by Drue M Scott
A whispered voice interrupted his thoughts and creeping rage. A soft-spoken, almost-enchanting timbre glided past his ears as though the words came from no discernable direction. Vaguely familiar, the sound twitched within him like half-forgotten memories. Unable to make out what was being said—it was like hearing another language—beautiful, yet beyond understanding. Brennan lifted himself from the grassy meadow and stood expecting to see a familiar face smiling across the field. There was no one there. For a moment, it felt as though his heart had skipped a few beats. His body became heavy and sore. Sight shifted into haze, and he tumbled over back into the soft grass landing hard upon the earth. Light became dark, the fading whisper trailed off into nothingness, and it seemed that all existence had paused. Though he was certain not another living soul was with him in the meadow, he swore he could feel a kind presence surrounding him.
A warm flush to his sensitive skin stood hairs on end and tickled his senses. A steady pulse of emotion rose within him threatening to burst out into the meadow and outshine the brightest sun in the cosmos. The whisper returned. Still just shy of being comprehensible, the voice, clearly masculine, felt as though each syllable caressed his flesh. He did not need to hear the words to understand it was melancholy and empathy, love and loss.
“We are going to be taking care of you now, young Brennan.” A new voice, her voice, was angelic and unthreatening; yet it felt strong to him.
The soft curves of her face set his young, racing mind at ease. She was the prettiest woman he had ever seen, and suddenly, he was just a boy again, completely overtaken by the memory.
“Are you hungry?” She questioned pulling on his shoulder, bringing him to her side, and cradling her arm around him. “My name is Megan; I am a friend of your father.” Her eyes glistened with unformed tears, but her smile never faltered as she led Brennan into the ramshackle old barn converted into a storage house.
The sea voyage over to America was rough; he remembered it being filled with angry men and sick women. Storms plagued their journey—both from nature and from within the small confines of the dark wooden ship. Nights bled into days, and days spilled over into more than a week. It was the most grueling thing his young mind could have ever imagined. That was until the morning he realized his parents were gone. No one on board could remember when they disappeared. It was rumored they had jumped overboard late in the night taken by some form of insanity. He only knew that his loving mother and stern father were no longer there to protect him. Brennan had seen Megan and her husband Howard on the ship many times. He knew that his dad spoke with them both often but could not make out the true nature of those conversations. A tear raced up upon him, and as though it was the lead in a parade of tears that would follow, he could not hold it back any longer. His shoulders shook as his chest heaved in uncontrollable sorrow.
“There, there, my darling boy, it will be okay.” Megan knelt to his height and guided him gently into her warm, strong embrace. Resting his head upon her shoulder and continuing to sob, Brennan felt the world he knew slip away into painful isolation. But she was so warm, so comforting, he felt safe in her embrace, and though he grieved—heavily—something within him knew Megan would not allow anyone or anything to ever hurt him like this again.
“You are not alone, my boy.” Soft words in his ear. “You are not alone.”
Those words echoed, and with each reverberation, they became deeper and sounded less like Megan. A transforming of tonality and switching of bass and depth, the voice—with a barely perceivable draw on the vowels—made her words its own. No longer words of comfort and sympathy, they had become something much more desperate and filled with angst.
“You are not alone.” Each word pounded on his eardrums. Jolting up from the ground to confront the faceless voice shouting at him, Brennan was shocked to see that he was still unaccompanied. I am, yet, still alone. He pondered his declaration as though he was almost questioning its validity. The meadow was warm and welcoming, as it had always been. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel lost within it. The hot breeze warming his skin, the perfectly placed trees that lined the outer edges of the pristine green carpet of grass, the perfectly blue sky with billowing, white clouds morphing into a million shapes, none of it held the awe it once did.
“Brennan,” the voice softened, but only slightly, “You know me. You are not alone. Fight to stay; fight the rage.”
It struck hard when the sudden realization hit him. Brennan felt his body go weak again, and he nearly fell headlong to the ground. Certainty still eluded him regardless of how much he swore with every fiber of his newly corporeal form that he knew this voice. Holding back his own skepticism, he yelled out, questioning the empty meadow, or whoever was listening, with hope and fear.
“Jason?” He knew the energy life-force of Mikale’s lover was within his own, but the idea that Jason was strong enough to converse shocked him. Several times, Brennan had been aware of the guiding force for good that Jason was certainly feeding within him; the new fact that he could hear his voice, however, was unnerving. The brief idea of expelling Jason’s life-force when Brennan first left San Francisco fluttered around his mind, but somehow, having the essence of the man Mikale loved present, made him feel less angry, more human.
Needs and Wants
He knew something wasn’t right, but the confusion he felt was far stronger than his questioning mind. His eyes could barely focus, and his limbs felt weaker than they had ever before. His body ached, and the reasons behind the feelings were just not there. Time held no relevance, though admittedly he could not suss out a date or time or much else beyond the infernal notion that something just wasn’t in line with reality. Attempting to lift his head from the floor was strenuous and prodded his torso with pain.
“Mikale,” a soft concerned voice echoed in his mind. “We need to get up now.” It continued to speak, but the words were lost in the swirling discombobulated thoughts relentlessly muddying up his brain.
The taste of blood soured in Mikale’s mouth, and suddenly, he remembered where he was. The floor before him was covered in gore, and he could see his love, naked and dead, lying there as a pile of broken flesh and bones. Anger filled him with a flush of heat, and he forced his body to sit up. The singularly most painful day of his existence was replaying in his mind, again. Is this real? It felt so real. Despite the many months since its occurrence, the moment held every detail in harsh focus. Unfathomable pain swelled within him. Tears poured freely, and each one carried a sliver of his being. He would surely cry himself into nothing—an empty shell, soulless and emotionally dead. Am I asleep? The question was a pinch to tender flesh as a reminder that this wasn’t actually happening again. Or is it? Desperation of it being a memory or a nightmare flooded Mikale. I can’t do this…
“Mikale!” A strong, masculine voice shattered his thoughts. “Wake up!”
Shaking his head as if to shrug away the horror he no longer wanted to see, Mikale found himself lying on hardwood floors in a small room with a single bed and nightstand. Clearly a hotel room with its over-washed bed spread and tacky adornments, it looked rustic and cheap enough to be a roadside stop for truckers or a rent-it-by-the-hour destination for unsavory guests. It smelled of mildew and chlorine. Choking as he tried to take a deep breath, Mikale questioned Stewart calmly. Where are we? They both paused as Stewart detailed his taking control of Mikale’s body after escaping the snow cave-in. They had made it free, but whether from exertion or loss of will, Mikale had fallen limp into the snow.
I may have stolen some of your energy in order to save us. Stewart regretfully conveyed what he felt to be a necessary grievance. “I was unable to wake you.” Choosing to speak through his host’s vocal chords, Stewart continued, “I carried us both here.” The memory of drudging through snow and brush for the many miles it took to get to the hotel weighed heavy on both their energies. “I believe we’re somewhere between Fairbanks and Denali National Park.”
The damage to Mik
ale’s body from the strenuous hike and extreme distances in the cold had caused them both to recede into the depths of Mikale’s soul in order to remain intermeshed. It had also opened up the well of unresolved pain and anger within them both.
“We are becoming more tightly bound,” Stewart began speaking again before they both slid back into the depths of memories. “I fear I may have to leave you in order that we do not confuse one’s thoughts with the other’s.” Mikale dropped his shoulders in disappointment.
“I do not wish for you to leave. I have grown comfortable with you here, and though I know you have your own thoughts and needs, I cannot imagine how I could handle my own such sorrows without you.” His desperation in healing from the pain of losing Jason pricked Stewart’s life-force. “I know that I have recovered physically, and you’ve no real reason to maintain sharing head space with someone who is such a head-case, but…” Mikale faded off as he began to cry.
“It is fine, Mikale, I shall remain. There are still some physical improvements that my shared energy could expedite in order that you may be back to your normal self... well, at least in body.” His words felt limp and hardly strong enough to provide any comfort, but Stewart could feel the ease wash over Mikale as he spoke. His own essence though, abated. There was something at his core that felt off-center. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew remaining with Mikale was diminishing some other task within his soul that needed doing.
“I miss him so much.” More tears fell free of Mikale’s eyes. “I miss him so very much. I wish with all that I have that I could hold him once again, smell his neck as he holds me tight to his chest. I want…”
“I know, my dearest Mikale.” The emotional outburst quickly pulled Stewart from his pondering exploration. “I know what you long for, but what we must, the both of us, focus on what we CAN have and what we NEED to do.” Trying not to sound harsh as he interrupted Mikale, Stewart continued. “I cannot put my finger squarely on it, but I know that we need to find Brennan and relieve him of the pain and anger that fuels his angst. We must find a way to rebalance that which has been thrown so far off balance.”
“Balance,” A soft nameless echo of a voice rippled through his being.
“Did you hear that?” Stewart’s life-force jumped in startled response.
“Hear what? You said we needed to rebalance…”
“There was a voice.” Stewart paused confused. “Did you…?”
“I agree. We need to find a way to help Brennan find balance.” Mikale’s agreement registered with Stewart as his host finished speaking.
Drying the tears that had fallen, Mikale moved himself over to the ridiculously small bathroom and peered into the mirror. They could, the both of them, focus using Mikale’s eyes, but it was far easier for Stewart to simply allow his friend to maintain rudimentary controls over the body so that he could focus more on mending the few remaining lesions in Mikale’s energy. A task that he hoped would distract from the odd sensation he had just experienced. The damage inflicted the night Brennan fell into rage should have resulted in Mikale’s soul taking solace in Idir, but instead, Stewart held him on this physical plane. It was not completely unnatural though it was an action that would hold some consequence. The energy Mikale was left with that day could not function as healer and protector at the same time. He needed assistance. Stewart knew he could use his energy to heal Mikale and allow Mikale’s own life-force to keep itself anchored to its vessel’s flesh. If the body doesn’t die fully, the soul would have no reason to leave for Idir. At least, he had hoped as much. Though Stewart, for the most part, had repaired the damage done, the sorrow of Mikale’s pain and the constant bombardment of physical challenges they had suffered chasing Brennan, necessitated his body’s need of a more constant presence. Stewart knew the longer he remained within his gracious yet melancholy host meant that separation would be more difficult. He understood the potential irreversible damage he may be causing by remaining for such an extended amount of time, but it felt as though the present situation was far worse than anything that could result from sharing energy with such a loving soul. His greatest concern, however, was Mikale’s inability to accept other human contact since Jason was murdered; the same day Kyna was killed. Stewart’s mind swiftly ran free of him and spiraled into sorrow for his lost love. Her soft, flowing hair, her strong stance, her pleasure at teasing him, she was the truest yin to his yang. They were the natural balance, in his opinion. Sorrow swelled within him when Mikale felt the uneasiness that had started to replace the calm that Stewart usually provided.
“Are you ok?” He quickly questioned hoping to bring whatever trail of sorrow his guest soul was on to a halt.
“I am… Now,” Stewart responded not completely sure he believed his own words. “I was momentarily lost in thoughts better left for another time.” Noticing Mikale had carried them from the bathroom back to the small living space of the hotel room, Stewart shifted his thoughts. “This place really is seedy, isn’t it?” He assumed momentary control shifting Mikale’s stance enough to take in the disheveled appearance of the smelly, one bed hotel room. “The energy here is not all that pleasant, either. I wonder what terrible things have transpired behind these moldy walls and tacky curtains. I bet the room has amassed quite the number of stories over the years.” Relinquishing movement back to Mikale, he lowered his voice, “We should move on as soon as your body feels up to it.”
With a half-smile and fake laugh, Mikale rested himself on the edge of the bed. Each coil within the over-used mattress and box spring creaked at his movement. Barely fighting to hold his weight, the cheap hotel bedding allowed Mikale to sink down until the corners of the mattress began to rise on both sides. A hearty laugh burst forth before Mikale could even consider what had happened.
“Breakfast?”
Stewart chuckled. It’s 5:30 in the evening.
They both giggled, and with an audible sigh, moved towards the shower. At first, it had felt awkward for Stewart to remain within Mikale during such physically naked moments, but time had lessened the unease and replaced it with a joyful remembrance of what it felt like to have warm water pour over your body. Often, Mikale would simply allow Stewart to “have the controls” and then giggle at how much pleasure his guest took from simply washing his body—their body. It had all gotten to be so convoluted. Mikale had almost forgotten what it was like to live without the presence of another soul within him: the extra energy, the constant feeling of being connected, and the elimination of loneliness. It was the highest high he had ever felt, and there was no hangover or crash to suffer for it. He knew the day would come that Stewart would have to leave him, but he was not going to focus on such things while his visitor still remained.
“You know you have remained in here long enough to prune my skin, again.” Mikale interrupted the shower. “You and Brennan both have such a hunger for the things you once lost.” He paused, “Brennan couldn’t get enough of taking in deep breaths, and you… well, you really like water, huh?” Mikale cracked a smile. The chlorinated scent of the hot water pouring down from the crusted shower head blanketed them in a warm embrace. Mikale began to drift off again in thought. Frequently, when he let himself go, his immediate focus fell to Jason and memories of his lost love. He could almost feel Jason’s hands on his shoulders rubbing gently as he lathered soap downward to his lower back. He had such strong hands, but they were always gentle in their strength. Unintentionally, Mikale resumed control over his limbs and began to caress his wet slightly pruned skin. Touching his abdomen the way Jason would wrap his arms around in order to hug their bodies in tightly, Mikale drifted further off into memory. How soft a kiss he had when he would place his lips to my neck and then whisper how much he loved me. His hands slid lower, and he tilted his head as if to allow a deeper kiss on the side of his neck. He always took such pleasure in touching me all over until my very soul screamed to be made love to. His eyes were closed as his right hand made contact with his growing privates.
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“MIKALE!” Stewart shouted out in fear or some other panicked emotion that startled his host into almost falling in the shower. “Can we not do that while I am here?” His words trembled under his uneasy awkwardness. Stewart had seen Mikale’s privates, often, but pleasuring them was a whole-soul experience that he would rather not become familiar with. He could see each day that his remaining within Mikale had weakened his host’s desire to seek out physical or emotional connections with others. Stewart could sense the addiction of having another entity within Mikale was taking hold. He understood the allure, the ease at which that addiction could be fed, but he knew as well, it would eventually have to be addressed.