The Royal Contract

He could hardly move as he twisted in agony. It was either he was still alive since he was experiencing so much pain. Otherwise, he could be in hell, being tortured for his sins. 

But he would prefer the former as he tried to open his eyes, fighting the pain, fatigue, and dizziness he felt. He tried to recall where he was and what happened as confusion still enveloped his fuzzy memory.

"Oooohhhh." He moaned in anguish as he moved his left arm, dropping it back in its previous position. He was not sure if it was broken or something.

He laid quietly for a second, trying to regain his strength. At the same time, he tried to establish his current situation. Then, all his memories came rushing like a gushing waterfall, bombarding him with all the information.

He could hear a steady hum of an engine and feel the bumpy movement of the floor he was lying on. He concluded that he must be in a moving vehicle, running at moderate speed on a rough road.

He forced his other hand over his face, covering his eyes from the rays of the sun as he tried to peek at his surrounding. It would at least give him a better view of what he was up against.

"Hey, mister, you are finally awake." A little voice of a young boy spoke up beside him, startling him and causing him to make a quick sudden movement.

He suddenly realized that his hands were free to move. Still, dragging his body was a difficult task to handle as he tried to shift to a different position.

"Damn! Aaaahhhh!" The incident made him move his injured arm, worsening his pain condition.

He directed his sight toward the source of the voice. And then, he found a child with him in what seemed to be the back of a pickup truck. He quickly moved back to the corner, away from him.

He was not expecting company and a child at that. He was not frightened by him, but he was wary of his situation. After what happened earlier, he could not trust anyone, not even a seemingly innocent child.

"Don't move too much, or you might bleed again." The boy informed him while pointing at his bandaged body and arm with blood seeping through the white cloth. "I am glad that you are not dead." He added as an afterthought.

He finally saw the extent of his injury. Well, at least most of it. He was glad that he was not dead, too, apparently. He roamed his eyes to his body, at least the part he could see in his current position.

It would seem that he was hit in his arm and around the side of his ribcage. Other than that, it might be just some bruising and mild broken bones from his fall. Hopefully, the bullet went through and did not hit any major organs.

It would seem that somebody tried to patch him up, applying first aid. He doubted that the boy was able to manage that. He assumed he probably had some help.

It could not be the abductors, but it would not make sense. They were, after all, ordered to dispose of his body. Then, who was helping the boy, and what were they planning to do with him.

"Who are you? Who did this?" Pointing to his wounds. "Where are you taking me?" He rambled on with his questions, wanting answers quickly as his eyes started to shut down again. 

He fought to stay conscious despite his mind and body conspiring against him. He did not trust the boy beside him. He could be an illusion playing tricks on him, he suddenly thought.

In his experience during the war, injuries like this, especially when losing a lot of blood, could cause some delusions. The mind could suddenly create an illusion and distort reality.

"I am Billy." The boy waved to him but did not try to come near him. "My mom tried to do the best she could to clean your wounds, but she only knew how to treat dogs." He pointed to the front of the seat. "What is your name?" It was his turn to ask the question.

"Ben." He simply said as he covered his eyes again from the bright light, waiting for the answers from the little boy.

"There is no room in the front seat, so Mom had to put you back here. You see, we only have a small pickup truck. You would not have fit in there." He pointed to the front of the vehicle, laughing a bit.

"Mom is taking you to the hospital where you can be treated properly. She is with my little sister in the front." Billy continued without waiting for a response from him.

The boy looked at him with fascination as if he was some form of experiment. Actually, he seemed to be as curious as him. He was probably dying to ask him a hundred questions about his identity. 

"Don't I frighten you, boy?" He asked with curiosity, spooking him a bit while watching the boy for any sign of fear or a reaction. "I might be a bad man."

He wondered what kind of mother would put his son in danger. Putting him together with a stranger who was just shot twice or thrice. He might be a killer, a criminal who was intent to kill anyone in his path.

"You can't hurt me. I know that." He said with confidence as he stayed in his position, just watching him. "I love helping my mom when she is treating some dogs who are sick." He stated as if that should answer his question.

The boy's answer did not make sense, but he could not respond as he tried his best to focus on staying awake. He breathed deeply, wanting to supply enough air to his brain and body.

"When the dogs would not cooperate with my mom, she let me help put some medicine on them to calm them down." He explained to him, not minding if he was listening or not.

Ben still did not understand the story and what it had to do with him. He wished he could stand up and make the boy stop talking nonsense.

But the pull of darkness was getting stronger as it became harder for him to keep awake. He finally looked at the boy when he called his name several times.

"Ben." He repeated.

"Look, Ben. I had to give you some of this to help you sleep." The boy showed him the syringe in his hand. "Mom said that it will help you heal faster." The boy proudly smiled at him as if he had done a good deed. 

Well, he would pat him on the head if he could for being a good boy, Ben thought. He would even praise his mom for her quick thinking. But for now, he could only close his eyes.

"Go take a good rest. I hope you will live. You don't look like a bad man to me." It was the last words he heard.

As his time ran out, he started to doze off, unable to ward off the drug that overtook his body.. He remembered smiling before losing consciousness, finally convinced that he was in good hands.