by Drue M Scott
##
A strange smell assaulted Mikale’s senses as he partially opened his eyes. He could tell he was warmed by a fire, but the smell and awkwardly uncomfortable floor on which he laid was a mystery to him. Shouting echoed from somewhere behind him, but the words were not clear, and the voice not recognizable.
Stewart? The search for his soul’s companion remained strictly within his own life-force. There was no sense in alerting the shouting man to his being awake, just yet. Are you there?
I am. Stewart’s response was labored but encouraging. How do you feel?
To be honest, I’m not sure. Mikale desperately sought the right words to describe what he felt, but none presented themselves. Surveying his surrounding, as best he could from the floor, he noticed the boarded windows and chair peculiarly set against what had to be the front door. These facts caused more stress and befuddlement than ease. I feel like I’m waking up from a nightmare; but one that has, somehow, also been real. Attempting to convey what he thought he sensed as truth, Mikale slowly, and with pain, lifted himself from the floor. His arms gave way and he slumped back to the wood below him.
Then you have no memory of… Stewart immediately paused deciding on a better way to pose the question. What’s the last thing you distinctly remember?
Being shot! The memory involuntarily raised Mikale’s hand to his chest. There were no bandages. How long have I, have we been out? For there to be no bandages after a gunshot the likes he suffered, it must have been weeks. Mikale jumped up from the floor. The associated pain with movement was no longer in the forefront of his mind. The discomforting realization he was still in a hospital gown, and one that didn’t really cover him all that well, forced his posture into a slumped attempt to cover his ass. Can you tell me what’s going on?
Sadly, my friend, I cannot.
Cannot or will not? Mikale snapped back. He didn’t mean for it to sound angry, but the panic in him colored his words.
It is a bit of both, my friend, to be honest. The reasons will have to wait. I can promise you that how we ended up in this ramshackle hut still in our hospital gown is a complete mystery to me, though. Stewart’s strength ramped up more quickly. Neither of them cared to guess how, but Mikale figured it was because of the amount of adrenaline he could feel coursing through him. And one I intend to solve right now.
Set on the goal of discovery, Mikale gently stepped towards the room where he heard the yelling, which had recently stopped. Each slow and purposeful step felt like it took minutes, but he did not want the boards to squeak under his bare feet. The damp air tickling his flesh, not well covered by the hospital gown, made each movement all the more uncomfortable.
Who saved us? Mikale queried as he cringed from his right foot causing one board to speak up. Can you at least share that much?
His name is Mathieu. Stewart responded sarcastically. He is a good man, but someone I am not sure we can trust.
What the hell does that mean? Stopping abruptly and rebalancing himself, Mikale blasted back with sarcasm equal to what he felt he had received. It’s simple; do we trust him or not?
Yes, because he saved you; No, because he is too familiar with fractured souls and energy.
And what basis is that to judge the worth of a man? I know about fractured souls. Frustration flared up in Mikale. A sudden breeze channeled in between two boards and blew his paper thin gown up amplifying his indignation. Could they not have covered my goddamn cock with something more? Immediately reverting back to his point, he chastised Stewart. If you had met me in some other manner, would you have not trusted me? Just because someone knows about your stupid fight with broken energy and fucking murderers, doesn’t automatically mean they aren’t worthy of trust.
Point taken, Stewart promptly conceded. You don’t have to bite my head off though. He calmly rejoined.
Edging closer to the door, even slower than they had crossed the living space, Mikale quietly poked his head around the worn hinge, which at some point had been painted green. The sight of Mathieu switching between mouth-to-mouth and chest compressions startled them both. As the man screamed, blue bolts of energy burst from his hands and into the other man’s chest. Strobing hues of light and dark distorted their sight, but they could see clearly enough to notice the transfer. Drawing his head back away from the door as Mathieu fell limp, and the other man shot upright, Mikale mockingly speculated.
Maybe you were right.
##
“Breaking News” the TV blasted the animation across the screen, lighting up the small bed and cramped confines Jacob rested in. Lying next to him was a bound man squirming under his entrapments and screaming beneath the dirty rag stuffed in his mouth. Sprawled out unclothed and beaten, the man kicked, as best he could, against the ropes that were chafing the flesh of his ankles. Jacob had ambushed him just outside the small apartment the man had called home for the past three years. An avid runner, he frequently took late night jogs around the block with his headphones. Jacob took advantage.
“Shhh, I want to hear this.” Jacob placed a finger over the dirty cloth and smirked. “It’s not every day you get featured on the news, after all.” Cuddling up to the man in his late 20s, he ran his fingertips over the frightened captive’s chest. Covered in well-groomed red hair, the man was toned with etched muscles defining his pecs and abs nicely, a trait Jacob was becoming increasingly fond of. The many freckles covering the distressed man’s body lent the illusion of texture beneath his close-trimmed body hair. .
“Just in from our correspondents in Portland, there have been reported deaths in an as yet ongoing investigation,” The young female reporter was visibly shaken. “KPUU is on the scene in Portland, and we want to warn our viewers, some of the images may be graphic.”
“Ohhh, graphic,” Jacob mocked. “I wonder, does anyone ever really turn the channel when the reporters warn that things may be graphic?” Playing connect the dots between his victim’s freckles with his middle finger, Jacob laughed. The frightened runner squirmed trying to avoid each of his captor’s touches. “I mean, honestly, who doesn’t love a little bit of blood and violence.” Smacking the man open handed on his stomach, he chuckled. A bright red hand print rose to the pale skin of his victim. “I know I like it; how about you?”
“We can confirm now that at least 100 are dead in what appears to be a coordinated attack on this small Portland suburb hospital.” The reporter pointed behind herself towards the roped-off building. Fire trucks, police cars, and a S.W.A.T. vehicle, all lined up behind her, made the whole scene that much more exciting for Jacob. “We are learning now that at 9:59 this evening a 9-1-1 call was made by a young woman claiming that a terrorist was killing patients on the seventh floor of this quiet town’s local hospital.” For dramatic flair, the camera zoomed in to the reporter’s face, which with the red/blue flashing lights behind her, filled the entire TV screen.
Jacob squealed in giddy pleasure. “Did you see that?” Questioning his victim, Jacob bounced his weight back and forth on the twin-sized bed. “They were going for dramaticism.” Laughing, he ran his fingers up the obliques of the other man to the patch of ginger hair in his arm pits. “Is that even a word?” Tickling the man, he turned back towards the TV. “I’m not sure. I barely graduated high school, but I like the sound of it.”
“Katahniesha, the 9-1-1 caller,” The local news correspondent caught Jacob’s attention again. “reported that it was at least one man, in his middle 20s, using a weapon she had never seen before.”
“A weapon?” Anger boiled up in Jacob suddenly. “A Fucking Weapon?” He sat up from the bed and twisted from the waist to face his bound and gagged toy. “Do I look like someone who needs a WEAPON?” The man squealed in fear. “I don’t think so.”
“She is claiming the gun the killer used glowed blue each time he fired it. She is also reporting that the light was so intense it lit up the rooms brighter than day.” Despite being fantastical in nature the female reporter’s face did not s
how any skepticism. “KPUU can confirm, our sources say there was an unidentified light in several of the windows on the seventh floor, but we cannot confirm its color or if it was, in fact, a gun that made it.” The camera zoomed out to reveal the hospital and the full height of the reporter. “The local authorities are not releasing any additional information at this time, but we will be sure to keep you updated as more becomes available.”
“This world is in for a surprise, come Friday.” Jacob leaned down and kissed the tied-up man on the chest. His victim shuddered in fear and jerked his body away in disgusted anger. “Not into guys, huh?” Jacob snickered. “I wasn’t either until I tried a few.” Rolling himself on top of the man, he mocked the movements of sexual intimacy. “Maybe 50,” he paused, “or a hundred. You know it’s so hard to keep count sometimes.” Bending over into the other man’s face, he continued. “You know what I’m saying, don’t you? I mean you’ve got the body of a fuck-boy, so I am sure all the ladies wanted a piece of your,” reaching behind himself as he sat upright again, Jacob latched onto the man’s penis pulling it taught just shy of tearing it from his body. Shuffling off the bed and onto his feet he, let go. “I’ll give you a choice,” moaning in sadistic pleasure, “You’re gonna love this.” Throwing his arms outward in a triumphant pose, Jacob invited his victim to admire the glory of his presence. “One: I do whatever I please with your body, and you enjoy it,” gesturing to his lower areas as he began to shed his clothes, “and I won’t kill you.” Sliding his jeans and underwear off in one swift movement, he mockingly placed his hands over his dick in faux modesty. “Or two: resist me in any way, and you will die in the most hideous way a man’s brain can imagine.” The horror on the young man’s face was pure ecstasy for Jacob. “Deal?” Stretching as he removed his shirt and revealed his exceedingly fit body, Jacob continued to laugh. His muscles were taut and his physique impeccable.
“We’ve discussed this before,” Devin interjected stepping into the room. His shoulders hunched and posture slumped. “Kill him, take his energy, and let’s go.”
“You’ve not the power to stop me from my fun,” Jacob shouted back. “Besides, we have time enough for me to enjoy this one.” Pointing out his prey tied to the twin bed. “The curtains match the carpet.” In mock amazement at his declaration, he bounced in closer to the red-headed runner. “Have you seen this?” Quickly lifting the man’s dick and wiggling it for Devin to see, Jacob scoffed. “Go be grumpy somewhere else or join in on the fun.”
“Don’t take too long.” Devin turned away and exited the room disgusted. Realizing the monster he had handed over to the world had finally reached the stage, in which his own strength would not be sufficient in stopping him, he sighed heavily. Never one to give in to remorse, or anything that resembled it, Devin slouched over. I need a plan.
##
Multi-colored dots and wavy focus filled Lucas’ sight, but it did nothing to improve the dankness of the decrepit hut. It was just as unfriendly a sight as it was when he first came upon it three months prior. If anything, it had become worse re-entering it this evening and being shocked back to life within its deteriorating walls. There was nothing that even attempted to change his mind on its ugliness, either. His heart raced, and heavy breaths hurt his chest as it rose and fell in time with the pounding in his ears. A violent ringing muted his hearing as he gently ran his fingers over the assaulted flesh beneath his chin. His throat hurt, but he was relieved by the knowledge he was still alive. Turning, as best he could counterclockwise towards his friend, he saw Mathieu lying still upon the floor. The fear, which threatened to rise, was set at ease when he noticed Mathieu still drew breath.
“Mattie?” The question was meant for his friend, but it felt empty in the space between them. Sliding his aching body to be closer, Lucas laid his hands upon his friend’s chest. “Mattie.”
Mathieu slowly drew his hands up to his face; the movement filled Lucas with relief. Looking on in fear and love as his friend began to shake from grief, the reality of how badly he had scarred Mathieu broke Lucas’ heart. His own guilt forced the weight of his body down. Dropping his head onto Mathieu’s chest, overpowering anguish took hold; the two were inconsolable.
Hearing the sobs of sorrow, Mikale peered around the corner again. The two men were curled into an embrace as the physicality of their grief attempted to wash their guilt away. Arms wrapped tightly around each other, they were two strong figures making one weeping form. He knew their souls needed time to heal, despite not knowing the cause of their mourning. The sight of it, though, pricked his heart.
“Do not be saddened.” Malachi appeared behind Mikale speaking softly. The eloquence of his structure matched the confidence of his words. “Their reconciliation was always going to happen one of two very different ways. The most likely was they would kill each other.” Stepping in he surveyed Mikale from head to toe. The obviousness of his actions made Mikale feel overtly self-conscious. “This outcome was the one I had hoped for.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“I am Malachi.” Flatly responding to the question as though the certainty of the answer should have already been known. “And you are Mikale.” He smiled placing his right hand on the shoulder of the paper-gowned man before him. “And I believe your guest is Stewart, is he not?”
“Sure. But that doesn’t answer my question,” Mikale stepped back and free of Malachi’s hand upon his right shoulder. “Who. The Hell. Are. You?”
Easy Mikale, I believe he saved us. Stewart chimed in.
“I am a guide. More importantly, I am the entity that saved you from certain death.” Malachi covered the distance that Mikale had made between them. “I believe that once you are clothed more comfortably, and our grieving friends find strength enough to join us, the many trails this story has taken will find convergence in your understanding.”
“Okay?” Mikale, still confused, accepted what Malachi spoke. “Can you answer this then,” he paused running his question by Stewart; they laughed. “Why do you speak funny?”
Smiling at the other man’s jest, Malachi leaned in and kissed both cheeks of Mikale’s good-humored face. “It is a good thing to find laughter in these moments.” His final kiss was to Mikale’s lips. Using his show of affection to draw in Mikale’s story and all knowledge he had of the whole picture, Malachi felt his own energy ripple under the sorrow of it. “The certainty of harder times is upon you unfortunately.” Malachi’s entire posture slouched slightly as he hated conveying unhappy news. “Moving forward with a trouble-laden heart would be most inadvisable, though.”
“Seriously, do you have to talk that way?” Mikale, still off balance by Malachi’s kiss, questioned, shaking his head as if to clear the clouds from his thoughts. “And do you have any clothes I can borrow?” Have, knowing he had no intention of returning whatever clothes he was able to cover his naked body with. “As much as the gown flatters my ass, I’d much prefer jeans and a T-shirt.”
Why are you suddenly so chipper? Stewart asked Mikale. This feels out of sorts, even for you.
I’m not sure. I recognize my concerns, and yours, but I can’t help but feel… Trying to find words, Mikale physically turned a full 360, showing off his ass unintentionally, and stopping as he arrived eye-to-eye with Malachi. Alive. The realization was profound. Stewart, we are alive.
I know Mikale. Stewart was still confused, and the sensation of it was a tickle to Mikale’s soul.
Don’t you get it? Leaning in, he hugged Malachi. We’re alive when we should be dead. Fuck! We were dead. The energy they both sensed radiating from Malachi’s aura was the epitome of peace. He is as powerful as Kyna, and he saved us.
And? Stewart couldn’t help but be sarcastic.
If he can pull a physical body housing two souls from the abyss, don’t you think he can remove Devin and Ken from Brennan? Excitement flooded his senses. He can save Brennan. Letting go of Malachi, Mikale smiled sheepishly. My Ken, too.
“To save your fr
iends would be too much weight upon the scales.” Malachi announced with sadness shifting his brow. “I’ve already acted too recklessly by bending rules before understanding fully the consequences of those choices.”
Surprise that Malachi had heard his and Stewart’s internal conversation contorted Mikale’s face as he stepped back so far that he entered the room where Mathieu and Lucas still grieved.
“Yes, I heard what you said to Stewart.” Malachi kept in pace with Mikale. His presence in the room shifted Mathieu’s composure, and he began to dry his eyes. “I have meddled in many aspects of this evening’s events, not the least of which was bringing you back from the grip of death.”
Pulling himself, and Lucas, up from the floor, Mathieu spoke. “Exactly how did you meddle?” A hint of annoyance flavored each of his words. His intention was not to be rude, but with all that had happened, he had taken all the crypticness he was going to allow. “Speak clearly, my friend, because I have suffered too much to play any more games.” Mathieu understood, more clearly than anyone there that Malachi could simply leave and never assist them again, but the risk had to be taken; clarity was of the utmost importance to him in that moment. “I’ve grown impatient, and the hour is too late to be hiding intentions behind the guise of being balanced. We need answers. We deserve them.”
“Did you believe that the elevator was simply there at the right time on the right floor just when you needed it to be?” Malachi’s presence seemed to grow larger in the smallness of the room. “The padlocked door just happened to open?” His voice rose in timbre and tone. “And I guess you believe that luck conveniently dropped the shelves you bumped into directly onto the door?” The anger furrowing his brow and tightening his muscles shifted his essence. The room felt cold and void of the peace that had recently filled it. “With not so much as a thank you for saving your friend, you demand clarity from me! Am I to understand that you are ordering me to answer your questions?”