by Jessica Park
“It’s about how we should trip. Or really, how you should trip.”
“The pills. You’ve been using them. It’s fast, easy. That’s what we’re doing, right?” I confirm. Sam gestures for me to sit down, but I shake my head and rub my hands over my arms. “Just say it. How?”
Sam has trouble answering, so it’s Costa who walks to me. “We need you at your strongest, your most reactive.”
I understand now why they both appear hesitant. “Blood,” I say. “You need me to bleed.”
“I’m so sorry, but yes,” Costa confirms. “Blood is your trigger. Without it, the death tripper in you is less responsive. With it, you’ll trip harder, and you’ll pass that to Sam. Based on the little we know, this is the smartest approach. We think…”
“It’s okay. It’s fine.” I think they’re right, but my voice is shaking horrifically, and there’s no way I can conceal my fear. Again though, underneath this is a fervent ache to get what my body is screaming for. I’m desperate to see blood. “How? Just say it. I can’t do it myself. You know that. I don’t have the willpower.”
“Knife or gun is the easiest. We need it to take a little time though, so neither can be instantaneous. You pick,” Costa says.
“Sam? Which one?” My heartbeat must be visible through my shirt. “You’re going to do it, right? You choose. I can’t. I don’t know.”
“Stella…”
“You are going to do it, aren’t you?” I demand.
Costa touches my arm. “I am.”
“What? No, no. Sam should. I want Sam to do it.” There’s growing panic now that I’m in the moment.
“You’ll trip harder if I do it because I tripped you first. That’s the theory we’re going on.”
Shit, he’s probably right. I swallow hard. “Then, use a knife. That’s how you did it last time.”
Costa nods. “Don’t forget. It’s going to feel good. I know you’re freaked, but remember that. Neck again?”
Sam jumps in. “I don’t think that’s necessary, do you? It’s a little more grotesque than we need.”
“Fair enough.” Costa shrugs. “I like a good neck slice but whatever. Up to you guys.”
“How about you ease up on the crassness?” Sam is controlling his irritation.
“Let’s do it now,” I say calmly. “Sitting around and thinking about it won’t help me. Let’s do it now.”
“You want me to do you, too, Sammy?”
It’s with good hesitation, but Sam shakes his head. “I got this.”
Although he just said no to Costa, I can tell he was tempted to let Costa knife him. Sam throws another log on the fire and turns off the lights.
Sam guides me to the couch and stretches out so that he’s leaning against the arm with one foot on the floor. He pats the seat in front of him. “Sit.”
But I can’t move from my spot.
“Sit. Lean back against me. I’ll hold you.”
Now a spark is in his eyes, a charge from what we’re about to do, and it passes to me. The thought of the blood—and that fuzzy, euphoric state I’m going to have—lures me to lie down between his legs and rest my back on his chest. He runs a hand through my hair and kisses my cheek. He’s already sounding drugged because he knows even better than I do what’s coming.
This is death-tripping foreplay.
Costa takes a knife from the mantel and pulls it from the sheath. When he kneels on the floor between my legs, I put my hand on top of Sam’s, and he moves our touch over my waist.
“You first, Sam?” Costa asks.
Wordlessly, Sam takes the knife. “Don’t look, Stell. I don’t want you to see.”
Instinctively, I turn to watch, but Costa puts a hand on the side of my head. “He said, don’t look. Just focus on me, and let Sam do what he needs to do. Breathe, breathe…in and out.”
Under me, I feel Sam’s body arch as he pushes the knife into his side.
“Sam…” Even in my lust for this moment, I can’t help my worry.
“Sam is fine.” Costa’s deep blue eyes haven’t left me. “He’s more than fine. Keep looking at me. There you go. Good.”
Sam’s body shifts again as he moves the knife, and his arm tightens around me when he grunts. “Inhale,” he tells me.
So, I do. The smell of blood is intoxicating. Fumes invade my throat and lungs, and for a moment, I can barely keep my eyes open as the rush hits me.
“She’s good, Sammy. Don’t worry.” Costa’s arm moves in. “I’m going to take the knife, okay?”
“Yes.” Sam’s breath practically burns my skin.
Costa’s hand is still on my face when he leans in to Sam, and he turns me to the side so that I can watch now. As his mouth touches Sam’s, he starts to glide the knife out. Costa runs his tongue over Sam’s lips, and I inhale again, torn between watching their kiss and watching the knife being pulled from Sam’s body.
“Your turn, Stella.” Costa’s voice is so soothing, yet I realize that I’m closer to panting than slow breathing.
Costa kneels again. His hand is on the side of my jaw, and he traces his thumb over my lips. “Just keep looking at me.”
His eyes are dark, glimmering, and it’s easy for me to stay fixated on them. I feel Sam’s hands move to the hem of my shirt, and he raises it, exposing my stomach. In my fog, I see Costa undo the top button of my pants and lower the zipper just a few inches so that he can tuck the corner under. The knife is still in his hand, and colors from the fireplace flash in the metal. I push Sam’s hands higher under my shirt until he has my breasts in his hands.
“Costa, please,” I hear myself say. “Please do it.”
“Whatever you want, pretty girl.” His gaze travels over me, cradled in Sam’s arms. “The three of us again…”
Two fingers stroke my lips and then slip into my mouth just as his body thrusts a few inches toward me. The knife goes into my abdomen, and I moan sharply and suck as his fingers move in and out.
“Good girl,” Costa breathes. He takes his wet fingers from me and covers Sam’s hand with his, their hold tightening around my breast.
“Again,” I murmur. The knife is still inside me, but it’s not enough.
“You’re just like me, aren’t you? Always wanting more.” He checks with Sam though. “You want to go first? Easier to catch her when she trips?” He waits until Sam can speak.
“Yeah. Not yet though.” Sam breathes hard for a moment.
“It’s good today, isn’t it, Sammy?”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes,” Costa says, looking at me, “the longer it takes, the deeper you can go under. And you look like you’re just fine taking your time.”
I can hardly see, but I drop my hand to the side and soak myself with Sam’s blood. “More. Do it again.”
Costa gives me a wry smile. Then, just a hint, he jiggles the knife a fraction inside me. “Like that?”
Every nerve reacts with gratification to the movement, and I would do anything to stay like this forever. The sensation is beyond provocative, beyond just sexual. It’s everything.
“You really do have a thing for this, don’t you?” he coos. “Being with you makes this so much better for Sam. I’ve never seen him enjoy it this much. And I don’t know that I’ve ever enjoyed it this much either.”
Costa presses his lips together, and with two hands, he rips the knife from my stomach, immediately plunging it into his own stomach. His focus stays on me, and I’m further intoxicated by the mix of heat and death on his face. He doesn’t make a sound, even when he moves the blade back and forth the way he did for me. He blows me a kiss and takes it out, blood beginning to stain his shirt, beautifully soaking into the fabric.
“Oh God…” He braces himself on the couch as the rush overtakes him.
As though he can read my thoughts, he raises his shirt a bit. Then, he takes my hand and presses it to him so that I feel his blood. It’s like velvet—so thick, so soft. Slowly, I rub my hand over his abdomen, c
oloring his skin. He gives me time to explore the shape of him, the brilliance of the red, the feel of the thick liquid.
When my charge level has left me breathless and nearly blind, he speaks softly, “Sam’s ready. Are you?”
“Yes, Costa,” I hear myself talking, but I’m not sure how I’m making it happen. “I want to go under now.”
Costa moves my arm out of the way and angles his body over Sam and me in an embrace. “Go get my kid, Sammy.”
“With everything I have,” Sam gets out.
Costa drives the knife into Sam one final time, and when the love of my whole world stops breathing, the taste of his death pours into me.
Costa whispers, “He’ll be right there when you go. Don’t be afraid of the dark. You’re not alone.”
“I know…” I want that knife back. Now.
Costa touches his lips to mine. “Make Sam see.” He gently kisses me, and just as his tongue eases into my mouth, the knife enters my side. He shakes it inside me, sending vibrations through my entire body, as he presses his tongue deeper into my mouth.
And then, the darkness comes.
It’s such a fast transition. The pleasurable experience is taken from me as I’m tossed into the heavy gel of the underworld. Immediately, Sam has me against him though, so there’s no time for any panic to set in. Slowly, I lift my head. He looks at me, and I’m able to move enough to indicate that I’m all right. I want him to do what he needs to do. I let myself float in his arms while he scans. I watch him and wait.
It’s exhausting for me to narrow my thoughts, but I fill my mind with the idea of vision and truth—and of Toby. I think about the pictures I’ve seen of him, the way Costa has his own childlike side that tugs at my soul and makes me know what a wonderful father he must have been. And could be again. I think about how Costa and I both have parents who disastrously failed us and how he would never do that to Toby. He’s done so much already for the sake of his son. Despite his flaws, Costa is deserving, and he should be with his son.
It’s then that Costa shoots into my sight. Unlike the last time I saw him under after he first tripped me, his eyes are clear. He touches a hand to Sam. Even in the haze of the dark world, I can see their shared determination.
Sam repositions me so that we are holding on to each other’s wrists, and he can maneuver more easily. The under substance we are in is pressing against my body, making me claustrophobic, even as Sam is able to fluidly guide us. While I know that I’m here to augment Sam’s vision power, I nonetheless feel utterly useless, like a weight that is slowing him down.
Time is again elusive, but I try not to worry about how long we’ve been under. This is not about my discomfort at all, so I’m more than willing to swallow this disorientation and unpleasantness. Costa takes my other hand to ease some of Sam’s hindrance. Flashes of glittery light splash before my eyes for a moment.
He’s my tripper, I think. No wonder I react to him when I’m under.
There is a brief moment in which he appears to get a wash of death-tripping pleasure from our touch as well, and his body nearly spasms, but he’s able to shake it off.
Sam notices both of our responses, but he doesn’t stop moving.
There’s the occasional flash of lighter area as we traverse territory. While it’s hard to understand distance, based on the stream of pressure that travels over my skin, it feels to be significant. Sam occasionally slows us to a stop and then darts us in another direction.
He’s hunting, I think.
I grow increasingly concerned when he winces and turns away, so I again direct my energy to him. I close my eyes because the dark and the totally unsettling sensory experience here might be interfering.
There comes a point when I start to ache. At first, it’s only minimal hurt, a feeling of soreness. But then later, after we’ve explored for what I assess to be hours and hours, a cold deep pain reaches into my bones. I feel as though I’m being drained, that my insides are turning into liquid ice and being sucked from my body. The silence under here is not my friend, but I’m happy that Costa and Sam cannot hear what I would vocalize.
With hope, I use what’s left of my strength to angle my head through the current so that I can see Sam, but there’s no sign that he is any closer. My eyes close again, and I no longer have the ability to straighten my thoughts or to control where they go. I need to sleep. I need the pain to stop. I need to vanish. The physical and emotional emptiness inside me becomes more than I can fight off, and I black out.
I regain consciousness to the sound of stone smashing apart as the three of us crash to the surface. Broken concrete and patio tile fall around me, and I cough repeatedly and try to take in air. There is more noise when the shattered material reforms and rebuilds the solid surface below us. I roll onto my stomach and continue coughing deeply, saliva accumulating in my mouth, until I am drooling onto fresh tile. I desperately need water, but then I remember what’s happening. I push up onto my knees and look around. It’s still night, but the outside lights are on, so I can see Costa wobbling to a stand and Sam on all fours with his head on the ground. I keep looking.
Oh God, there’s no one else.
“Sam?” I’m raspy and raw, probably barely audible. “Sam?”
He lifts his head. I don’t have to ask because I know the answer.
He didn’t find Toby.
I crawl to Costa. My body is yearning for food and human contact, but I push hard against my surge impulses. They’ll have to wait. When I reach him, I wrap my body over his and feel his sobbing penetrate through me.
“I’m so sorry.”
Nothing but devastation is coming from him. He keeps his arms over his face, and his fingers wad tightly in his hair as he comes undone. Sam lies down on his side in front of Costa and puts an arm around him so that our friend is sandwiched between us in whatever comfort we can offer.
“I looked everywhere. I promise you. I looked until I couldn’t anymore. Costa, there was no sign of him.”
Costa lets out such an anguished wail that my heart threatens to never recover. Any sense of surge dissipates immediately, and I can tell from the way Sam is holding himself that his has, too.
A surge, it seems, cannot survive such grief.
I ease away from the boys and let them hold each other. This is, in many ways, pain that they share alone. I get myself inside and to the kitchen sink where I vomit and then run my face under water. I drink from the tap, but even under the noise of the faucet, I can hear Costa’s cries. I really believed that we would find Toby. I did. I turn off the water and see that Costa is now standing. He shoves Sam hard enough to send him flying back a few feet, so I rush back outside.
Costa is unglued and hysterical. “He’s dead! Toby is dead!” This isn’t a surge. It’s just raw agony. He lunges again, pounding his fists into Sam’s chest. “It’s happening all over. Oh God, I don’t want to do this. Sammy, make it stop! I’ll do anything. Just make it stop!”
Sam tries to grab him, but he has his own tears to compete with now. “I know. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re going to get through this, Costa. I’m here. Stella is here.”
Suddenly, Costa stops and goes silent just for a moment. “I’m not living like this, not anymore. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I won’t do it.”
“You don’t have a choice, brother.” Sam is as destroyed as Costa, but somehow, he is able to hold it together for his friend. “You will find a way. You will.”
“I need to be alone,” Costa says flatly. Then, he looks at me. “Thank you both. For everything. I just need to be alone.”
“Of course.” Sam hesitates, but then he walks to me.
We go through the glass door to the living room and leave Costa.
I put myself in Sam’s arms. “This is my fault, isn’t it? Something happened to me down there, and I couldn’t hang on. Did you surface because of me? Maybe you could have kept going. Toby might be there. If you had more time—”
“No.” Sam is firm. “No. I took us everywhere I could see, and he wasn’t there. No sign of him at all, Stella. It’s like a fucking maze there. No way to tell where you are really. No landmarks. Just space.”
“But you surfaced us back here, so that means you know how to find some things.”
“This is home. It’s like a beacon. Same with the house in Watermark.” I know by his flat tone that he’s numb, in the same shock that I am that we failed. “It can be harder to find other locations sometimes, but you almost always know how to go home.” Sam puts his face against my shoulder and wets my shirt with his tears.
“Sam…”
Costa is pacing outside. Something more is going on, something more than him just needing to be alone.
“Sam,” I say more loudly.
“Yeah?”
Costa sees me looking at him, and he meets my eyes. There is apology and desperation in them.
“No,” I whisper. “Costa, no!”
In slow motion, he moves like a panther, stealthy and silent, for the few yards it takes to reach the table by the grill.
“No!” I scream as I start running.
Sam follows me outside, but Costa has doused himself in lighter fluid before either of us can reach him, and there’s a stick lighter in his hand. I make a move toward him, but Sam grabs me by my shirt and pulls me back. He knows we can’t stop Costa from doing what he wants. He’s too fast. Just a flick of that lighter is all it will take.
“No. Costa, no!” I do what I can to control my tone so that I don’t sound as terrified as I feel.
“I’ll just keep tripping,” he says simply. “It’s the only way to stay out of this world. I’ll death-trip forever and never come out of it. I can’t live like this. It’s not living, so I’ll just keep dying.”
“I’m begging you not to do this,” Sam says tearfully. “Please don’t. It’s not the answer. Stay with us.”
“It’s the only answer.” There’s a fraction of a pause. “Shitting rainbows, right, Stella?” Costa clicks the lighter and touches it to his shirt. Immediately, he ignites in a roar of fire.
Sam grabs me and hides me against his body. His hands move to my ears so that I won’t hear the crackling of the flames or the yowl of defeat that Costa releases.