"For God's sake," Chris murmured softly to himself as he looked over his work of the night. He planted his hands on his sides and lightly shook his head. This was an embarrassment. This was nonsense. It was sure as hell not going to work. What, some chalk lines and candles? Was he really desperate enough to sink this low?
The answer was a resounding 'yes', he most definitely was. Sure, he was a man of science, but science had proved itself useless. Science followed rules, like he had done his whole life. And where had it gotten him? 'An accident', his mind echoed. 'You couldn't have seen it coming'. There was nobody to blame, except fate. It was the epitome of injustice, in his opinion. He'd done everything right, technically, but he still got punished. He was still hurt, and he needed to blame somebody. So he blamed himself. He should have seen it coming. Still, he followed the book, even after it all happened. First biology, modern medicine, psychology, psychiatry... then he had spiraled into theoretical physics, quantum mechanics, string theory. He had spent countless nights researching the strangest of theories and experiments created by mankind, and every night he found himself sobbing in utter despair because nothing provided him with a way to get what he wanted. What he desperately needed.
He knew that his family was worried about him. He knew that her family was worried about him, and that did horrible things for his guilt. He couldn't blame them though. After he'd stopped going to therapy he'd been in a downward spiral that for many people would lead to a tragic end by their own hands. And he had certainly considered that many times. But he couldn't. He'd fix this, no matter what. Even if it was the last thing he did.
When science forsakes a man... what does he do? Instead of giving up, Chris decided to check his ego and pursue more... supernatural means to get his way. There had been countless psychics on his journey, but most of them had turned out to be frauds. One of them was eerily insightful, but was still of no help. Astrology, then? Astral projection? Alchemy, even? Useless! All of it! This was clearly not supposed to be done by any man...
So here he stood, sweating, covered in chalk, under the stark moonlight at... He looked at his watch. Three in the morning. He was about to break more rules than he could count. Not just rules he'd held up for himself, but moral rules as well. Perhaps even divine rules, but that didn't mean much to him. With a soft sigh, he took off his watch. Careful not to step on the lines he had drawn, he stepped into the middle of the chalk circle and laid down his watch on the cold stone of the cave entrance he was in. He might not have faith this would work, but he still wasn't stupid enough to do it in his own home. Just in case.
He pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook from his jacket pocket. It looked worn and torn, as it had been on his entire journey with him. All his notes were in here. Especially the ones that explained what he was about to do. He flipped it open to a small version of the drawing he had made in chalk, and double-checked all his lines. It was a circle with a pentagram inside, and several other markings. He had drawn little x's where the candles were supposed to be placed, and now he quickly verified they were in their correct positions. He shook his head again, the voice of reason in his head insisting that this was ridiculous. How could some old, dusty book from a yard sale have any truth to it? How could he know this wasn't just some satanist's fantasy? The truth was, he didn't. But he had still copied the drawing and the Latin chant from the book, and brought everything to this place, for one simple reason: he had to try. He just had to.
When he was certain he had gotten everything right, he took a deep breath and fixed his eyes upon his watch. A vessel. And a fitting one at that, at least so he thought. He did hope it wasn't too small, but he didn't have a better alternative.
"Invoco te, o daemonium temporis," he murmured, a little hesitant at first. "Et in hoc carcere ligo." He took in a sharp breath through his nose, waiting to see if anything would happen. The book had said to repeat the chant, but now that the words were out of his mouth he got nervous. Scared, even. He felt a chill run down his spine, and then collected himself and said the chant again, louder and more confident this time.
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