by Cindy Mezni
5
A Monster Named Ezekiel
Once James was locked away in a cell, I sat down in a dark corner of the basement to wait for Xander and take advantage of a break from this day. A moment of tranquility that wouldn’t last because it wouldn’t be long before James came back from the dead and howled like an animal when he realized where he was. The basement, also nicknamed with black humor the “death row” by Xander. We probably couldn’t expect anything else from an executioner . . .
My eyes wandered around the place. I hated coming here. The cells, the floor, the very thick bars made of reinforced steel . . . Everything was still the same as in my memory, except for some additional scratches and bloodstains here and there. All that was needed was Ezekiel’s voice, and I’d have had the impression of being back to my first weeks as a Nëphyr. Being back in Hell.
Moved by some morbid curiosity, I got up and headed for the cell which, once upon a time, had been mine. I didn’t dare to go in, as if it was forbidden or doing it would make Ezekiel return. Still, I wanted to know if the marks were still there. When I’d come here four months ago, the marks of my stay in this anteroom of Hell, some fifty years ago, were intact. After hesitating for a few seconds, I took a deep breath and decided to enter. I spotted almost right away the marks in this small space. The traces of my pain, my terror, and the horror I’d lived were still on the walls. Dozens and dozens of lines to count the days. Residues of dried blood were still there in some places, but it was undoubtedly that of other people. In other places, deformations in the stone showed where my head or parts of my body had violently hit it. Evidences of my passage would never go away, just like these horrifying moments would never fade from my memory . . .
The monster—there was no other term to describe this man—made a dark-glassed bottle roll in my direction. My suspicious eyes went from it to my torturer several times. My parched throat was begging for what was inside it, but even if I was thirsty as hell, I didn’t want to drink it. I couldn’t trust this man, just like I couldn’t drink what he’d brought me. Maybe he’d put a drug in it to be able to do anything he wanted to my body. A shiver of disgust and terror swept over me at this thought. He had already tricked me once, he could do it again. But I wouldn’t let him.
“Drink,” he ordered quietly, but authoritatively.
I shook my head.
“Drink,” he repeated as he came closer to my cell bars.
Until now he’d stayed in the shadows. It was no longer the case. Even if I’d already seen him, my eyes couldn’t refrain from being enthralled by . . . this monster. It was horrible and it killed me to think such a thing, but I had to admit he was handsome. With his golden hair, his very pale blue eyes, his angular and perfect features, and his athletic build, the word “handsome” wasn’t strong enough. He looked like those flawless Greek gods, those stars we saw in movies, while having something different. Something more. A certain charm, but something dark and evil smoldered under the surface. Something we couldn’t help but admire, even if it was lethal. Just like a moth attracted to a flame, which ended up burning its wings to go near the irresistible light. But this monster had no light. There only was darkness in his gaze.
“You must drink to complete the transmutation.”
Once again, he was talking about transformation. My torturer was completely crazy, I’d quickly understood. Sadistic, mad and cruel, that was what he was. I remembered perfectly my last moments in the deserted and dark alley before I fainted and woke up here. He’d had this hideous face deformed by insanity and walked to me while his two accomplices had held me firmly. He’d taken my wrist and bitten it. Then he’d begun tearing my skin violently like an enraged animal. I shivered with terror just upon remembering it. The memory of the atrocious pain was still vivid in my mind. He’d done the same to his hand and forced me to bite it and drink his blood. This blood so black with a strange taste. I’d tried to resist, reluctant to swallow it, but his strength was so great I’d had no choice but to do it in order to not suffer even more. Then he’d started speaking in a language I didn’t know as if reciting a text or even an incantation. I’d lost consciousness after that. Or maybe I’d preferred to bury the rest because all this had been too hard. I didn’t know, and a part of me didn’t want to dwell on it anymore. Sometimes it was better not to—
“For Satan’s sake!” he shouted, interrupting my thoughts. “Will you drink it? Or do I have to come inside, grab you by the hair, and force you to swallow it?”
I gulped hard as my heart seemed to try extracting itself from my rib cage through its fierce beating.
“Well, then . . .” he sighed, taking out the keys from his pocket.
“I’ll drink it!” I said, alarmed, hoping he’d stay out of the cell.
I knew he could come in at any time, but to see him behind the bars, and not on my side, reassured me a little. I had the illusory feeling of being safe here and that he couldn’t hurt me as long as he stayed where he was.
Exhausted by the hunger and thirst that were tormenting me since I’d woken up here two days ago, I crawled to the bottle and took it. My fingers shook with fear. But fear of what? The monster or the liquid in the bottle? I had no idea, but even so, I had a very bad feeling. I removed the cap and sniffed it. I didn’t know where the reflex came from, but I had it anyway. This liquid had a smell, so it wasn’t water. My eyebrows furrowed. Why didn’t he give me water? I inhaled the smell again. I knew what it was, I was certain of that, even though I couldn’t put a name on it. Reluctantly, I drank a mouthful and spat it out right away. Disgusting! Horrible! It was—
The sound of an animal growl paralyzed my whole being. I raised my head and met the look of the monster. Lord, how could he have produced a sound so inhuman? He seemed furious. I was terrorized.
“Drink. All of it. If you dare to spit out a single drop again, I’ll get inside and force you to swallow it all. And if necessary, I’ll force you to swallow the bottle too,” he said aggressively.
He hadn’t to threaten me a third time. I drank. And even if it was difficult at the beginning, I quickly became used to the taste and swallowed the liquid very quickly. Once I was done, I felt a bit funny. All of a sudden, a sort of stifled growl burst out from my chest. Bewildered, my eyes became as round as saucers.
“What is—”
I fell silent when I saw him opening the door and coming into the cell. Instinctively, I began to move back to get away from him as much as possible. Before I could reach the back wall, the monster was himself behind me in a blink of an eye. He helped me back to my feet, his arms squeezing my rib cage to the point of suffocating me.
“What do you feel?”
I struggled like crazy. I wanted him to let go of me. This psychopath was going to break my bones and kill me, given how hard he was squeezing me!
“Tell me!” he said, annoyed by my silence.
Did he not understand he was preventing me from speaking? I would have been happy to speak my mind if only he let me the capacity to do so.
“Can’t—” were the only words I managed to say.
When he understood my problem, he released me unceremoniously. I brutally fell down on my knees and let out a moan of pain close to a groan when they collided with the ground.
“Speak. Now.”
He didn’t care I was suffering. But what did I expect? Did I really hope that he’d kneel down to mumble excuses and ask for my forgiveness? I was stupid. He wasn’t that kind of man—and I wasn’t even sure the term “man” could be used to describe him. He only was a madman who’d lured me into a trap. He’d subjected me to God knows what atrocious things and now he was holding me prisoner in a basement and wouldn’t stop telling me he was doing this for my own good. For my transformation to be a success and for me to become like him. Indeed, this man was insane and I shouldn’t expect to one day leave this place. These thoughts should have plunged me into utter despair, but I only felt a great anger. A fury exclusively directed at my
persecutor.
“There’s a limit to my patience,” he said, the tension in him palpable.
At any time, he could crack, yield to his desires and do something horrible to me. I should have been terrified! Yet I only had a single wish: for him to lose his temper and us to come to blows. It was a ridiculous wish in light of my frail appearance compared to his. But something profoundly buried in my being, that only asked to express itself, whispered to me that I was just as strong as him. Totally absurd, and yet a part of me was convinced of this.
“What do you feel at the moment? You feel some changes, right?”
I raised my head in his direction. I hadn’t the slightest idea of what he was speaking about.
“You no longer feel fear. I see it in your eyes. You only feel hatred. That’s perfect,” he said to himself. “Everything is unfolding even better than what I’d expected.”
He knelt to be at my level and grabbed my chin to force me to look him straight in the eye. The rare times when he’d previously touched me had terrorized me, but it was different now. At this instant, I wasn’t afraid of him. I hated him for what he’d done to me and the anger consuming me made me feel like striking him, killing him. Everything that was happening here was strange. This being wasn’t normal, neither was I anymore, and the events since our paths had met had no coherent explanation.
“You’ll be worthy of me.”
The way he’d said it, I didn’t know if it was an order or if it was an oath he’d made to himself. I just knew that I was going to do my best to thwart his plans. I should have tried to do everything in my power to please him for him to not kill me in a fit of rage. But I did the complete opposite of what my survival instinct was telling me. As if somebody else lived with me in my body or as if my fury possessed a will of its own.
“Over my dead body!” I spat with vehemence.
Much to my surprise, his only reaction was a half-smile. One of these smiles that, in the past, and if I hadn’t endured all the horrors of these last days, would have seduced me right away and prompted me to leave the place where we would have met to go to my home or his. But right here and now, his smile had only a single effect and it had nothing to do with sex. I wanted to kill him! I wanted it ardently! And I promised myself that one day I’d appease this desire, no matter what it cost me . . .
“Oh yes, you’ll be worthy of me,” he whispered suavely in my ear before abruptly seizing my face and pressing his lips against mine.
As I was unable to undo his grip on me, I put up with his assault and waited for it to end. I had the feeling of becoming another person, even if I was still the same. It was as if I was only anger now, as if the frightened young woman I was when I’d woken up here was gone. His tongue brutally wormed its way into my mouth. It was the final straw. Maybe I couldn’t push him away, but I could hurt him. I bit his tongue and his lower lip with violence. The taste of his blood in my mouth made me hiccup in surprise as he moved his face away from mine, wiping blood from the corner of his lips. My look wandered over the empty bottle somewhere in a corner of the cell. His blood. It had the same taste as the liquid he’d forced me to drink. Totally distraught, I wanted to ask him why he’d done that, but he’d disappeared.
I chased away this damn memory. That time was over. I wasn’t that woman, that human, anymore. Moreover, I was no longer human. And Ezekiel was part of the past now. I wasn’t weak anymore. I was Nemesis. I was Queen of the Ameïan clan, the biggest clan of Nëphyr in the American continent and one of the largest in the world. And I was no longer afraid of anybody; they were afraid of me now.
I felt a disenchanted laugh creeping on me. For all that it was worth! I held a position that I’d never wanted but had accepted out of respect for Efflamm. Every time I turned my back on somebody, I ran the risk of being stabbed. I couldn’t trust anyone. Some rare times I caught myself missing my human life. Not for its weak side, the feelings or because it’d been better than this one. But back then, at least, nobody wished my death, and I had to answer to no one for my actions. Here, everybody wanted to see me unmoving, lying in a pool of blood with my heart out of my chest. And that was the “censored” version. In truth, most of my enemies wanted to torture me for several days before dismembering me, finishing me off, burning my remains, and spitting on them—or something far more disgusting.
A scream took me away from my macabre scenarios. With a supple and silent movement, I got up and sniffed at the ambient air to try to detect a recent smell of fear in order to discover the identity of this person. But it was difficult to look for a particular scent in this place. It was filled with hundreds of fragrances, old and recent.
Nëphyr people had used the basement of this building as a prison, emergency larder, and room of torture for more than eighty years. More exactly since the arrival of my own kind in this building abandoned by the human beings. Before living here, the Ameïan clan lived in the sewers of New York, while waiting to find a place that could welcome all of them and where they wouldn’t be discovered. Moving to this residence had been a real boon. And we could say that the basement was very well appreciated. Back when Nëphyr people lived hidden from the rest of the world, it was where tramps, tourists and all persons who were easy to conceal without alerting too many people were kept until we ate them. The shady atmosphere, the smell of blood, which, by dint of massacres of all kinds, had soaked the walls and ground . . . All the ingredients were here for this place to become—ironically—a paradise for the Nëphyr. And it indeed was one for all except me. If I hadn’t spent so much time as a prisoner down there, unlike other Nëphyr, I’d have adored walking there to inhale the pleasant scent of death and listen to the sumptuous symphony of agony. But Ezekiel had taken that from me, as he’d taken many other things from me since we’d met.
A new and agonizing cry sounded. I got up and started walking, putting the bad memories in a corner of my mind. I eventually found the origin of the noises. Xander was in front of a cell with the lifeless body of Venom but also with his servant, Nolan, his face covered in blood.
“You must be a mind reader, Xander. I was looking for you to ask you to lock Venom up here.”
Xander turned to me, his legendary machete in his hand. I raised an eyebrow when my gaze fell on it.
“Let’s say that by a happy coincidence, I went back to my room when this wuss ran into me and told me you wanted me to do some cleaning.”
“And why did you bring Nolan here?” I asked.
“Let me out, I did nothing!” Nolan cried while holding on the very thick bars of the prison that he was sharing with Venom.
“Shut the Hell up or I’ll silence you for good!” Xander threatened him, shaking his weapon to frighten him.
Nolan immediately moved away from the bars with hurry, a glimmer of fear in his eyes. Now I understood why Xander had brought his machete. There was no better means of intimidation than a beautiful weapon able to cut off a head with a single movement.
“Since he said you wanted me to clean up, I supposed you were speaking of killing all the witnesses of the scene.”
“Let him go. He committed no fault.”
Xander stared at me, his thoughts written on his face. For him, Nolan had seen and heard things that he shouldn’t have, and consequently, he had to die. It wasn’t my way of doing things. He was innocent and I was certain he wasn’t going to talk. He’d be too afraid of being executed by Xander if he did.
“Open it!” I insisted, gesturing to the door.
Xander sighed, put his weapon back in its case begrudgingly but obeyed. Nolan tried to rush out hastily but Xander grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground. With his free hand, he locked up the cell where Venom still was.
“You stay alive but I’ll keep an eye on you, brat. If one day you stray from the straight and narrow, my machete won’t miss your little head. Got it?”
Nolan acquiesced hurriedly.
“Move!” Xander ordered him when he released him.
Nolan took to his heels. As soon as he was out of our sight, I burst out laughing as if all the anger and tension of this day had faded away with Xander’s intervention. He looked at me curiously. It was true that it was unusual to hear me laugh.
“Xander, terror of sandboxes,” I explained to him and he smiled.
It was a well-known fact that he was always eager to frighten new Nëphyr or Nëphyr who’d been transformed at a young age and were easily intimidated.
“It’s necessary to bring them to heel from the start so that they don’t become a burden for our Majesty,” he said with amusement.
“It’s the role of Venom and Logan the Supernanny as you call him. You, you are the Reaper. You only live to kill people. So why would you deprive yourself of killing some additional deviants?”
Goodbye humor, his expression became solemn all of a sudden.
“Considering the place where Venom is right now, and the fact that Logan should have a chaperon rather than play babysitter, somebody here has to act for the good of our Queen.”
I hid my surprise. Xander had always had some respect for me. And additionally, he had always tried to make his way into my bed. But that was different. More serious. To believe that the fact of my survival depended on the proper functioning of the clan actually mattered to him. The hitch was that even if the Queen in me was appreciative of the help, the female in me didn’t want another Nathanael. One was already difficult enough to deal with.
“I appreciate your help, Xander,” I told him sincerely before adding in a final tone of voice, “but if you think that I’m going to thank you in any other way, you’re greatly mistaken.”
I hoped this message was sufficiently clear for him. There would be nothing more than this relation between us. He was my executioner, and I, his Queen, period.