Demon Mine

by Marina Simcoe

  No Source had been let go alive from this room as long as she was still aroused. If there was a choice, it was better not to start a session at all than to start it and fail to finish.

  He scanned her emotions quickly, and hope rose in him. The desire was still in her. Unlike Alyssa, this Source was far from feeling intimidated by the scene. On the contrary she thrived on it. Maybe, they would let her go once she reached another climax? He didn’t want to see her die.

  He watched as the Handler cupped her face with his hands and ran his thumbs along the ridges of her cheekbones. To the Council, it must have looked like the Handler was trying to bring her attention back to the room. But he had spent enough time with Alyssa to recognize the genuine concern for his Source in the Handler’s gestures.

  He noticed that the Handler’s eyes flickered anxiously back and forth between the eyes of the Source still half-hidden behind her dropped eyelids. He was trying to catch her attention to communicate to her in some way. Was the Handler trying to warn her? To calm her down? Or was he already saying goodbye?

  The Feeding lasted longer than he expected. The Source was spectacular! She was extremely responsive. There was an undeniable connection between her Handler and her body. Her Handler knew her well and coaxed new waves of pleasure out of her, making her come again and again.

  The power of her energy was incredible. He understood that it must have been impossible for the Council members to resist it since they had tasted it. He knew it was the curse of his kind: to take more than was given, to ruin everything they touched, to destroy the very thing that was supposed to nourish them. He understood it. He lived it for hundreds of years.

  Why then couldn’t he stop the overwhelming sadness threatening to suffocate him when he realized that nothing would help the Source to survive the night after all? Why couldn’t he get the usual comfort from the simple truth of the statement ‘All Humans Die’ when the Council members gathered in a close circle around the Source and placed their bare hands on her? Why couldn’t he accept her fate when the last thread of life slipped out of her while her body arched in the final wave of ecstasy? And why did his heart freeze in terror when, for a second, the now lifeless face of the Source was replaced by Alyssa’s face in his mind’s eye?

  Unable to deal with all these emotions at once, he moved his eyes from the body of the dead Source still suspended in chains and fixed them on the tensed shoulders of her Handler standing with his back to him. They both waited as the members of the Council filed out of the room in silence, one by one. He noticed the Handler’s fingers tremble slightly before he clenched them into fists and followed the Council members out of the room too.

  He was left alone with the dead body of the Source. Somehow, without any specific announcements, it had become his job to bury the dead. And also without any formal agreements, he accepted it. Just like he had accepted all assignments from this Council for the past century and a half.

  He walked towards the Source and finally released her from the restraints. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders for support and with another hand rubbed gently at the red angry marks on her wrists left by the cuffs, as if he could erase them now.

  She didn’t feel any pain anymore, just as she would never feel any pleasure ever again. He lifted her in his arms effortlessly and carried her to the infirmary where he kept the duffel bag.

  He grabbed his parka on the way to the infirmary then placed the body into the bag and walked over to the exit from the main building of the base.

  “What do you have there, Handler?” asked the Soldier at the door.

  “A body...” He cleared his throat, his voice rough from infrequent use. “A dead body from tonight’s Feeding.”

  “You have to fill out the paperwork,” reminded the Soldier.

  “I’ll do it tomorrow…” He thought of Alyssa again and added firmly. “After breakfast.”

  “Alright.” The Soldier didn’t argue. There was no need to hurry in the demon world. What were a few hours when you had centuries? “Just don’t forget. I don’t want to chase you with it.”

  He nodded, pulled the hood of his parka lower, and walked out into the snowfall. He found his old pickup truck covered in snow where he’d left it parked on the property. Somehow, he didn’t like the thought of driving her in the open back of the truck. It shouldn’t have mattered. She was dead. Yet, he still felt better when he gently put the duffle bag inside the cab in the back seat.

  He stopped at the front gate to talk to another Soldier, who exited from the gatehouse to check his cargo, and then drove off the base along the snow-covered road leading further into the mountains.

  His sadness remained as he drove the truck along the winding, barely visible roads, deep into the mountains and then hiked even deeper into the woods up the mountainside, with the duffel bag over his shoulder and several ice picks in his hand.

  With so many rules governing his behaviour around Sources when they were alive, there were none to tell him what to do with them after their death. He had the absolute freedom to choose how he wanted to dispose of their bodies. Since humans buried their dead in the ground, he felt that the last thing he could do for the dead women was to follow their tradition.

  It was still winter in the mountains of Yukon Territory in Canada and the ground was still frozen solid. He was much stronger than any human, but the heavy-duty icepicks he brought along were still made with human strength in mind and kept breaking under the strain when he used them. It was the reason why he brought several.

  Despite his inhuman strength, it would still take him most of the remaining night to hack through the ice, deep snow, and frozen dirt to make a grave big enough to bury the body of the Source.

  He chose a spot, lowered the duffle bag onto the ground, and got to work, determined to make it back in time to bring Alyssa her breakfast. The need to see her only intensified as his work progressed. He needed to see her, touch her, hold her to convince himself that she was safe, that she was still alive and that it was not her body he was burying deep in the woods.

  Chapter Nine. Sytrius.

  The sad feeling of yesterday must have stayed with me through the night. I dreamt of my dead parents and woke up in tears. As it often happens with dreams, I couldn’t recall what exactly it was about. I only remembered the overwhelming feeling of loneliness and despair. My parents had just died again in my dream, and I felt alone in the world.

  What was worse, the nightmare didn’t go away after I woke up. It was way too real. My parents were still dead, I was still alone, and I was also locked up in the dungeon away from the world. At this realization, my night tears only intensified, and by the time he walked in with the breakfast tray, I was a complete mess.

  He didn’t say anything, not that he ever would anyway. He had barely made a couple of steps into the cell as all the suppressed pain, fear and frustration got the best of me, and I lashed out at him.

  “You know, I must have been here for over a year now? That is if my record-keeping is even accurate. It’s not like anyone gave me a calendar or let me know what day it is. It’s not like anyone explained anything to me. Ever! How long am I still supposed to be here? Will I ever get out at all?” All the questions I hadn’t asked him before because I assumed that he’d never answer and because I didn’t want to scare him away somehow. All the questions that were nevertheless playing on one continuous loop inside of my head were pouring out of me now, as if the floodgates had opened.

  “Do they ever plan to let me out of here? Or will I only get out of here in a body bag? Why am I even here? I had a life, you know! I had friends. I had a future. I was going to have a family one day. What am I supposed to do now? I only have you to talk to, but you never reply, and I don’t even know your name… I have no control over anything here! I can’t even kill myself in here! Do you think I hadn’t thought about it?” The anger in me burned bright and fast, but since he provided no argument to feed the anger, sadness and despair replaced i
t quickly.

  “I really can’t do it anymore. You see, I’ve been trying to stay positive here, I really have. It could always be worse, my mom loved to say. And you know, maybe it could have. I could have been hurt, raped and murdered, I suppose. But you know what? I’d say what is happening to me is bad enough. It’s too much. I can’t take it anymore! I can’t be here alone, locked up, not knowing anything! I’m scared… I’m lonely… I’m going crazy… I want to go home…”

  My screams dissolved into incoherent sobbing, as the uselessness of my attack on him became apparent. He remained silent. I could have been talking to the wall with the same result.

  The deep sense of defeat mixed with fear overtook me. I was scared, so scared that it was the only life I would ever know from now on. There was no escape, no future ahead. I would never see the light of day again, and I would die here within these grey concrete walls, completely alone, save for the company of the speechless statue concealed by the mask and the armor suit.

  I felt the rise of the wild panic approaching and couldn’t hold it back any longer. This was the meltdown I had been trying to avoid and could no longer fight. I felt helpless and could do nothing but to sit there with my arms wrapped around my stomach and rock back and forth on top of the mattress…

  Then, I saw his eyes come into my view through the fog of tears flooding my eyes. He’d came down into a crouch in front of me, one of his hands was on his bent knee and the other was on the edge of the mattress next to me. In his gaze was the usual concentration.

  “I just can’t do it any more, you know…” I whispered, shaking my head slowly, looking deep into the steel blue of his eyes. “I can’t …” My voice shook and my lips quivered.

  He lowered one knee to the floor for balance and lifted his hands in front of him. I watched as the gloved fingers of one hand pulled on the fingers of the other glove. I didn’t even realize what that meant at first, until he took the glove off and shoved it into his hip pocket.

  Without saying a word, he unwrapped one of my arms from around me and enclosed my hand between both of his. The ungloved hand was on top, and he gently wrapped his fingers around my open palm.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off this hand. It was for the first time ever that I saw any part of him not covered by his uniform. The hand looked large and strong, with thick veins barely visible under the tanned skin and with neatly trimmed nails. It felt warm and smooth, just as I always thought it would, protected by the glove most of the time as it was. It also looked very male and undeniably human.

  Suddenly, I felt an odd cooling sensation emitting from his hand and radiating through my own. It spread up along my arm, and I tried to pull my hand away from him, but he only tightened his grip on it. I looked up at him, intending to yell at him again, but no words came out of my mouth as I realized that there really was no more anger left inside of me; no more sadness, either. The fear was gone as were the despair and anguish. The panic receded too. All that was left was the blessed, numb feeling of emptiness, and I could breathe freely once again.

  Emptiness was good; emptiness meant I didn’t care about anything anymore and didn’t worry about anything either.

  I felt him shift in his crouching position with one knee on the floor. He released my hand and braced himself on the concrete floor with his hands placed on each side of him. His head dropped between the slumped shoulders, and his breathing became rapid and shallow.

  The worry returned to my chest, but this time the worry was for him. I had never seen him like this. He never breathed this way. Ever. Even in the most intense moments in the arena when I was losing my mind from the need to come, he always seemed calm and collected with his breathing deep and even. The sound of it grounded me and relaxed me often, and it was unnerving to hear it so labored now.

  I lifted his head, holding it between my hands. His masked face was right in front of me now, and I could see his eyes through the slits of the mask. They were no longer the eyes I knew. Black swirls of pain churned in the centers, the irises paled to a dim grey, and all blue colour had bled out of them entirely. On the contrary, the whites of his eyes darkened, almost completely erasing the contrast between the whites and the irises. It made his eyes look dull and unrecognizable.

  He pressed an arm to his middle and groaned. The agony in his voice terrified me.

  “What have you done?” I whispered, looking into those tormented eyes. “What have you done?”

  Whatever he did must have had something to do with me and with him touching me. What if it would take him away from me? How could I possibly go on in here without him? The sad truth was that he was all I had to keep me sane, and I knew I wouldn’t last long without him here.

  I held his head in my hands and pleaded: “Please, please, please… Look at me. Why did you do it? What can I do now? Please, how can I help? Should I call someone? Will you get in trouble if I do? What will happen to you if I don’t?”

  A groan rumbled deep inside his chest again, and he tipped sideways, leaning heavily onto his propped arm. I shifted along with him; my hands were still cupping the sides of his mask.

  I watched the pain swirl in his clouded eyes. They were not human eyes; I knew it now – anyone who‘d seen them would have known – but the suffering in them was real. I hated to see it there, especially since I guessed it was there because of me.

  I let his head lean onto one of my hands, supporting its weight. He would have dropped his head to his chest again if I didn’t prop it, but I wanted to watch his eyes for any changes, good or bad. With my other hand, I found his ungloved hand that was pressed to his side and patted it gently.

  A small spark of pale blue light flashed briefly across the surface of his irises. I looked closely, mesmerized, as more and more of the tiny little lights appeared, glimmering like sun rays bouncing off the ripples in a pond on a summer day. I had seen his eyes sparkle this way before from a distance, but this was the first time I saw the effect up close.

  Beautiful, I thought. Just beautiful.

  The lights vanished as suddenly as they appeared, and awareness seemed to be returning to his eyes; finally, the blue colour was seeping back into his irises. His body also appeared more stable now and more in control. I felt his bare hand move away from my touch quickly, but I didn’t get a chance to wonder why or to feel offended before he spoke to me for the second time ever.

  “Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice, raspy from infrequent use.

  “For what?” I asked incredulously, reeling from the fact that he was talking to me again.

  He didn’t answer, just got up to his feet effortlessly and moved towards the door. I stood up too with my back to the door and rubbed my hand, the one that he had held. The chill was gone now, but the sensation of his touch lingered.

  Deep in my thoughts of what had just happened, I didn’t notice that the sound of the cell door closing never came. I didn’t hear his footsteps until they were right behind me.

  The strong arms wrapped around me suddenly, with the armor enclosed forearms clanking together in front of my chest. I jumped in surprise as he pulled me into a powerful embrace from behind. Then I felt his mask move across the top of my head, it slid down to my ear, and I heard him inhale deeply through the fine mesh of the mask.

  “Sytrius.” He exhaled softly somewhere just above my ear. “My name is Sytrius.”

  Chapter Ten. The Last Feeding.

  “Sytrius.” I whispered to myself as I waited anxiously for him to come and take me to the arena that night. He had given me something after all. He’d finally given me his name.

  Sytrius. What kind of a name was it, though? It had a Latin sound to it, with it ending on “s” and all, but I was certain I never heard this name before, not even in my History class. Not in my class on human history that is. However, human eyes didn’t do what I witnessed in his eyes.

  He could not be human, or at least not entirely human. I was surprised to discover that the idea of him being someth
ing else didn’t scare me, as it should have. It mostly just increased my curiosity about him. I might not have known him completely, but human or not, I trusted him not to hurt me.

  I recalled his hand holding mine. The hand looked absolutely human. It was warm and his skin had that golden tan that people get in the summer.

  According to my calculations, it was January right now. Were we somewhere in the South? Did he get to go outside when he wasn’t with me here in the basement? Was the sky clear and bright outside?

  Just the thought of warm sun on my skin gave me goose bumps of pleasure. If only I could feel the sun and fresh air for just a minute! I would not ask for anything else!

  Well, not for a little while anyway. Ultimately, I still needed my freedom.

  Ever since I could think clearly again, I had been racking my brain, trying to come up with a plan on how to escape.

  When I first got here, I spent weeks exploring every inch of this cell. I knew by now that there were no drains or vents big enough for me to fit through, and that the sliding solid metal door was impenetrable.

  I tried to dig through the wall using metal spoons I got with all my meals. After months of labour, I had a one-inch deep hole in the bottom of a wall and about a dozen broken spoons to show for it. Since I didn’t make a big secret out of my work on the hole, I was pretty sure the guards were aware of it. They never said anything about it, though, as they never said anything ever, and nobody bothered to come and fill the hole in. I guessed they were certain that I was not going anywhere that way.

  Since I was only allowed to leave the cell to walk to the arena with the escort of three large guards, they easily overpowered me every time I fought or ran.

  Eventually, I began to view the cell in part – and my situation as a whole – as inescapable. I believed then that I would never get out of here. That realization was what drove me to my first mental breakdown, the night I met Sytrius.