by Jez Cajiao
Pain flared as the girl tried to drag me out from under him. With every pull, my injuries left me screaming in fresh agony. She managed to drag me slowly across the snow, up a handful of bumpy steps that left bloody splinters in my back, and into a thick-walled log cabin. The blood flowing from my wounds left a trail a blind man could follow.
I blinked open my eyes again, and I realized I must have passed out at some point. Looking up at the shadow hovering above me, I found a pretty blonde woman. Her clothes were torn and bloody, hair hanging from a half-unraveled braid, and her face already swelling and bruised. She looked into my eyes, with tears running down her cheeks and begged me not to give up. She needed me; they all did, she whispered through her tears. I blinked, realizing that she was speaking heavily accented English, and suddenly, there were three of them, all fussing over my injuries. I could hear voices arguing in the background, letting me know that others had survived as well, and a rush of warmth filled me. I had saved some of them after all. I had not failed them, not like so many other times. I coughed again, weakly. Blood spattered across my chin and upper chest and brought a welcome warmth to my increasingly cold body. The room began to dim, the edges of my vision growing fuzzy, and two faces came into focus as they rushed to my side. The young blonde woman was joined by an older one. She was an elf, my tired mind noted, and judging from the many wrinkles, an old one indeed. She lifted her hands over me, raising them to touch my face, my chest, and my collection of injuries. She turned her head and frantically spoke to the others, telling them to get bandages, and to look for survivors.
Before she could say more, a scream came from the youngest girl as the first man I’d fought hobbled into the room. He had to use his axe as a crutch, but he was upright and screaming something back at the women as he staggered in. When he saw me, he stopped. A cruel smile spread across the bloody ruin of his face as he looked down at me. He was missing most of his teeth and an eye, and at least one of his cheek bones was broken. Obviously, so was his knee, but the bugger was upright again, and he was coming for me.
I forced myself to grin up at him and wave cheekily, even as I knew what would happen…
He went berserk, screaming at me and bringing his axe up overhead to hammer it down into my right leg, just above the knee. I felt it hit, a sensation like a sudden pressure and the cracking of a thick branch, and then the pain came. It was horrific, made even worse as he yanked his axe back and forth to free it of both my leg and the divot it had dug into the wooden floor.
I screamed out in agony, without even trying to hold it in, and he raised the axe over his shoulder while hopping on his one good leg. He brought it down even harder on my left leg, higher up, cutting deep into my thigh as he collapsed over me, having lost his balance.
I howled aloud in abject agony, feeling the pain ripping through me like nothing else. Then a moment of clarity struck, the pain washed away by murderous rage and my mind enjoyed a brief second of icy rage. I realized the pleasure he was getting from this, and I knew he would do worse to the people here, the ones that had summoned me. I lashed out, slamming both palms hard over his ears and rupturing his eardrums. He reared back in pain, still gripping his axe with one hand as the other flew to his head. I felt the movement of the axe, still firmly embedded in my leg, as he moved, and pain flared again, but it had become a distant thing, a candle next to the inferno that was my rage. I grabbed onto his face, digging my hands into the bloody mess. I gripped the bones, flexing my muscles and yanking my hands as far apart as possible.
He screamed, his hands grasping to stop my burrowing fingers, but as I heaved, his screams became far more terrible. His cries changed from rage and pain into a wet mewling. I twisted my body and slammed his head down on the spike on the back of his axe. The impact tore another scream from me, although the cry was a mix of pain and triumph.
I could see the women cowering away from me in the back of the room as I blinked and tried to focus again. I tried to speak to them, but the pain was horrific. I managed a single question before blacking out in relief at the answer…
“Are there more?”
“No…my lord…”
“…..”
You have died……
◆◆◆
I woke up with a gasp, my hands grabbing at my legs. Reflexively reaching for the injuries, I found deep, thin cuts, and a lot of hot, wet blood. I moaned in pain as my fingers pressed into the tears. I felt them then, all the other wounds. Every single cut I had received in the dream was replicated faithfully. They would heal as they always did, with an almost inhuman speed. The majority would be sealed over in an hour, scabs looking like a week’s healing by lunchtime, and fully healed, leaving only another scar by the time I awoke the following day. Years of these dreams had given me a pretty good idea of what to expect, and I knew that it was highly unlikely that any of the injuries were fatal.
The scars were another problem, though. My body was freely covered in them; dozens crisscrossed my chest alone. I was lucky that the few on my face over the years were minor and helped to make me look ‘mysterious and dangerous,’ as an ex had said. Between long sleeved tops and jeans, most people had no idea. The ones that saw more of my body tended to think one of two things, however: badass… or serious self-harmer.
I tried to give people the impression of the former rather than the latter, but as people got to know me better, they realized I was a bit of a soft touch and it tended to make people wonder. It meant I had to be very careful about things, or I could end up admitted by the government into some psych ward. I’d ended up getting kicked out of the army, thanks to a ‘psychiatric medical discharge’, and I’d used the opportunity to try and find Tommy after he’d gone down the rabbit hole. Unfortunately, I’d still had to put up with months of doctors analyzing me, and multiple sessions with the loony doctors as well. As the months passed, I’d grown more and more frantic about Tommy, making me look even more unbalanced to the psych wards that wanted to add me to their collection. The only reason I managed to stay free was the fact that the dreams were intermittent. They’d come for a month every night straight, then nothing for years. This time had been the first one since three months after Tommy vanished; I’d had nothing for nearly five years. Somehow, the stress of trying to find him hadn’t triggered any dreams. Tomorrow would mark the fifth anniversary of the day he’d sent me the message. I’d fought through five years of searching with no leads, no signs, not even a fucking body.
I shook myself free of memories and peeled the bedsheets back. They were sticky with congealed blood, and as they came away, the wounds re-opened. I staggered over to the mirror and stared at the mess before me. Blood covered half my body, the wounds looking far worse than they were, but I still recognized that I needed some help. I’d gotten out of the habit of keeping supplies on hand and had nothing to bind them with. I checked the time; it was close to seven in the morning. Lou likely wouldn’t be awake for hours yet, but at least she’d understand me coming to her in this state as a good reason to disturb her. Hell, maybe it was time to test the relationship properly, and tell her the truth?
I made a plan to hit the 24hr corner shop at the bottom of the road, get some bandages and so on, then head over to her place. She could put the bandages on and seal anything up I needed her to; she was a student nurse, after all, and we’d be able to keep this quiet. Plus, I’d kinda tried to explain to her about the dreams before anyway. She’d never believed me, but at least now she’d have to. Might even get some sympathy affection out of it. Maybe today wouldn’t be a total write-off after all, I decided, my optimism coming to the fore, even as a wave of exhaustion ran through me.
I used a ratty t-shirt to wipe the majority of the blood away, tore up another old shirt to make rudimentary bandages, and pulled on some clean dark clothes. I winced as the jeans pulled against the leg wounds, and then bundled myself up against the cold, deliberately wearing clothes that I didn’t care about getting ruined.
I hurr
ied down the stairs from the apartment and out into the parking lot behind the property, wincing with each step. My beat-up Ford Focus sat in the corner, buried several inches deep under the snow. I made it over to the car carefully; a slip now would be horrifically painful. Once I had managed to dig one door out, I hunched myself down inside as I started the engine and got the heater on. Turning the heated windshield and rear window both on full, I rubbed my hands together and tried to blow some life back into them, before forcing myself out to brush as much of the snow off the car as I could reach.
Leaning back against the wall and trying to catch my breath, I realized I was shaking like a shitting dog, and there were blood trails around the car. My constant movement was just making things worse. I limped back into the car and took a few minutes to gather myself before setting off, wheels spinning and the car swaying from side to side as I powered out of the frozen lot and onto the nearby main road. A handful of minutes later, I was at the shop, and I left the car running outside as I staggered through the main door. The security guard appeared by my side and began talking at me, frantically pointing at my leg and chest. I glanced down to see blood starting to darken my clothes in a handful of different places, and that I was leaving bloody footprints as I went.
“Don’t worry about it, mate: bandages and shit, I just need some bandages, okay?” I muttered at him. I pushed him aside and limped down the aisle, quickly finding what I needed, along with a first aid kit. Chucking them into a basket, I headed for the checkout with the security guard following me at a distance and talking into his radio.
Somehow, I made it out of the shop and back into my car, which, even more surprisingly, hadn’t been stolen. I slowly drove down the street, crossing over two more, and then spent a few minutes on the highway before reaching the bottom of Lou’s street.
I managed to get the car into a space near her front door‒well, it was nearly in a space‒and half fell out of the door before grabbing my supplies and staggering up the path to her door. I rang the doorbell, then banged on the door weakly. Nothing.
Fumbling with my jeans pocket, I managed to find the key she’d given me. I clumsily unlocked the door on the second attempt, pushed the door open, and fell into the house, stumbling over the shoes left in the hallway.
I staggered and fell against the wall, bracing myself and taking a deep breath as tried to focus, the blood loss making things hard. I looked around the lounge, the room swimming before I focused in on the clothes strewn about. There were a pair of wine glasses, half eaten pizza and even clothes all over, but Lou was always so adamant she wanted the house spotless before her mates came around, why would she leave her clothes down here? I dismissed it, it wasn’t important, and I forced myself upright, wincing at the bloody handprint I’d left on the god-awful wallpaper as I staggered forwards. I forced myself to focus on her bedroom door. It was just ahead at the top of the stairs, and as I stared up, it opened.
My relief turned to white-hot fury as it wasn’t Lou that stepped out, but Martin; big, goofy, ‘my ‘work husband,’ that’s all, honest.’ He was Lou’s best friend… and he was naked. Then she appeared, peering around him to look down at me in confusion. Confusion that turned to horror as my rage boiled over, and I started up the stairs, roaring in fury. The pain from my wounds only fueled my rage as I powered toward them.
The steps blurred as I hauled myself up, clearing them faster than I’d ever have believed possible. In no time, I had closed in on Martin as he tried to explain himself. His raised hands in supplication didn’t slow me; neither did the way he was patting the air, as though trying to calm an enraged dog. I hit him with a right cross first, throwing off his balance, then pounding an uppercut into his chin, lifting him from his feet and sending him flying back. Lou screamed in terror and dived aside, landing on the floor next to the bed. I looked down at her, seeing the red lacy outfit crumpled by her side on the floor. I recognized it as the one I’d bought her only a few days before, the one I’d not even seen her in yet; but she’d worn it for HIM?!?!
Everything became a blur then. Martin was trying to get back from me, attempting to hide on the far side of the bed. I grabbed the bedpost and launched myself at him, an energy flooding my body like nothing I’d ever felt before. I grabbed him by the throat with my left hand, lifting him easily from the ground, and went to work. Pummeling his ribs, I felt them break, one with each punch. I could almost see them outlined in a glowing red light. I swore I could feel where to strike to make them break every time.
KillHimKillHimKillHimHeTookHerFromUsKillHimHeStoleHerThiefThiefTHIEF!
The normally tiny voice in the back of my mind was suddenly all I could hear. Even her screams were muted by the sound as it filled the universe, the hammering of my own blood in my ears drowned out by the voice. It was one of the few times I’d ever agreed with anything it had said, but this time, my entire soul reverberated with its words…with its screams and hatred.
“Plu..pl…ease!” He whimpered, looking up at me, his broken nose spread across his too-handsome face. Blood covered his mouth, along with snot and tears, as he begged for forgiveness. Uncaring, I smashed a right hook across his face, blood spraying from his mouth to coat the bedside table; the goddamn bedside table I’D GODDAMN CARRIED FROM IKEA FOR HER! I’D BUILT THAT SHITTY TABLE! My heart thundered even louder in my ears at the sight while the voice screamed its approval and rage, We Want MORE!
I could feel my lips drawing back from my teeth in an animalistic snarl of fury, when something hit me in small of my back and made me stagger. I whirled around and caught a blur in the air, flashing towards my face before the room tilted and spun away. I blinked my eyes and saw blood dripping from my face onto the floor. I realized I was on all fours at the top of the stairs; how the hell…?
I heard a sound and looked up, finding Lou’s beautiful legs before me. As I lifted my gaze, my eyes lingered almost of their own accord on her perfect features, until I finally noticed the most important detail as she lifted it again. The baseball bat. I’d laughed when she’d first showed it to me and told me that she kept it ‘just in case’. She drew it back, swinging it with surprising force to hit me in the temple. The blow sent me falling down the stairs and plummeted into darkness. The last thing I saw before it claimed me was the look on her tear-streaked face. It was the same as the one on everyone’s faces earlier at the bar.
Horror and disgust at the animal in their midst.
Chapter One
The world was slow to return, sounds coming first. Low mutterings of conversations around me filtered in, electrical beeps and a speaker coming from one side. The rest of the world edged in slowly, in that way it often did while waking from a deep sleep: local sounds first, then further and further out. Light came next, rudely shining in one eye as a finger and thumb forced my eye open.
I blinked and recoiled from the sudden brightness at the same time I heard a female voice curse in surprise and hurried footsteps as people came running in response.
“He’s awake!” someone called, and I lifted my hand in reflex, trying to push the intruding light away. My hand barely moved a few inches before a tug and a rattle of metal stopped its motion. I blinked again and tried to sit up, both eyes open now as I attempted to figure out where I was.
Blurry shapes resolved into armed police, one either side of the bed, and a nervous nurse stood behind them. The nearest cop put his hand on my chest and pushed me back down, firmly. As I complied, I realized what the feeling on my arms was. I was handcuffed to the gurney. My body ached like a sore tooth, but surprisingly hurt little more than that. I tried to speak but managed only a croak before coughing and whispering in a pained voice.
“Water…please.”
The nurse hurried forward, reassured by me being secured. Her bout of nerves vanished beneath a professional exterior as she brought a plastic cup to my lips, letting a little trickle in, then a bit more. It felt like I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in weeks. My stomach loudly spoke up
wanted to know when I was going to be sharing the tiny bit of water my throat had already absorbed.
I tried to lift my hands unthinkingly to the cup, but the handcuffs stopped me, and a gruff voice from one side told me to stay still. The nurse stepped away to get more water, and I glanced over at the man who stepped up in her place. Looking down into my eyes was a face I’d gotten used to over the years. Jonno.
He was ‘Beat Sergeant Ross, 4872’ but after being arrested by him as many times as I had, well, I got to know names. I groaned and shook my head as I looked up at him.
“Really?” I croaked out, staring at him. “All the pretty nurses in the world I could wake up to, and it’s your ugly mug I get?”
“You’re getting the better end of the deal, kid. You look like shit, and that’s before you did…whatever you did to yourself,” he retorted, gesturing to my face.
I grinned weakly at him, and he shook his head in disgust at my antics.
“You feel up to talking, SIR? Telling us what happened?” The second cop started to speak, but Jonno waved him off. “Go get a coffee, Mick; I need a quiet word here.” The second cop looks annoyed, but he released the pressure on my chest and walked out of the room.
“New kid?” I asked, getting an affirmative grunt in return.
“He’s smart enough, but too ‘by the book’ for the real world. We can have a quiet chat, and you can tell me why you fucked your life up and did that. Then we’ll have an official chat, and you’ll be fucking honest. I’ll do what I can. That’s the deal, right? And believe me, kid, after what you did in the club and then at that house, that’s more than I should be giving you.” He gestured at my chest, and I realized I was bare from the waist up. He could see the scars crisscrossing my body, but all the new ones were almost healed, and angry red lines were all I had to show for the last dream.
