BLOOD AND ASHES

THE PRICE OF OXYGEN

The light in the interrogation room was a single bulb, flickering, buzzing faintly as if mocking Tobias Sheldon’s exhaustion.

The scratched metal table in front of him carried the smell of rust and sweat. His wrists were chained, skin raw where the cuffs bit in.

He could still see her. Elena.

The way she swayed on that rooftop.

The way her body had fallen like a broken bird into the night.

The detective leaned forward, eyes cold, voice flat.

“Your wife disappears, debts piling higher than your salary as a schoolmaster could ever pay. Now this story about masked men in a van? Convenient. Very convenient.”

Tobias’s throat was dry, his lips cracked. He forced his voice through the tightness.

“I didn’t stage anything. My wife was sick with cancer. She was weak. And all of is sudden when I come for a visit, I find her on a rooftop, falling to her death. When she fell—someone took her. They carried her away. I didn’t imagine it.”

The detective smirked. “And yet, no one else can prove it. Just your word against the world. What you saw and what the law believes are two very different things, Mr. Sheldon.”

Tobias slumped forward, his chest heaving. He had no fight left. Not for them. Not after tonight. His mind spun between Elena’s empty eyes and the image of his son lying weak under hospital lights with his oxygen bag beside him.

And then—

Buzz.

The phone in his pocket vibrated like a live wire. His head shot up, heart hammering.

The detective narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?”

“My phone,” Tobias rasped. “Please. Let me answer. It could be… it could be about my son.”

For a long second, the room was a battlefield of stares. Finally, the detective gestured. “Put it on speaker. One false move and you’ll regret it.”

Tobias fumbled the phone out with shaking hands, pressed the screen.

Nurse Ruth’s voice tore through the static, frantic and sharp.

“Tobias—it’s Ethan! His oxygen machine—it's shutting down. It's ten days overdue. The system is terminating!”

The world dropped from under him. Tobias gripped the table, his knuckles were white.

“No. No, please, Ruth. Tell me he’s breathing. Tell me my boy is breathing!”

Through the phone came Ethan’s small, breathless whimper. “Help me… help me…”

The sound shattered Tobias’s chest. His boy’s cry was a dagger twisting in his ribs.

Nurse Ruth again: “The oncologist stabilized him for now, but… Tobias, listen. Hospital policy is clear. Without full payment, the machine won’t renew. The revival protocol is locked. We’ve run out of time.”

Tobias’s eyes burned. His fists clenched until blood beaded in his palms. He wanted to tear the cuffs off, rip the world apart, scream until the earth split open.

The detective’s smirk faltered. For the first time, pity flickered in his eyes. He muttered something to the officer at the door.

Moments later, Tobias was yanked to his feet. “We’ll escort you to the hospital,” the detective said roughly. “Don’t mistake this for freedom. You’re still under suspicion. But… you deserve to see your son.”

Tobias nodded, too choked with gratitude and fury to speak.

The hospital lobby was flooded with harsh light when they arrived.

And waiting there—like shadows made flesh—were the debt collectors.

Three of them lounged by the doors, leather jackets gleaming, cigarettes glowing red. They were wolves, watching the lamb finally delivered in chains.

One grinned, flashing gold teeth. “Look who crawled back. Schoolmaster Tobias. The beggar of Saint Lucia.”

Another chuckled darkly. “Where’s your pretty wife, eh? Still worth dying for?”

Their laughter chased him like knives. Tobias kept his eyes forward, but his gut twisted with shame. The police pushed him through, and their smirks clung to his back like a curse.

In the ward, Tobias broke.

Ethan lay curled under the blankets, oxygen mask strapped tight, chest rising only by the mercy of machines. His face was pale, lips cracked, his small hand twitching.

“Dad…” the boy whispered when he saw him.

Tobias fell to his knees beside the bed, cuffs clinking. He pressed his forehead against Ethan’s hand, tears soaking into the sheets.

“I’m here, my boy. I won’t let them take you too. Do you hear me? I won’t.”

Ethan’s lips curled into the faintest smile. “You always say that.”

Nurse Ruth turned away, hiding her tears.

For one sacred moment, Tobias forgot the cuffs, forgot the police behind him, forgot the city that seemingly had turned against him. It was just him and his son, clinging to each other against the storm.

But storms never pause.

The collectors stepped into the corridor outside, demanding their audience. The detectives exchanged looks and allowed them in.

The leader spoke first, his tone was smooth, deadly.

“You owe us, Tobias. Every penny for your wife’s treatments. And now the hospital debt piles higher.”

He pulled a folded sheet from his jacket and slapped it against Tobias’s chest.

The numbers printed there were merciless.

$45,000.

And climbing.

“Interest compounds daily,” the collector sneered. “By the end of next month, it’ll be closer to fifty. You thought cancer was expensive? Poverty kills faster.”

Tobias’s head spun. $45,000. It was more money than he could earn in five years as a teacher. His stomach twisted as though acid was eating him alive.

One of the collectors leaned close, his breath was sour. “Try a miracle, schoolmaster. Or bury them both.”

Their laughter filled the ward, echoing off sterile walls.

Tobias’s shoulders sagged. He wanted to crumble. To weep until nothing remained.

But then his fingers brushed against the scarf in his pocket.

Elena’s scarf.

White, torn at the edges.

Stitched with the crow.

Still damp with her blood.

And suddenly, beneath the crushing weight of debt, grief, and humiliation—something else stirred.

Rage.

He lifted his head slowly, eyes burning. His voice came out hoarse, trembling, but laced with iron.

The collectors faltered, their smirks flickering.

The detective at the door shifted uneasily, his phone buzzing in his pocket. He answered, his expression tightening. His gaze flicked to Tobias, grim.

“Mr Sheldon, they have found the van,” the detective said coldly. “The one that took your wife.”

Tobias’s breath caught. His grip tightened on the scarf.

For the first time since the rooftop, hope flickered like fire in his chest.

Tobias’s wrists still burned under the cuffs, the iron biting into his skin. His son’s shallow breaths echoed in his ears, each one was a reminder that time was running out. Oxygen, money, life itself—everything was on a countdown.

And now, another burden dangled in front of him. A van. A lead. The only thread tying him back to Elena.

The detective’s voice was low, heavy with warning.

“If you want to know the truth, you’d better be ready for what comes next.”

Tobias drew the bloodstained scarf from his pocket and pressed it to his face. The faint smell of her still lingered, clashing with the copper tang of dried blood. His body trembled, but his voice was steady, a vow carved into the silence.

“Lena… I’m coming.”