Colors (WIP)
Part 2 out of ? done.
Grammar and syntax is horrible, just trying to get it out.
I always assumed that looking into the face of evil would involve a gaping maw and eyes blacker than pitch. A pity that all those boilerplate descriptions are decidely off the mark.
No, when Ye Ancient Evil arrived on my stoop, he was dressed in a nice expensive suit, adorned with a charming smile and disarming grey eyes. Points on the not looking his age bit, I would have sworn he was still a university student, or some such.
And really, stoop is something of a misnomer in this case. I live on the top floor of an apartment complex in Dublin’s city center. This means that I don’t have so much of a stoop as a landing. A landing carefully guarded by a long series of a stairs and a locked door leading to the outside world. You didn’t see many strangers in the building, and my brain was currently working through how he might have snuck in when he started talking.
“Hullo. I was wondering if you would like to play a game.”
I started at him for a brief second, doubting the words I was hearing. Then, laughed. At him. Which, in the end, probably wasn’t conducive to the conversation. Or my standing with him.
Never laugh at ancient evils, for all their sense of humor it only lands you in trouble later down the line.
He pressed on, unfazed. “No, really. A game. You have them back in the New World, yeah? Tag, Capture the Flag, Man Hunt?” The grin grew wider at the last. I nodded, wiping the tears from my eyes and suppressing the last chortle that threatened to escape from my lips. “Are you interested?”
I shrugged, not about to commit. “Is this the new fad, selling games door to door?”
He humored me, “Well, think about it. It’ll be a blast, and you’ll meet some new folks. You’re new to this place, aren’t ye?” Dark hair fell in his face as he exposited, he talked with his hands, giving him an animated feel. I looked away, scrutinizing the landing wall. I wasn’t about to be pulled into some weird scheme because I was attracted to the guy.
“So, what sort of game?” I asked. Dammit, so much for that line of thought. “And how did you find me anway?”
“Facebook,” he said simply, and if I had been paying attention I would have notice the triummphant look flicker across his features.
But hey, look how awesome modernity is. Things in the Dark don’t need to do any fancy hoodoo to find you, they just need to point and click.“Okay, yeah. What sort of game is this? Now I want to know.”
“A game of Colors. Do you know what your color is?” He lounged languidly against the door frame, as if sizing me up.
“Now wait a s--.” New tactic, that made me sound like an idiot. “I haven’t agreed to anything, not yet anyway.” Whatever happened to consent?
As if he could read my mind, he laughed. The sound came out harsher than I expected it to, and a shiver crawled up my spine. “You’ve already consented, dear one. Curiousity implies interest, therefore implying consent. You’re already playing the game.” And his manner told me that I really had no say in the matter. “No one said things had to be fair.”
“Right, rule number one. Got that down,” I said, somewhat surly.
He patted my head, fingers mussing my hair, “You’re quicker than some of the others. Now, I’ll only say this once…” He leaned in close, ignoring my personal comfort zone to whisper in my ear, “Dublin Castle is Heaven for you, little one. If you hear me call your Color, try to make it there before I find you.” I tried to push away, but he snatched the offending wrist nails scraping the flesh. Wincing, I noticed that he had drawn blood. “Now, do you know your color yet?”
“Look, my level of comprehension hasn’t exactly changed in the past five minutes, so if you’ll just explain to me how I can opt out of this -“ Now it was his turn to laugh at me.
“Two ways. It’s simple. You win, or you lose. It’s a game.”. A light danced in his eyes, a strong charm that I wasn’t even sure I wanted to break. “Now, hurry up and figure it out so we can have our fun.” With a predator’s grace, he slipped in and captured my lips in his own. My breath was stolen in that instant, not from lust (though to deny its presence would be an oversight I couldn’t afford), but from fear. I squeaked, and he snarled in response, his teeth drawing blood It seemed he didn’t like it when girls played hard to get. Some much for games.
In an instant I was throwing my body weight away only to find that he had let go. “Thought so,” he said, triumphant. The momentum sent me stumbling backwards into the bathroom and the heavy wooden door to my flat slammed shut. The security of the physical barrier put my heart at ease, the subsequent musical laughter rising behind it erased the notion just as quickly. “I’ll call you later, then. Now that we’ve made our little contract, we’re ready to start the game.”
Fear forgotten, I stormed to the door, throwing the deadbolt and glaring at him, “What do you mean by contract?!”
He looked up, licking my blood off his fingers idly, “The one we just made. Why, until the moment you signed it, you actually had the chance to shut the door and be done with me. So much for sanguine,” he waggled the stained fingers at me, amused at his own joke.
So, I could take his dubious word for now and assume I was fucked. “What’s your name?”
His smoke-colored eye widened, obviously expecting something different from me. “I have a lot of kennings, m’dear. Which would you like ?” He shrug, “In the end it doesn’t matter what you call me. Make something up if you want.”
“So, I could call you what? Cillian, Luke. Sue?” This guy? Not keen on answers.
“Cillian will do just fine. It actually almost suits me,” Cillian’s lips quirked into a smile. “Translations of the name are fascinating, you know. It can mean either ‘joy’ or ‘strife’. I wonder what I’ll end up bringing you.” He headed down the stairs, disembodies voice floating back up to me. “And what should I call you, love?”
“My name is Rowanne,” I replied, frowning at the offending stairwell. “What, you don’t know the names of your players?”
“Not all of them. Only some. I’ll call you, later.” The conversation almost sounded normal, and I was left with a lurching in my stomach that I could barely tame.
ii. Vermillion
I didn’t dream that night. It’s not as if I often remember them, but usually when something significant happens my mind goes into overdrive and manages to concoct something particularly disturbing from the dream materials.
I didn’t dream, and that scared me almost as much as the encounter.
The next morning, I woke up and stumbled across the flat to switch on the percolator before falling back onto the pillows. Usually, by the time I actually unwrapped myself from the covers a second time the water was cold, but I managed to get going with only luke-warm water that day. While the tea steeped, I made breakfast. The eggs stuck to the non-stick pan, and to my chagrin I found out that the bread was moldy.
It was a normal morning, overall. And a normal workday. Really, the whole thing was overwhelmingly dull compared to what I expected. It was almost as if the universe was hitting me over the head with a two-by-four of boring. Naturally, I was suspicious.
This trend continued until later in that evening. That’s when the phone went off. I glanced at the caller id, hoping it would be one of my coworkers, but instead my worst fears were confirmed. The phone told me that “Cillian” was calling, which was simply special as I hadn’t put him in the phone’s memory. Knowing full well that I was doing something incredibly foolish, I pressed the button with the little green icon, “How did you get this number?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response, dear,” came the reply,, as if he was an irritated lover and not some stranger that hardly knew me. “Now, are you ready to start?”
It was a loaded question. If I said yes, I would appear eager which would probably only play into his sick fantasy. If I claimed that I wasn’t ready, we would be back at square one. I had no ideas what the penalty would be for leaving the game early. “I don’t even know the rules yet,” I protested instead. That sounded like nice middle ground.
“Well, isn’t this a vicious cycle?” he asked mirthfully. “Did you think on what I asked you the other night?”
“I don’t even know what you mean by color, let alone how that ties into the whole picture,” I admitted, begrudgingly. I didn’t like opening up to him like this.
The laugh from the other side of the line sent little fingers of cold creeping up my spine. Have you ever heard a maniacal laugh? It’s disturbing in person, let alone if said laugh is diabolical and disembodied. “Don’t look to me for exposition,” he said smugly, “I know your color, but if you can’t figure out such a tiny detail on your own I can’t imagine you actually having fun with the game, let alone winning.” And now I was having this guy talk down to me like I was a petulant child. “Of course, I’ve already figured out your color, but I’ll be a sport and hold off on your for a while. Perhaps.” He waited, then continued. “Part of me wishes to see your face as I tell you this. Are you angry with me?”
“Angry isn’t the word I would use,” I snapped., wondering what his game was.
“You girls always give mixed signals,” he replied with a sigh, but somehow I just knew he was smirking. “Fine, I’ll be helpful since you’ve been so patient. Think of this as a modified game of tag. If your color is called, or you step outside your ‘base’, then I get to chase you. You need to get a predescribed place before that happens. If not, I get to drag you to MY base.”
Well, that didn’t sound dangerous. As soon as the fact solidified in my mind, it sank like a stone to the pit of my stomach. He wasn’t telling me something. Before I could protest, he changed the subject. Before I could accuse him of changing the subject, he has moved onto a new conversation piece. “Knock knock.”
I stared down at my mobile in utter shock. Was he really making jokes at the moment. Still, better to play along with the guy running the show… I swallowed my pride and responded, ‘Who’s there?”
“The Devil and his Beard,” was the glib reply. Glib how, I wasn’t entirely sure, but that was how he presented it.
“The Devil and his Beard…who?” I replied cautiously, waiting for the punchline.
Another laugh, the joke was funnier that I originally guessed. “Little one, that’s not how the scene plays out. Your line was supposed to be ‘What do you want?’. Did you think this to be some childish joke to pass the time?”
My cheeks burned at the words, and I found myself quite glad he wasn’t watching me during the conversation, his perverse wishes be damned. “And you want me to play along with that script of yours?” Silence was on the other side, seems like Cillian wasn’t into answering questions below his intellect or something. Either that, or he was only answering the questions that suited him. “Fine, fine. What do you want? In plain terms, if you don’t mind.”
An uncharacteristic giggle was his reply. Or at least I assumed it was uncharacteristic. I couldn’t pin him down for my life. “How’s this for easy terms? Colors. I want colors. Any idiot can fathom that concept, yes?”
Of course, he wanted an abstract concepts. I’m sure that wouldn’t stump any soul. (And hey, was that a backhanded insult?) “What colors do you want?”
“Well, all of them, to be honest for once.” His glee was almost contagious, but I had trouble believing he would admit to any flaw that would give him the disadvantage. “Oh come on, Row. You know I’m not straight with you. I may not be even straight with you now, for all you know. Chew on that for a while, would you?” He put on a show, hemming and hawing. “Let’s see. Tonight? Tonight I’m feeling a bit green, what about you?” I could hear his footsteps on the pavement, a knock on the door.
“Do you have me on speakerphone, or something?” I couldn’t really hide my irritation. I didn’t want to hear his creepy conversations.
But he didn’t have time to answer, something that almost annoyed me more than his eerie chatter. A door opened, and I could almost picture the nervous looking man on the other side.. “Hello, Odhrán. I’m here to talk to your about that promotion.”
This new guy protested, accent so thick I could barely make out the words, “Aah, yes. Ehm, I’ve decided to not take it, ye see. I think I’ve got a good ting going for me in my own department.”
“But you’ll make more this way,” Cillian pointed out, voice soothing, “You’ll be able to take care of your mam that way, yeah?”
“Yeah, well we’re getting along fine so…” Odrhán muttered dismissively.
“You do know that your color was called, yeah?” Cillian crooned.
I could feel Odhrán’s eyes widen., “You’re the--?”
“Yeah, I’m the guy that contacted you. The internet is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”
Muted sounds echoed from the speaker of the cell phone, then hurried footfalls. Odhrán was running, but where, I wasn’t sure. Harsh sobs were all I could hear, desperate attempts to draw breath after a period without any exercise. The they stopped.
It started as muttering, and I wanted to stop listening, to spring into action. What action, I didn’t know. But it was a car wreck, and we all know the human reaction to that sort of thing. It was only after that I realized he was begging. “D-don’t. I understand ye, I’ll get te job. I promise. I’ll be more responsible ye hear?” But his pleading didn’t dissuade, Cillian.
“I’ve caught you,” crooned the ancient evil. And then the muttering was screaming, and my ears drowned in the din. My mind was filled with images that would make a torture porn director blush and a seasoned detective blanch. Blood was everywhere, and the screams continued even after the mobile slipped from my fingers. It wasn’t coming from the phone any longer, it enveloped the room. It was in my head. I didn’t want to be party to it. Eventually the caterwauling died away, the line went dead, the dial tone resumed. I wondered if it had been there the entire time.
I stumbled over to the hall, crumpling by the toilet and waiting for the nausea to subside or for the toxic event to purge itself. Instead,, I burned without release. Tears threatened to appear, but didn’t. I was just as disgusted by my lack of reaction or the fact I was privy to a murder. Some rapped on the door, “Knock knock,” Cillian said, practically purring. How close had he been?
“Go away,” I hissed, still furious. I shouldn’t have experienced that as I did, it was more than hearing the aftereffects.
But he managed to weasel his way into a locked apartment, kneeling beside me. “You know, if you stick a finger down your throat, that whole puking bit becomes much easier.”
“Fuck off,” I snapped, not about to follow the suggestion.
He seemed amused, “Now, is that something you really want to say to me? I think I’ve made it abundantly clear that I know your color as well. I expect you’ll ply me favor with sex at the very next opportunity.” His fingers intertwined with my hair, weaving strands together. I couldn’t tell if he was making an elaborate braid, or an irritating knot. “Well, maybe not you, you’re such a shy young thing after all.”
“What did you do to me?” Ignoring him seemed like the safest option for my sanity, but I really wanted answers. Unfortunately, he was right. I couldn’t afford to irritate him. I wasn’t about to piss off a sociopath, I did have some survival instincts.
“You didn’t like the show?” He sulked visibly, and maybe if it were yesterday I would have felt some sort of sympathy. “I thought you would like the closeness to someone.”
“Not with you,” the answer was flatter than I originally intended.
He pursed his lips, analyzing my response. “Suit yourself,” he said, the threat insinuated. He gave a final yank on my hair, before seeing him out. I glowered after him, until I was sure he was down the stairs and far, far away. Exhausted, I crawled into the bed, falling into a deep slumber.
Grammar and syntax is horrible, just trying to get it out.
I always assumed that looking into the face of evil would involve a gaping maw and eyes blacker than pitch. A pity that all those boilerplate descriptions are decidely off the mark.
No, when Ye Ancient Evil arrived on my stoop, he was dressed in a nice expensive suit, adorned with a charming smile and disarming grey eyes. Points on the not looking his age bit, I would have sworn he was still a university student, or some such.
And really, stoop is something of a misnomer in this case. I live on the top floor of an apartment complex in Dublin’s city center. This means that I don’t have so much of a stoop as a landing. A landing carefully guarded by a long series of a stairs and a locked door leading to the outside world. You didn’t see many strangers in the building, and my brain was currently working through how he might have snuck in when he started talking.
“Hullo. I was wondering if you would like to play a game.”
I started at him for a brief second, doubting the words I was hearing. Then, laughed. At him. Which, in the end, probably wasn’t conducive to the conversation. Or my standing with him.
Never laugh at ancient evils, for all their sense of humor it only lands you in trouble later down the line.
He pressed on, unfazed. “No, really. A game. You have them back in the New World, yeah? Tag, Capture the Flag, Man Hunt?” The grin grew wider at the last. I nodded, wiping the tears from my eyes and suppressing the last chortle that threatened to escape from my lips. “Are you interested?”
I shrugged, not about to commit. “Is this the new fad, selling games door to door?”
He humored me, “Well, think about it. It’ll be a blast, and you’ll meet some new folks. You’re new to this place, aren’t ye?” Dark hair fell in his face as he exposited, he talked with his hands, giving him an animated feel. I looked away, scrutinizing the landing wall. I wasn’t about to be pulled into some weird scheme because I was attracted to the guy.
“So, what sort of game?” I asked. Dammit, so much for that line of thought. “And how did you find me anway?”
“Facebook,” he said simply, and if I had been paying attention I would have notice the triummphant look flicker across his features.
But hey, look how awesome modernity is. Things in the Dark don’t need to do any fancy hoodoo to find you, they just need to point and click.“Okay, yeah. What sort of game is this? Now I want to know.”
“A game of Colors. Do you know what your color is?” He lounged languidly against the door frame, as if sizing me up.
“Now wait a s--.” New tactic, that made me sound like an idiot. “I haven’t agreed to anything, not yet anyway.” Whatever happened to consent?
As if he could read my mind, he laughed. The sound came out harsher than I expected it to, and a shiver crawled up my spine. “You’ve already consented, dear one. Curiousity implies interest, therefore implying consent. You’re already playing the game.” And his manner told me that I really had no say in the matter. “No one said things had to be fair.”
“Right, rule number one. Got that down,” I said, somewhat surly.
He patted my head, fingers mussing my hair, “You’re quicker than some of the others. Now, I’ll only say this once…” He leaned in close, ignoring my personal comfort zone to whisper in my ear, “Dublin Castle is Heaven for you, little one. If you hear me call your Color, try to make it there before I find you.” I tried to push away, but he snatched the offending wrist nails scraping the flesh. Wincing, I noticed that he had drawn blood. “Now, do you know your color yet?”
“Look, my level of comprehension hasn’t exactly changed in the past five minutes, so if you’ll just explain to me how I can opt out of this -“ Now it was his turn to laugh at me.
“Two ways. It’s simple. You win, or you lose. It’s a game.”. A light danced in his eyes, a strong charm that I wasn’t even sure I wanted to break. “Now, hurry up and figure it out so we can have our fun.” With a predator’s grace, he slipped in and captured my lips in his own. My breath was stolen in that instant, not from lust (though to deny its presence would be an oversight I couldn’t afford), but from fear. I squeaked, and he snarled in response, his teeth drawing blood It seemed he didn’t like it when girls played hard to get. Some much for games.
In an instant I was throwing my body weight away only to find that he had let go. “Thought so,” he said, triumphant. The momentum sent me stumbling backwards into the bathroom and the heavy wooden door to my flat slammed shut. The security of the physical barrier put my heart at ease, the subsequent musical laughter rising behind it erased the notion just as quickly. “I’ll call you later, then. Now that we’ve made our little contract, we’re ready to start the game.”
Fear forgotten, I stormed to the door, throwing the deadbolt and glaring at him, “What do you mean by contract?!”
He looked up, licking my blood off his fingers idly, “The one we just made. Why, until the moment you signed it, you actually had the chance to shut the door and be done with me. So much for sanguine,” he waggled the stained fingers at me, amused at his own joke.
So, I could take his dubious word for now and assume I was fucked. “What’s your name?”
His smoke-colored eye widened, obviously expecting something different from me. “I have a lot of kennings, m’dear. Which would you like ?” He shrug, “In the end it doesn’t matter what you call me. Make something up if you want.”
“So, I could call you what? Cillian, Luke. Sue?” This guy? Not keen on answers.
“Cillian will do just fine. It actually almost suits me,” Cillian’s lips quirked into a smile. “Translations of the name are fascinating, you know. It can mean either ‘joy’ or ‘strife’. I wonder what I’ll end up bringing you.” He headed down the stairs, disembodies voice floating back up to me. “And what should I call you, love?”
“My name is Rowanne,” I replied, frowning at the offending stairwell. “What, you don’t know the names of your players?”
“Not all of them. Only some. I’ll call you, later.” The conversation almost sounded normal, and I was left with a lurching in my stomach that I could barely tame.
ii. Vermillion
I didn’t dream that night. It’s not as if I often remember them, but usually when something significant happens my mind goes into overdrive and manages to concoct something particularly disturbing from the dream materials.
I didn’t dream, and that scared me almost as much as the encounter.
The next morning, I woke up and stumbled across the flat to switch on the percolator before falling back onto the pillows. Usually, by the time I actually unwrapped myself from the covers a second time the water was cold, but I managed to get going with only luke-warm water that day. While the tea steeped, I made breakfast. The eggs stuck to the non-stick pan, and to my chagrin I found out that the bread was moldy.
It was a normal morning, overall. And a normal workday. Really, the whole thing was overwhelmingly dull compared to what I expected. It was almost as if the universe was hitting me over the head with a two-by-four of boring. Naturally, I was suspicious.
This trend continued until later in that evening. That’s when the phone went off. I glanced at the caller id, hoping it would be one of my coworkers, but instead my worst fears were confirmed. The phone told me that “Cillian” was calling, which was simply special as I hadn’t put him in the phone’s memory. Knowing full well that I was doing something incredibly foolish, I pressed the button with the little green icon, “How did you get this number?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response, dear,” came the reply,, as if he was an irritated lover and not some stranger that hardly knew me. “Now, are you ready to start?”
It was a loaded question. If I said yes, I would appear eager which would probably only play into his sick fantasy. If I claimed that I wasn’t ready, we would be back at square one. I had no ideas what the penalty would be for leaving the game early. “I don’t even know the rules yet,” I protested instead. That sounded like nice middle ground.
“Well, isn’t this a vicious cycle?” he asked mirthfully. “Did you think on what I asked you the other night?”
“I don’t even know what you mean by color, let alone how that ties into the whole picture,” I admitted, begrudgingly. I didn’t like opening up to him like this.
The laugh from the other side of the line sent little fingers of cold creeping up my spine. Have you ever heard a maniacal laugh? It’s disturbing in person, let alone if said laugh is diabolical and disembodied. “Don’t look to me for exposition,” he said smugly, “I know your color, but if you can’t figure out such a tiny detail on your own I can’t imagine you actually having fun with the game, let alone winning.” And now I was having this guy talk down to me like I was a petulant child. “Of course, I’ve already figured out your color, but I’ll be a sport and hold off on your for a while. Perhaps.” He waited, then continued. “Part of me wishes to see your face as I tell you this. Are you angry with me?”
“Angry isn’t the word I would use,” I snapped., wondering what his game was.
“You girls always give mixed signals,” he replied with a sigh, but somehow I just knew he was smirking. “Fine, I’ll be helpful since you’ve been so patient. Think of this as a modified game of tag. If your color is called, or you step outside your ‘base’, then I get to chase you. You need to get a predescribed place before that happens. If not, I get to drag you to MY base.”
Well, that didn’t sound dangerous. As soon as the fact solidified in my mind, it sank like a stone to the pit of my stomach. He wasn’t telling me something. Before I could protest, he changed the subject. Before I could accuse him of changing the subject, he has moved onto a new conversation piece. “Knock knock.”
I stared down at my mobile in utter shock. Was he really making jokes at the moment. Still, better to play along with the guy running the show… I swallowed my pride and responded, ‘Who’s there?”
“The Devil and his Beard,” was the glib reply. Glib how, I wasn’t entirely sure, but that was how he presented it.
“The Devil and his Beard…who?” I replied cautiously, waiting for the punchline.
Another laugh, the joke was funnier that I originally guessed. “Little one, that’s not how the scene plays out. Your line was supposed to be ‘What do you want?’. Did you think this to be some childish joke to pass the time?”
My cheeks burned at the words, and I found myself quite glad he wasn’t watching me during the conversation, his perverse wishes be damned. “And you want me to play along with that script of yours?” Silence was on the other side, seems like Cillian wasn’t into answering questions below his intellect or something. Either that, or he was only answering the questions that suited him. “Fine, fine. What do you want? In plain terms, if you don’t mind.”
An uncharacteristic giggle was his reply. Or at least I assumed it was uncharacteristic. I couldn’t pin him down for my life. “How’s this for easy terms? Colors. I want colors. Any idiot can fathom that concept, yes?”
Of course, he wanted an abstract concepts. I’m sure that wouldn’t stump any soul. (And hey, was that a backhanded insult?) “What colors do you want?”
“Well, all of them, to be honest for once.” His glee was almost contagious, but I had trouble believing he would admit to any flaw that would give him the disadvantage. “Oh come on, Row. You know I’m not straight with you. I may not be even straight with you now, for all you know. Chew on that for a while, would you?” He put on a show, hemming and hawing. “Let’s see. Tonight? Tonight I’m feeling a bit green, what about you?” I could hear his footsteps on the pavement, a knock on the door.
“Do you have me on speakerphone, or something?” I couldn’t really hide my irritation. I didn’t want to hear his creepy conversations.
But he didn’t have time to answer, something that almost annoyed me more than his eerie chatter. A door opened, and I could almost picture the nervous looking man on the other side.. “Hello, Odhrán. I’m here to talk to your about that promotion.”
This new guy protested, accent so thick I could barely make out the words, “Aah, yes. Ehm, I’ve decided to not take it, ye see. I think I’ve got a good ting going for me in my own department.”
“But you’ll make more this way,” Cillian pointed out, voice soothing, “You’ll be able to take care of your mam that way, yeah?”
“Yeah, well we’re getting along fine so…” Odrhán muttered dismissively.
“You do know that your color was called, yeah?” Cillian crooned.
I could feel Odhrán’s eyes widen., “You’re the--?”
“Yeah, I’m the guy that contacted you. The internet is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”
Muted sounds echoed from the speaker of the cell phone, then hurried footfalls. Odhrán was running, but where, I wasn’t sure. Harsh sobs were all I could hear, desperate attempts to draw breath after a period without any exercise. The they stopped.
It started as muttering, and I wanted to stop listening, to spring into action. What action, I didn’t know. But it was a car wreck, and we all know the human reaction to that sort of thing. It was only after that I realized he was begging. “D-don’t. I understand ye, I’ll get te job. I promise. I’ll be more responsible ye hear?” But his pleading didn’t dissuade, Cillian.
“I’ve caught you,” crooned the ancient evil. And then the muttering was screaming, and my ears drowned in the din. My mind was filled with images that would make a torture porn director blush and a seasoned detective blanch. Blood was everywhere, and the screams continued even after the mobile slipped from my fingers. It wasn’t coming from the phone any longer, it enveloped the room. It was in my head. I didn’t want to be party to it. Eventually the caterwauling died away, the line went dead, the dial tone resumed. I wondered if it had been there the entire time.
I stumbled over to the hall, crumpling by the toilet and waiting for the nausea to subside or for the toxic event to purge itself. Instead,, I burned without release. Tears threatened to appear, but didn’t. I was just as disgusted by my lack of reaction or the fact I was privy to a murder. Some rapped on the door, “Knock knock,” Cillian said, practically purring. How close had he been?
“Go away,” I hissed, still furious. I shouldn’t have experienced that as I did, it was more than hearing the aftereffects.
But he managed to weasel his way into a locked apartment, kneeling beside me. “You know, if you stick a finger down your throat, that whole puking bit becomes much easier.”
“Fuck off,” I snapped, not about to follow the suggestion.
He seemed amused, “Now, is that something you really want to say to me? I think I’ve made it abundantly clear that I know your color as well. I expect you’ll ply me favor with sex at the very next opportunity.” His fingers intertwined with my hair, weaving strands together. I couldn’t tell if he was making an elaborate braid, or an irritating knot. “Well, maybe not you, you’re such a shy young thing after all.”
“What did you do to me?” Ignoring him seemed like the safest option for my sanity, but I really wanted answers. Unfortunately, he was right. I couldn’t afford to irritate him. I wasn’t about to piss off a sociopath, I did have some survival instincts.
“You didn’t like the show?” He sulked visibly, and maybe if it were yesterday I would have felt some sort of sympathy. “I thought you would like the closeness to someone.”
“Not with you,” the answer was flatter than I originally intended.
He pursed his lips, analyzing my response. “Suit yourself,” he said, the threat insinuated. He gave a final yank on my hair, before seeing him out. I glowered after him, until I was sure he was down the stairs and far, far away. Exhausted, I crawled into the bed, falling into a deep slumber.