Someone was shaking him in his bed.
“Dad–dad, I’m up, alright? I’m up…” Harry muttered, trying to push the hands away, but something felt…wrong.
“Now now, Mr. Willis, do try to keep that old head of your straight–we do want to try and keep that senility at bay, don’t we?”
Harry’s eyes went wide, and he found himself staring up at Mr. Elroy, looming over the side of his bed, “No–no, no no!” Harry muttered, and went to try and rawl his way off the other side of the bed. He’d hoped it had been a dream, when he’d woken up. That he’d just been late for school, or his dad just wanted to make sure he was awake. Not this–not this still. It couldn’t possibly be real–people don’t just…age 40 years in a day!
Mr. Elroy calmly walked around the bed, and met him at the other side. “I assure you, Harry, that today will be much, much more difficult for me if I have to add a sedative to your medications this morning. I will–but that will only make things so much worse for you, in ways you won’t understand. Trust me when I say that you want to mentally present for unpacking day–you’ll be much, much less confused, and less confusion helps the brian last longer–trust me, I’ve been helping doddering old men like you adjust to their lives here for many years now. I know what works.”
Harry looked up at him, and then at the door of the bedroom. Could he make it?
“You won’t make it–not with those arthritic knees of yours,” Mr. Elroy said, brushing a hand against Harry’s legs, and as soon as he did, a throbbing ache grew in the joint there, making Harry wince. “Getting old can be such a pain, right Harry? Now, are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have you drooling down the front of your clothes, and shitting in a diaper today instead?”
Harry could see in Mr. Elroy’s eyes that he was serious–and after what happened last night, he had no doubt that the man could make it happen. He nodded. “A-Alright.”
“Good. Now get out of bed, and let’s get started on your morning routine. A shower first, of course. While you’re in there, I’ll look around and put together an outfit for you to wear. Then we’ll get you your medications. Breakfast is at 8:30. We’ll come back up here after that and start getting you unpacked. Lunch will be a little later, and if you’re good, I might let you go to bridge night this evening.”
Harry had never even heard of bridge, much less played it–but he kept his mouth shut. He’d just have to bide his time, and wait for an opportunity, when Mr. Elroy let his guard drop, since there was no way he’d be able to take him in a straight fight–not feeling like this. Getting out of bed with his sore knees was a struggle. Mr. Elroy suggested multiple times that he get a cane for him, but Harry refused. He might look like an old man–he might even feel like an old man, in some ways, but he could still walk! Mr. Elroy helped him into the shower, and while the water warmed up, he sat Harry down on the toilet and made him suck on his cock for a couple of minutes, before getting him into the tub. Harry took his time in the shower, trying to sort his thoughts out, and sizing up his body–what he could do, how fast he could move–but it didn’t seem like he was very capable of anything, which is probably just how Mr. Elroy wanted him. Still, he finished his shower, and managed to get out of the tub on his own, toweled himself off, and went back into the bedroom, where Mr. Elroy was waiting, with some clothes laid out on the bed beside him.
Harry knew he could have gotten dressed in them himself, but Mr. Elroy insisted that he help. Harry could sense that he enjoyed it–that he liked making Harry feel helpless, or like a child he was taking care of. First was a plain white undershirt and a pair of briefs–both feeling oddly threadbare. After that came a button down blue cotton shirt, some well worn and well stained jeans held up by wide strap suspenders (Mr. Elroy made certain that the suspenders were tight enough that the pants went over his belly, rather than under it–he said it made Harry look much more “properly old”). Then, woolen socks and some work boots. In the mirror, Harry couldn’t even begin to recognize himself–there didn’t seem to be anything of his old self even left to see in the reflection. It was just…a stranger, an old man wearing what looked like some old work clothes–but Mr. Elroy was certainly pleased.
“Alright Harry–time for your medications!” Mr. Elroy went into the bathroom for a moment, and returned with a small cup with several pills in it. Harry asked what they were for–he didn’t recognize any of the pills himself. “Oh, just the usual things for a man of your age–arthritis, high blood pressure, persistent heartburn. Why? Would you like some more? We can always arrange that, if you’d like.”
Harry just shook his head, and put the pills in his mouth, swallowing them with the water Mr. Elroy had brought with him in a cup. Mr. Elroy offered him the cane again–after all, it was quite a walk to the dining hall for breakfast–but Harry again refused. He had to hobble slightly down the halls of the building, and Mr. Elroy told him they might be late if he didn’t move faster, but he wasn’t about to give into that crutch without a fight. Still, by the time they reached the dining room, he almost wished he had taken it–his leg ached, and pain was radiating up his back as well–he’d never been as thankful to take a seat right then in his entire life. Breakfast was bland, smooth, and nutritious. Mr. Elroy sat with him but didn’t eat anything, but no one else came by who Harry felt he could trust to get help from. After all, who would believe him? Mr. Elroy could just lie, and say he was senile, and no one would believe a raving old man, especially not if he was ranting about some…vampire turning him old.
Bracken's Corner 