is, in fact, mister Ellerd, could you please contact us, as soon as possible? It’s urgent. Thank you.”

He noticed there was more than one missed call, and they all began at precisely 11:14 P.M.; glancing at his watch, James observed that it was now 12:37 A.M.

The man flew from his workplace like a bat out of hell, fumbling for his keys at the door to his car, and unsuccessfully attempting to maintain the speed limit as he raced to the large hospital at the city’s center.

Elizabeth’s voice called for him in his head, just the same as she had in his dream. Something eerie was occuring, he thought, his having the dream he had had and now its coming to fruition.

No, He thought, combating his fear and panic, I can’t assume.

The wheels of his car gripped the street tightly, propelling him towards her as fast as law would allow. The dream spurred him onward, the anxiety threatening to drag him

down again. Somewhere in his mind he could hear the pounding of metal boots and the clinking of various armor pieces as he raced to the tower.

James whipped his car into a parking place in the parking lot of the hospital, yanked the key from the ignition and took off, leaving the door open in his rush to reach her in time.

“Where can I find Elizabeth Roe?” He asked the woman behind the reception desk, his voice hoarse and breathless.

“Who, sir?” She asked, apathetically.

“Elizabeth Roe,” He yelled, throwing his hands into the air incredulously, fighting to hold back his temper and the growing desperate panic, “My girlfriend. I received several calls from here saying it was urgent!”

“Oh! Yes, sir! Hurry, please! Doctor Luwell asked to be informed as soon as you got here!”

They hurried through a large set of double doors, though hurried could barely describe the pace that she set. James sensed very little urgency in her demeanor, but there was little he could do to speed her up.

Left, right, down a long hallway, right; it all seemed so familiar, and the very idea instilled a foreboding that James hated to acknowledge.

They turned a final time and came to face an elevator. The woman pressed the button and proceeded to wait patiently, staring at the up and down arrows above the door;

James, however, jabbed the button repeatedly, willing the elevator’s pulley system to work a little quicker and much more efficiently.

A green up arrow flashed above the doorway, and the doors opened ever so slowly, as if mocking his efforts to reach her.

They stepped across the threshold, and James again stabbed the up and “Door Close” buttons. Then came the waiting, the horrible, painful waiting. His feet wanted to move, wanted to carry him to her, and his heart pounded so fiercely that he was surprised at his ability to maintain a stationary position.

James did not need the nurse or the little tolling “ding” that signaled they had reached their destination to make him step forward. He could see doctor’s rushing to a hospital bed, nurses and aides and professionals in their white coats, all carrying various medical apparatuses and instruments, all crowding about a single bed and it’s occupant, who represented James’ whole world.

She was paler than he had ever seen her, paler than the sheets on which she lay, paler than death itself. He struggled to find some signal that she was okay, faint a hope as that may have been, but he could not.

Her chest did not rise or fall; her eyes never fluttered. Nothing.

James surged forward from that elevator compartment, shoving past the doctor’s and the nurses, forcing his way to her side just so he could hold her, just as he had in his dream.

As he wrapped his arms around her cold form, held her close for what he knew would be the last time, tears streamed from his eyes, and his world rocked. Everything their life had been built on shattered, and the tower he had built for them collapsed.

[RogueMinstrel]

Concerning how it is written, I could not find a lot wrong. As for the story, however I am afraid I do not understand what sort of message the story is trying to convey. I am also not a big fan of the ending and not because it is such a 'downer ending' but because it did not make sense (to me) with the rest of the story. I could better understand it if James, as the knight in the dream had been able to save the princess from danger only to awake to reality and find he cannot help someone who will not help themselves. That would have been a clear and strong message, in my opinion that would have been conveyed much more forcefully.
This is not to say that your story did not make sense and did not have a message but that I feel with such an ending they were not very clear. The dream even did a fine job of showing your reader how James feels about his relationship with Elizabeth and her habits.

Good job on this well written piece. Keep it up.