#peachy-panic

There's a nameless woman mentioned in the flashback that starts "Reconvergence," and I thought it would be interesting to see the rescue scene from a different point of view (and perhaps from the point of view of someone who is mostly lucid at the time). It's obviously a fan work, so there are some canon divergences and creative liberties just to make it flow, but I really love the characters and hope I did them a bit of justice.

Spoilers for Fifty-Eight Days by peachy-panic

TW: implied non-con, aftermath of non-con, nudity mention, strong language, kidnapping, blood mention, gore mention, violence mention

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“You should be prepared for anything,” the Lieutenant Colonel had said. As any dutiful officer would, Eleanor Martin took those words to heart, and prepared as well as one could. Naievely, she thought she had prepared for anything. But that pre-mission briefing felt like a lifetime ago now that she was staring at the gore-soaked aftermath of the compound raid. 

Voss’s men had put up a fight, just as they had expected. The winding halls were lined with bodies of the nameless henchmen, grey brain matter collecting in puddles alongside skull fragments, crimson splattered up against the walls. Ivory paint was pock-marked with countless bullet holes, and the smell of gunpowder lingered alongside the pungent odor of copper. Death permeated every pore of her body. 

It hadn’t been hard to find Voss’s room, an elegant suite tucked away at the heart of the sprawling compound. He had thought himself a king, and the bedroom had clearly been built to reflect this sentiment. 

The only crown Voss wore now was a ring of liquid red. His eyes were already glossed over with the pallor of death, and he was gazing up at the ceiling with a permanent grimace etched in his leathery skin. For a man who had been hunted by authorities for years, a man turned into a monstrous specter that rivaled the devil himself, he seemed so small as he slumped lifeless against the bedroom wall with a bullet hole between his brows. 

But it wasn’t Voss that had seared an image in Eleanor’s mind when she entered the room. It was the two young men, the very ones they had also hoped to find in this place, caught amidst the gunfire and the chaos. Naked, soaked in blood, the whites of their eyes showing like frightened dogs. They hardly resembled the two photos that authorities had received six long weeks ago, but it was unmistakably the two missing missionaries. And amidst the flurry of uniformed men entering the room, it was clear that no one knew what to do with the surviving victims. Perhaps this was because they were never expected to be found alive. 

“Gordon, call the medics in,” Eleanor barked at her colleague. He nodded, shoving his pistol back in its holster before running out of the room. Eleanor tried to ignore the fact the other soldier looked as though he were about to be sick.

Movement caught her eye, and Eleanor turned her attention back to the victims. The boy she recognized as Grayson Dawning scrambled off the bed, his face stained with tears and blood, an expression of hopeless despair frozen in place. Alive. He was alive, unmistakably, honest-to-god alive. 

While finding both victims alive was better than any of the authorities involved had expected, Eleanor could already tell that survival was not a kindness to either of these young men. The near-catatonic one—Elijah—was still facedown on the bed and gagged. Even among the armed men reorganizing themselves to sweep the rest of the compound, his cloth-stifled soft sobs still filled the room with heart-wrenching pain. 

“You- you gotta help him,” Grayson mumbled as he staggered to his feet beside the bed, hands pulling at the cloth gag that was stuffed in Elijah’s mouth. Grayson didn’t seem to care that he was still exposed, burdened by the stench of sweat and sex across every inch of his skin. Eleanor’s stomach turned. 

Be prepared for anything.

“Easy, Mr. Dawning,” she murmured, unsure of what else to say. After all, what could she say? It didn’t take an expert or a medic to understand what they had stormed in on. 

Blood streaked down Elijah’s legs, across his face, all over the sheets of the bed. From the mass of wounds on his back and his thighs, it was hard to tell which injuries were fresh and which were just gnarled scars. But rather than attempt to stymie the bleeding, she took to pulling Grayson away, trying to get a handle on the situation until the medics arrived. 

“I’ll get that,” she promised as she nudged Grayson’s trembling hands away from Elijah’s head. The young man didn’t offer her any resistance as she carefully undid the knot buried within the unruly curls. She couldn’t help but wince as her own fingers shook, but soon the knot loosened, and the crude gag finally came undone. With as much caution as she could muster she eased it out of his mouth. 

“Elijah, please,” Grayson cried softly, his hands touching Elijah’s shoulder, trying to break through the fog that had overcome the younger of the pair. But as Eleanor could clearly see, Elijah’s eyes were unfocused, welling with tears, vacant but for the slightest spark of life. She wondered if he could even hear his companion at all. 

“Well, shit,” Adam muttered as he looked at the two boys on the bed, the medic suddenly having appeared at Eleanor’s side. He dropped the medical bag to the floor and began his usual procedures, pulling the zippers open to reveal his instruments and supplies. There was no mistaking the urgency with which the man had gotten down to business.

“Adam, this is Grayson and Elijah,” she said, gesturing to them each in turn. She wasn’t trained to interact with patients like Adam was, but the least she could do was give them a name to attach to a face. Maybe she hoped it would give them some comfort, ground them amidst the chaos that had just rained down. It just seemed like the right thing to do. 

She wasn’t even sure there was a right thing to do in a situation like this. 

“Hey, Elijah,” Adam said as he settled down by the bedside. “My name’s Adam, and I’m here to help you out.” Elijah didn’t respond, eyes still staring off into empty space, tears leaking freely in streams through the blood and grime. 

“Please, you have to help him,” Grayson said, pleading. “Please, Elijah, I’m so sorry. I’m- it’s going to be okay. I'm sorry.” It was impossible to miss how Grayson’s hand wrapped around Elijah’s, squeezing tight. Whatever they had gone through, they were the only ones that could understand each other now. 

“I’m checking your vitals now,” Adam continued, narrating his actions to Elijah softly beneath Grayson’s panicked chatter. “We’re going to start with your blood pressure and your heart. Eleanor, can you finish untying him?” 

Shit. Eleanor hadn’t even thought to undo the restraints binding the boy’s wrists. She made quick work of those so Adam could slide the blood pressure cuff around Elijah’s recently-released arm. Moments later the rest of the medical team arrived, two gurneys and more medical supplies in tow. 

“Yeah, we’ve got to load them up and get them out of here as soon as we can,” Adam said as he stood up to look at Eleanor, face taut with a newfound urgency. Whatever numbers the paramedic had pulled from his devices, they hadn't been good. “Our team will take Elijah here, and Joe’s team can take Grayson. We’ll take them both to the predetermined hospital, but it’s up to your folks to get the American authorities down there.” 

“Fuck, right, I’ll let the Lieutenant Colonel know,” Eleanor answered, reaching for her walkie-talkie on her belt. The fact that these boys were alive was going to spare something of an international incident. She was supposed to let the Lieutenant Colonel know as soon as there was any definitive contact with the boys, dead or alive. Somehow, that had slipped her mind upon seeing their condition, that scene she had walked in on. If word of what truly happened got to the press, she wasn’t sure it would be much better than if they had been found dead. 

After she made the call to her boss—yes, they were alive, and they were about to get brought out to the awaiting ambulances—she helped pull Grayson away from Elijah. This gave the other paramedics enough time to get to work on Grayson, running a rapid assessment of his vitals and responsiveness. As soon as he had lost contact with Elijah’s skin, Grayson seemed to disappear in much the same dissociative state. 

This older one of the pair, supposedly a group leader that had pursued Elijah after he went missing, was barely more lucid than his catatonic companion. And as Elijah was rolled out of the room on a stretcher, bodies cleared out of the way as they went, Grayson seemed lost in a fog. Eleanor kept her grip on his upper arm as he looked around like a lost child. 

“Where is he?” Grayson asked, panic renewed as he came back to himself, if only just. “Where did you take him?” He pulled himself from Eleanor’s grasp and stumbled towards the hallway, past the broken door, feet passing over the puddles of blood without hesitation. 

“Where is Elijah?” He called out into the nothingness as Eleanor and the other paramedics followed after him, prepared to intercept and bring him to a gurney of his own. 

“Mr. Dawning,” a shorter paramedic pleaded, “You need to sit down and let the medics look at you. We need to get you to the hospital.” 

It was obvious by the full-body tremors that Grayson wasn’t particularly amiable to that suggestion. Eleanor, not versed in the art of comforting, and without a maternal instinct in her body, again attempted to soothe. 

“It’s over now,” she said as she prepared to guide Grayson out of the winding compound. “It’s over, you’re safe.” He seemed to flinch when she reached for his shoulder again, so she drew her hand back. It would have to be enough to walk by his side. So she did, walking close by his shoulders, the paramedics rolling the gurney and their supplies a few paces behind. But she may as well have not even been there as they navigated the winding halls, Grayson still calling out Elijah’s name, eyes darting to every face they passed. 

Once they were outside in the driveway, washed in the bright white of industrial grade lights and the flashing of emergency vehicles preparing to depart, Grayson seemed to snap back into focus. Of course; it seemed that Elijah was about to be loaded into one of the waiting ambulances, his body atop a stretcher and draped in blankets. 

“Elijah!” Grayson cried out, voice cutting above the fray of uniformed officials trying to make some sense of the carnage that was unraveling inside the compound. From the chatter on Eleanor’s radio, it seemed that these wayward missionaries were not the only victims to be found in the recesses of Voss’s personal playground. More ambulances - and coroners - would likely be on their way in a matter of minutes. 

Grayson nearly tumbled to the ground as his foot caught on the edge of the gurney, but somehow the emaciated boy caught himself and continued to propel forwards towards Elijah. That spark of desperation pulled again at Eleanor’s heartstrings. She watched the paramedics try to ward Grayson off, refuse his entry into the ambulance, their faces stern. Even Adam seemed prepared to put his foot down and protect the patient in his stead.

For a moment, Eleanor was lost. She likely would never see these boys again, not in person. Perhaps on the news or in her nightmares. But even if she would never see them again, she would remember these moments for the rest of her life. Perhaps they would too. What kindness could she afford them now? 

“Let him,” she said, walking a few paces towards the waiting ambulance. “Let them go together.” 

One of the paramedics looked like he was prepared to argue, but Eleanor knew that her rank was visible on her chest patch. A short tilt of her chin and squint of her eyes was all it took to make them fold. 

I wonder what it might look like to add some subtle details that correlate directly to the story. I saw you mention it’s an anthology that takes place over hundreds of years at then same location. Maybe this is only a good idea in my head (and maybe I’m about to do a horrible job of translating the mental image to words, but:

What if you made some sort of gradient textured layer over the cover so that it looks like the notebook goes from looking 100+ years old in one corner (leathery/faded/torn) and gradually fades into a present day look in the opposite corner (brand new, bright colors), with subtle changes in between?

You could also put little indicators of the time periods, like doodles or carvings made into the cover, as if the book has been passed through many hands.

Did that make a lick of sense or have I lost my mind? It’s been a while since my last graphic design class. Anyway— I love what you have already and I’m so happy to see you’re exploring a self-publish route :)

That made total sense, don't you worry. And thank you so so so much for writing all that out. Trust me when I tell you that I added a few more bullet points to my ideas list while reading it! :)

The only problem is... I am doing this by myself and I am limited to what is available to a free account. I also have 0 graphic design experience. So, trust me when I say I love that idea so much but I have 0 clue how to do that and I wish I did.

Like, wouldn't it be the absolute dream to do the 30s-style cover with linen board and embossing? Like this whole image but with real nubby texture and variations in feel and real weight?

Honestly that would be so cool, and maybe in some distant future that option will avail itself to me. I just bought a notebook just like that and every time I open it my brain cues up "This is What Dreams Are Made Of" from the Lizzie McGuire movie. Keep putting that energy into the universe for me would you? :)

But, maybe this 2nd draft I've mocked up might fit the bill?

It's not weathering BUT there are creepy hands in the background and I messed around with the color scheme.

Thoughts?

You are my hero. I’m sad that I’m caught up but also thrilled at getting to read updates as the come now.

Reading The Unkindness of Ravens is the closest human experience one can have to the thrill of reading AFTG for the first time.

(Sorry for the late reply!!)