When Harm eventually awakened, confusion and uncertainty hit him. The room he was lying in was dark. A small window provided moonlight to cast a thin line of light across the floor. Harm sat up, his hands going to his head as his temples pulsed from the hangover. His mouth was parched, his lips dry and cracking. He reached around in the gloom, struggling to find his bottle. He hoped he hadn’t drunk it all. 

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he took in the room. It was approximately fifteen by ten feet, and he did not know where he was. Harm found it hard to focus, his vision swimming from his throbbing head. He couldn’t remember sleeping; he could never remember these days. Usually falling into an alcohol-induced coma before waking and starting over again. The hardest days were when he ran out of alcohol and he had to leave the farm to steal more. He felt something on his arm and struck out, feeling the body of whatever it had been squish under his palm and leave moisture on his skin. Lifting his arm into the moonlight, he noticed the remains of a black spider. He shuddered at the thought that it had been crawling on him as he flicked its remains off.

As his mind struggled to focus, realising he wasn’t at the farm, he wondered where he had awoken. There had been a few times where he had come to in different locations: a barn, a shed or even an outhouse. Frowning, the action alone made his head throb more. He groaned as he went to stand. His legs felt heavy, and he stumbled in his attempt, placing his arm against the wall of the room. Its walls were made of rough stone. After a few moments, Harm gained his balance, stood upright, and looked towards where he could see a doorway. His chest felt tight, and his breathing heavy as he staggered across the room. He reached the door and grabbed the handle, attempting to pull it open, but it resisted his attempt. Instead, he went to push it. Again, there was no movement.

He growled as he pushed his shoulder against the door, trying to force it open, every movement allowing the throb in his head to feel as though it would consume him. It still didn’t move; it was just creaking slightly under his weight. The window was behind where he had awoken, and he walked over but realised there was no way of opening it. The glass was grime-covered, and he couldn’t see out of it clearly, but he knew from the moonlight that it was nighttime.

As his eyes continued to adjust to the dim light, he took in the contents of the room. The mattress he had awoken on with a blanket, a bucket in the corner of the room and then he saw it: a bottle on a small table. He moved to the table, pulled the cork from the neck of the bottle and, without even considering the contents, poured the liquid into his parched mouth. The clear liquid soothed his hoarse throat, and he continued to drink until the bottle was virtually empty. He had hoped for alcohol, but the water would do for now. 

“Where am I?” Harm said. Again, he moved to the window, still holding the bottle in his hand. There were only dregs remaining, but he tipped them onto his fingers and rubbed at the grime-covered window. It smeared under his attempt, and he lifted his shirt, rubbing against the part that was now damp, attempting to clean it. He dropped the now-empty bottle on the mattress. Eventually, there was a patch that was clear enough, the grime not making any difference to the filthy stained clothing he wore. He had to stoop to see through the patch he had cleaned and, leaning forward again, sent his head throbbing.

As he peered from the window, realisation set in, the gravestones of those buried in the chapel’s yard visible. How did I end up here? He thought. Harm turned to look at the door again; he didn’t know the inside of the chapel well, but he knew there were some rooms at the rear. Once again, he moved to the door and tried the handle. It still didn’t open.

Harm kicked the door in frustration. The thud of his boot on the wood echoed in the near-empty room. Frustration was building in Harm as his brain caught up with his situation. He was trapped, locked inside.

I need to get out of here. He thought, as he stepped back from the door and again kicked out. His strike just thudded against the door as it jarred in its frame. Harm repeated the process, kick after kick, his anger building as he did. His head felt like it would explode, increasing his anger further. With his attempts to kick the door failing, he punched it hard and repeatedly until he felt the slick sensation of blood on his knuckles. 

“Fuckin’ let me out,” Harm screamed as he again hit the door. His actions had gone unnoticed. No one had come to see what the sound was. He didn’t know if the Sister lived in the chapel or not.

The window. Harm thought as he turned. Looking at the small table, he moved to it and lifted it. It wasn’t the easiest item to use as a weapon, but it would have to do as he turned and, with a two-handed grasp, swung the table towards the glass. The glass cracked under the impact but didn’t break. He repeated it until the glass gave way. As the glass shattered under the third strike of the table, a sliver of relief flooded Harm, giving him hope. He was panting now with the exertion of his actions, and his head swam, making him feel light-headed. Harm only had one goal, though, and that was to escape his prison.

Harm dropped the table and moved to the window, and that was when he realised it had been a pointless task. Bars covered the window from the outside; they were attached to the outside of the wall and curved around it, encasing it in a small cage. Harm vaguely remembered seeing them from the outside and hadn’t even considered them while performing his actions.

“Argh,” he screamed as he threw the small table across the room in frustration. The shattered glass glinted in the brighter moonlight that now filled the room with the window broken, its jagged edges that remained looking like the mouth of a beast.

“Let me out,” he bellowed, turning and, this time, running at the door. His shoulder thudded against the solid wood, his shoulder taking the impact, but not as well as he would have hoped several months ago. Harm knew that he was no longer the man he had been. He backed away and charged the door again, and again, and again. 

Harm slumped to the floor, panting heavily. Sweat creased his furrowed brow, and his body shook as he leaned against the door where he had fallen, exhaustion stealing his anger from him. Staring at the moon that he could see through the window, he knew it would be several hours yet before someone came and released him. He pulled his knees up to his chest, his head fell forward, and tears fell.

Sister Carol took the key from her belt and placed it in the lock. Wes stood with her, apprehensively wondering how Harm would be. The door opened into the corridor, and as Sister Carol turned the handle, Wes looked inside. Curled up in the foetal position just the other side of the door was Harm. His eyes closed. Wes could see the dried blood on his knuckles and the stains of blood that were now on the inside of the open door. Jeffer had alerted them at first light of the window being broken, and Wes had hurried over once Sister Carol had requested Jeffer to get him. Jeffer stood outside as well. The man was no fighter, but from his time spent working the chapel yard and its grounds, he was strong, and Sister Carol wanted reassurance when they entered.

The smell from Harm’s unclean state washed over them as they moved into the room. His stench permeated the very air, even with the window broken, allowing fresh air inside. Sister Carol shook her head, looking at the broken form of Harm curled up like a defenceless child. 

“He is worse than expected,” Sister Carol said.

Jeffer looked down at Harm and grimaced, taking in his appearance. He was no friend of Harm’s but knew him from being a town member, and he couldn’t believe the man who lay at their feet.

“We need to get him up and cleaned,” Wes said. He had brought some spare clothes with him. They weren’t much, and the bottoms and top would likely be too short, but he couldn’t leave him as he was. His clothes were blackened, and only the gods knew what clung to them.

Harm stirred, hearing the sounds of voices.

“I think he should be slept again,” Wes said.

Sister Carol looked at Wes and raised an eyebrow.

“For our safety,” Wes finished.

Sister Carol shrugged as she held her hand out and said a few words before a light struck Harm’s body again. The stirring form settled, Harms’s body relaxing as the spell took effect.

“Jeffer. Can you give me a hand? And, Sister, would you be kind enough to get some soap, a cloth, and a bucket of water?” Wes asked.

Sister Carol left to collect the items that Wes had requested.

“Let’s get him away from the door,” Wes said as he and Jeffer stooped to grasp Harm’s spell-induced sleeping form and drag him away from the entrance. 

It didn’t take long for Sister Carol to return, the bucket of water sloshing.

“You two can go for now if you wish,” Wes said. “At least save him some dignity.”

They both nodded before they turned to leave.

Wes moved the bucket, soap, and cloth next to Harm and crouched by his side. The fetid smell was horrendous this close. He smelt worse than a city’s cesspools. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Wes said as he reached out and began the painful and slow process of moving the unconscious form of Harm to remove his clothing. It took Wes much longer than he expected; the clothes almost fused to his skin at points, and he had to dampen the material before he could peel it away from his torso. Eventually, he managed to strip Harm down. The state of the naked man’s body showed the signs of the abuse he had been putting it through. His body was covered in dirt, even underneath his clothing. 

Wes commenced the thankless task of washing him. He often treated animals in the barn, and to Wes, this was no different. Jeffers had stayed outside the room, and it took Wes to ask Jeffer to collect five more buckets of water to finish washing Harm. Harm’s hair and beard were tangled and matted, and Wes removed the clippers he used on the animals in the barn and began cutting it away. After a while, he gave up and removed his knife and carefully shaved the man’s face and head. Once Wes was happy that Harm was clean, he removed a bottle of oil from his inventory and rubbed it into his skin. It was something he used on injured animals to soothe wounds. It wasn’t a healing balm, so unfortunately, it wouldn’t heal Harm’s injuries, but it would soothe them at least.

Harm’s skin was covered in the signs of the abuse his body had received. Yellow and purple bruising was clearly visible on his legs, up to his shoulders. He was a sorry sight of a man. Seeing Harm unclothed also showed how much the man had shrunk; his previous broad shoulders, chest, and arms wasted in comparison, and the gaunt features of his face now that he was clean shaven, making him almost take on the appearance of a skeleton.

Wes then carefully redressed Harm in the clean clothes. They weren’t new, but compared to what he had been wearing, they were a luxury.

“I think that will do for now. Can you help me move him to the mattress?” Wes said.

Jeffer walked in, and between the two of them, they placed Harm back on the mattress in the room. Wes wasn’t sure how much longer Harm would sleep, but he hoped for a while at least. After removing the stained blanket, he had covered Harm with a clean one. Wes sighed and, after clearing the broken glass by the window and collecting the discarded rags which had once been clothes, left the room.

“This isn’t going to be an easy time,” Wes said, shaking his head as Jeffer closed the door behind them.