The night air was cold and though the customers in the
Why he had come downstairs was something of a mystery to him even now as he watched the patrons through the shield of his hands. There was something about the sharp contrast between the horrifying truth he possessed and the normalcy that the people around him presented.
The smell of greasy roasted meat died as it reached his nose. He knew that smell should have initiated the hunger within in, especially because he had not eaten for a day or more. Still, though he recognized the scent, it aroused no emotion within him. Was this an effect of the shattering news he had received only a few hours before? His hand went out and stopped the barmaid.
“What can I getcha sugar.” The slightly overweight woman asked while putting the upper half of her body onto the table. She stretched toward him and let her fingertips dance along the cuffs of his gloves. Her lips sank into what he assumed was suppose to be an alluring smile.
“House’s dish.” He said quickly, his eyes on her fingers. He watched her attempt to entice him with the fascination that he may give to a bug crawling on the back of a leaf.
“Anythin’ ta drink?” Her voice had dropped slightly in disappointment. Whatever she may have thought, this customer was not going to be interested in after hour entertainment.
“No.” With that final word, her fingers disappeared from sight and he was left alone to the darkness of his thoughts.
Monster; that was what he was becoming. His fingertips curled inside their leather sheathes and he gritted his teeth against the comfort of denial. Hours he had spent telling himself that it wasn’t true, that he would wake from this nightmare. He could not flee from this or ignore it. Had he paid more attention to the warning signs: his constant headaches, the illness triggered by the presence of another undead and his slowly fading appetite, perhaps he could have moved past this point.
No, he shook his head at the thought, what use would it have been for me to know sooner? The torture of watching myself slowly rot? Is this the end or will I be like that lich back in Annadell, my flesh shedding from my bones like a damn snake discarding its old skin? The questions continued, seeking only to stab at what composure he had left. It had been a mistake to come down here. He watched the people as they drank themselves into oblivion as if their circumstances were so dire that it drove them to the keg’s tap.
What could they know? What problems could compare to breathing deep the night air and not tasting the crispness or knowing that in one, final unexpected moment the world would turn to black stealing away all traces of sanity? Like the other undead, he would be savagery defined. No creature too big or small could daunt the instinctual drive to satisfy a nameless hunger. It was why the undead attacked anything that breathed within its vicinity and why, though it feasted on one victim, it was just as likely to turn onto another one. Pain and sorrow meant nothing to the inexhaustible force that spurred the corpses from the sleep of death and back into the world of the living.
How soon, he asked himself as his head sank back into his hands. How long until I turn into one of them fully? Will I be a lich, one of those conniving and vile abominations that used other undead to do their bidding? Will I prey upon those I knew as Kelsie did to me? His breath inhaled sharply and he held it for a moment, fighting off the surge of emotion. Goddess no, I could never do that to her. Elena.. and Jenna…little Alec. Panic rampaged to the surface and he was frozen in place by the fear of what might be. His wife, torn to pieces like that poor donkey in Annadell, the fake images tortured him. All of his life he had spent trying to improve their situation. Through hard work and sacrifice, he had achieved what he had hoped would be a sustainable and comfortable lifestyle. But that, like all things, was only a fantasy. There had to be a way to prevent that from happening; some option that would make sure that he was locked away and would never have the opportunity to do that to them.
Then a plate of meat and overcooked potatoes smacked onto the table in front of him. He stared at it, confused by the presence of food. The low roar of the crowd around him came back into his awareness as he looked around. Bitterness filled him. These people would never have to face the same unthinkable choices that he had now before him. All that was expected of them was that they would put down shiny, worthless pieces of metal onto the bar and shout for another. Worthless, yes that was the word to use for these things that society had deemed as necessary. What amount of money could reverse the horrible effects that he now experienced? And how much ale would it take to bury the hard truth that one day he would be another mindless killer loose on the streets?
The thought roused his contempt. What would these men and women think if he took off the mask and pulled free his gloves, revealing to all what he was? Would they run from him like rats from a flood? Some would spit curses at him, calling him ‘fiend’ and ‘demon.’ A twisted smile raked across his face. The names were strikingly appropriate to him.
The meat disgusted him. Yellow grease oozed from its pores and mingled with the slab of butter that melted from the top of the potato. The substances swirled and turned into a sickly light brown, the same color he had seen spurting from the torn skin on one of the undead he had killed.
“Sugar, you okay?” The barmaid asked, her high-pitched voice clawing through his black mood. His green eyes snapped to hers for the first time and he let all the hate he held toward himself and the unfairness in the world pour through. The wench backed up a few steps, clumsily bumping into another waitress and the sound of breaking glass clattered around him.
She stooped to gather the pieces and when she turned back to his table to apologize, a new smell struck him. This one was so unlike the repulsive taint of cooked meat; this intoxicated him. It wrapped around him like the comfort of a warm fire, shutting out all thoughts of rebellion. As his mind drifted away from his cares, something new awoke within him.
It pulsed through him like a slow drum beat that began to quicken. His blood raced along, eager to follow this new sensation. So long had he been without sustenance that it had ebbed to the edges of his consciousness, waiting for this moment. The ache of hunger made his teeth grind together. His throat was parched, begging for something soothing. Overcome by the sudden onset of this feeling which he had thought was forever lost to him, Aiden risked ruining the magic that let him forget for the moment the troubles that stalked him. His eyes opened and fixated on the source of the smell.
What he saw made him cringe back into the worn seat and for once he was grateful that the mask hid his horrified expression. The waitress’s hand had been cut, and deeply. Bright red and creamy in its consistency, the blood dripped onto the table and sank into the cracks of the wood. Revulsion ripped through him as he realized the full extent of what he had just experienced. Beast. The word echoed through his mind. No, not a beast, the sad thought refuted the notion. Beasts behave through instinct and cannot be accountable for their actions. They don’t think or reason or… he breathed deeply, or enjoy those things. I can’t be a beast. Oh gods, what’s happening to me?
He looked up at the waitress who continued stammering apologies and waved her away. There was no chance he could trust himself to speak at that moment because as she hurried toward the back storeroom, he felt the uncontrollable need to reach out and dip his fingers into the puddle of blood she left behind. His hand moved, twitching toward it and at the last minute he clamped his other hand onto it. “No.” He growled at himself.
A few curious glances from those who watched the barmaid pick up the pieces of glass lingered on him and he felt the twinge of self-consciousness. Could they see what disgusting face hid behind the mask? Did they know now that a monster was in their midst?
I have to get out of here. The conviction behind the thought drove him to move from the booth. His head was turned away from the fire to prevent further people from seeing him. Get out, get away from them. And Elena, I have to stay far from her. I can’t let her see what I’m becoming. The thought of never seeing his love again choked him but he still fished out the copper coins to pay for the meal left uneaten and the room he had not slept in. More than what he intended tumbled from his shaking hands but he didn’t dare wait any longer. He kept his eyes low, tracking the street’s broken cobbles. Around him the shadowy forms of people faded in and out of his peripherals but he could not raise his head. It was still there, gnawing at him now. The hunger had made itself known and it demanded attention. His steps broke into a run and he left the Freeman’s quarter far behind, passing through the city gates and into the wilderness outside with nothing but the pack he wore and the terrible truth that had been unlocked inside. Monster. The word echoed in his head. Yes, that was what he was and there was no going back.
No comments:
Post a Comment