Parasight

by E. S. Carter

  Hope.

  I heard the last man that used me gasp his final breath. I listened to the beat of his heart splutter and die. I tasted his death on my tongue, sweet and tart like the juiciest fruit and it nourished me. Then I sank into the waiting arms and drifted away on the blissful knowledge that I would die free. The final air taken into my lungs would not be tainted with filth and immorality. My saviour had given me that, and by doing so, he’d given me the world.

  “My name is Calliah, I came from The Kingdom,” I offer up to the man I can feel looking down at me. I heard his name once, Grim, but I refuse to think his moniker fits him. A man called Grim would never have bothered to save a dying girl.

  “Why are you here?” He asks eventually, a sternness to his voice that wasn’t there before.

  “You brought me here,” I reply simply, slowly lifting my head from the water and allowing the cool droplets to run through my hair and over my face. It feels like it’s purifying me. That nature somehow has me in her arms and is soaking away all the bile infesting my every pore.

  “Get out of the fucking water and get back to the lodge, you don’t belong out here,” he growls. The vibrations of his words prick at my skin like shards of razor sharp ice. My eyes fly open and stare towards the sky, the heat of the sun drying the water on my skin and colouring it with life.

  “It’s too noisy there,” I state quietly, my admission only half the truth. I wanted to find him more than I wanted to escape the continuous noise and prying eyes inside that cavernous mansion.

  He huffs out a harsh breath, and I hear him moving, likely pacing back and forth across the short grass at the very edge of the bank.

  “Why is your hair black?” he asks almost absently, more to himself than me. Before I can tell him that I asked for it to be dyed back to my natural colour and that Anne, the woman who has looked after me during my recovery graciously completed the task yesterday, I hear him slide down the banking and splash into the water only inches away.

  “I said, get out of the fucking water and go back to the lodge where it’s safe,” he growls before wrapping both of his large hands around my upper arms and dragging me to my feet. His unexpected and abrupt touch has me floundering unable to find my footing as my wet dress sticks to my body, tangling around my legs, and my bare feet struggle to find purchase on the silty river bed.

  Within seconds I’m in his arms, and in another few he’s deposited me at the top of the bank. The sun hides behind the surrounding trees, and my body immediately shivers in the shade and the shadow of his massive frame.

  “Now, go!” he yells inches from my face, his hot breath blasting against my cool cheeks. A move meant to make me cower and then run.

  What he doesn’t realise is that I’ve lived my life surrounded by true monsters, so his anger, his harsh words and the way he leans over me intimidatingly, rolls over my skin the same way the stream water does, and it puddles at my bare feet in a pool of wasted energy.

  He waits in silence for me to obey. I can feel the breaths heaving from his chest, the sensation pulsing against my shivering body like mini sonic booms. I wrap my arms around my upper body, a move he must interpret as threatened, and not the need to feel warmth because his next words come out on a heavy exhale.

  “Look, I shouldn’t have touched you like that, I’m just used to people doing what I tell them, in fact, most people run as soon as they see my face, yet you’ve ignored my direct commands not once but twice. And you look at me without so much as a flinch. You’re either dumb or brave or both, but if I’m telling you to leave, you leave. Got it?”

  Even with the softer tone, I can still detect an almost unrestrained anger in his voice, but is he angry at himself or me? I can’t quite tell.

  Dropping my arms to my sides, I turn and stare directly at him. I’ll do as he asks and leave, but not before he hears my words this time.

  “Thank you,” I say once more before turning and following the path that brought me to the stream, back through the small woods where the bark feels rough against my fingers and the soft, damp grass tickles my feet. I feel his eyes on me the entire way, and I want to turn and go back to him, for no reason other than I felt something in his company; something more than the eternal loneliness and isolation that I’ve felt for most of my life. The only other person I’ve ever sought the company of was my sister, and at The Kingdom, they used that connection against me.

  I wonder if this man, my saviour, feels the same thing. If he does will he admit it or will he also use it against me?

  Grim

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Somewhere inside my throbbing head the pounding grows louder and more persistent

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “Open the fucking door, Grim, or I’ll blow it off the hinges.”

  I groan and roll from my stomach to my back, my shrivelled and dehydrated brain crashing against the side of my skull making me wince.

  “Leave me the fuck alone,” I mumble. Or at least I think I do. I’m not sure I’m capable of opening my eyes let alone my mouth right now. The gallon of amber whisky I downed last night has me in its deathly aftermath.

  “Don’t test me, Grim.” Bang. Bang. Bang. “Cole and your trophy are waiting for you in his office, so get the fuck up.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” I mumble once more, my voice nothing more than a hollow croak in the empty room.

  Hard wood cradles my cheek when I turn my head to the side and force my liquor sealed eyes open. Bright sunlight burns at my retinas as I squint and attempt to focus my gaze on the cabin’s front door. Through the small square of glass at the top of the solid oak entry looms a face, one that’s typically composed and calm, his true self hidden behind a mask of breeding and indifference. Not today, though. Today Luke’s face wears his emotions openly, and even in my barely coherent state, I can see he’s fucking furious.

  “Get up, get yourself together and be at the lodge in thirty minutes or I’ll take a chainsaw to your precious cabin,” he states, his tone indicating a promise, not a threat. Luke’s mask subtly reaffixes itself with every word he grinds out until he stands there looking at me like the cockroach I am. I feel his disdain acutely, even through the barrier of glass and thick wood, and it means nothing to me.

  A smile slowly curves at the side of his mouth. Even with the distance between us and the fuzzy remnants of alcohol blurring my gaze, I can see a glimpse of sharp, white teeth as his lips curl back, and a glint of darkness sparks between us as his eyes shine like onyx.

  “If you don’t want to claim ownership of your pretty new trophy, I’m sure she’d love to be an added fixture in my basement.”

  His words, his intention and his unbridled warning punch me straight in the gut spreading a fire through my veins that burns off the last dregs of alcohol like a lit match to a firework.

  I’m on my feet and throwing the door wide open between one breath and the next, roaring at his back as he strides away through the long grass. “Touch her, and I’ll wear your innards as a belt.”

  He doesn’t turn around but raises one hand in a dismissive wave.

  The fucker knew exactly what buttons to push, and as I watch his suit-clad form disappear through the trees, I’m struck by a vision of subtle curves encased in wet, white cotton doing the very same thing just yesterday.

  I watched as Calliah effortlessly wove her way through the wood, never once faltering or looking back. She moved as if she floated on air. No sound, no stumbling, not a single track to prove she was ever once in front of me.

  Her scent remained, though. Swirling on the breeze around me, licking at my skin and infiltrating my mind.

  Sunshine, wildflowers and freshly cut grass. It stained my senses and held me transfixed. Minutes passed, and I drank it in gluttonously, and still I was parched. My tongue a dried husk glued to the roof of my mouth, my taste buds craving more of her.

  I don’t know how I made my way to the cabin, my senses foggy and consumed by her. The th
irst she’d created remained, and I swiftly quenched it by purging her from my body with a full bottle of Penderyn Single Malt. I rarely drank. The effects of alcohol or narcotics on my erratic emotions made for an unstable and turbulent mix. I may be, in many people’s eyes, an unstoppable maniac but I was always, always in control. Thankfully, the litre of whisky did the trick, and I passed out on the cabin’s unforgiving hardwood floor without doing any damage.

  Waking up with a drum and beat bass line throbbing behind my eyes wasn’t part of the plan. Why can’t a hangover’s soundtrack be decent music, like Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr or Frank Sinatra? Why did the morning after always come with a frenetic techno beat?

  Yeah, you could call me an oxymoron. I’m a killer who craves the mess of bloodshed, yet is an OCD neat freak. A scarred maniac, who is always in control even when I lose it, and a thug who names his favourite knife, gets hard when people beg for their life, and yet listens to the Rat Pack because those men were sheer class.

  With a last sweeping gaze at the now empty woods, I spin and heel the door closed behind me before finally taking in my naked form and raging woody. Huh, maybe that’s why Luke didn’t hang around. Too much man for him, he likely felt inadequate. I smirk to myself for all of five seconds before his words reverberate through my brain.

  “If you don’t want to claim ownership of your pretty new trophy, I’m sure she’d love to be an added fixture in my basement.”

  The smile slips from my face, and feral sound escapes my throat as I storm into my bedroom intent on dressing and getting to the lodge before he even thinks of making good on his threat. Ignoring the stench of liquor that pours off me, I drag on some jeans, splash my face with water and practically gargle a whole bottle of mouthwash, which I proceed to spit out on the grass outside the cabin. I leave the front door wide open, unconcerned that anyone will enter my space, as I stride through the woods dragging my shirt over my head and securing Missy, my favourite knife, in her sheath as I go.

  By the time I arrive at the entrance to Hunter Lodge, I’m back in complete control. My fast-flowing rage tempered with Missy sitting soothingly against my thigh and the scent of cut grass and wildflowers beckoning me on the breeze.

  All that calm control goes to shit when I walk into Cole’s office, situated in his private wing of Hunter Lodge, because when I enter the room, there are four people waiting for me. Cole, Luke, Faye and her – “Calliah.”

  Her name falls from my lips unbidden. All eyes lock on me, except for hers. She remains looking out the wide-open window, her long dark hair billowing around her shoulders, caught by a freak gust of wind. Dressed all in white, she appears to be an unblemished angel, while I’m the bruise on a piece of fruit, the part you cut off with the sharpest knife before you sink your teeth into the remaining flesh.

  Her head tilts at the sound of her name, but she doesn’t turn to face me and the emotions I fought to control on my way over here burst to the forefront.

  “What the fuck is she doing here?” I spit out, my hand finding Missy’s smooth handle, my fingertips itching to pull it out and cause pain, but not to her, to me.

  “Grim.”

  Cole’s voice snaps me out of my internal battle, and I drag my eyes away from Calliah’s form to land on his face.

  “You told me to find you a new key to The Kingdom.” His eyes challenge me to ask the question for which I do not need an answer. When I remain stubbornly mute, he continues, “Calliah’s it.”

  Before his mouth has shaped the final sound of the letter T at the end of his statement, I’m across the room and pressing Missy to the soft, exposed skin of his throat.

  “Like fuck, she is. Find another way.”

  He doesn’t even swallow. His eyes dare mine, his stare taunting me to make a move. I’m not stupid enough to think I’d make more than the slightest nick on his tanned skin before I’d get either filleted by the knife he’s pressing into my side, or shot in the back of the head by Luke.

  These men are my brothers, but they know what I’m capable of and they know that once my Devil’s unleashed, I am unstoppable.

  I have never drawn a weapon on either man before, yet Cole doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to find himself at the end of my blade.

  “She offered, brother,” he forces between clenched teeth. His muscles coiled to attack. His instincts are screaming at him to disable the threat I pose.

  I know this man, I’ve fought with this man, and for as much as he knows my demons, I know his.

  “Well, brother,” I inject with more venom than is probably wise. “I don’t give two shits what she’s offered. Find another way.”

  We are locked in a standoff, neither of us prepared to concede and lower our guard until a soft voice carries across the room on the incoming breeze.

  “The choice is mine to make. The Kingdom must fall, and I want to stand barefoot on its rubble and dance on the bloody remains.”

  Cole smirks, the point of his weapon falling from my side.

  “Your trophy has a voice, brother. And I believe she has just spoken, so remove the blade from my jugular, pack up your shit and be ready to leave by dawn.”

  I stare at him a beat longer, my fingers twitching with the urge to cut, to tear, to gouge and to stab. Am I going to go against my brothers for a woman that obviously has a death wish? A woman I have no real claim on, one that means nothing to me?

  Cut grass and sunshine hit my senses full force.

  Yes. The word whispers through my mind, answering the unspoken question. Yes, I would take on the world to ensure her safety, and I would tear apart anyone who got in my way.

  I breathe in deeply, drop Missy from his neck and flick her swiftly through my fingers before sheathing her at my side.

  With a measured step, I retreat, my mind scrambling to find an argument to present and coming up blank.

  “Not her,” I answer finally, the words an almost begging rasp. “I’ll infiltrate The Kingdom and bring you the heart of every person who is involved, but not with her as bait.”

  My eyes leave Coles blank stare. He had, for a fraction of a second, showed a brief flash of sympathy at my plea but as quick as it was there, it was gone. I scan the other faces in the room. Luke’s equally relaxed and unbothered demeanour as he leans gracefully against the far wall, Faye’s penetrating eyes as she watches me intently, seemingly reading the very fabric of my soul and over to Calliah’s elegantly curved spine as she continues to stare out at the grounds. The easy and unbothered way she disregards my presence scrapes against my already raw and tattered emotions. My whole body feels scabbed over, my skin tight and itchy and her snub is a sharp fingernail picking at my crusty exoskeleton and scraping at the tender, unhealed skin underneath.

  Her back stiffens under my gaze. She can feel my eyes on her and yet she does not turn to face me. Instead, she lifts her chin and speaks clearly and directly to me and me only.

  “Bait is an unwilling accomplice. I am not bait. I am vengeance.”

  Calliah

  Three powerful men and an equally formidable woman stand in this room with me, and a wiser person would have faced them, but I didn’t need to turn towards them to know that each one held a piece of my future in their hands. These three people didn’t seal my fate; they owned it, one more so than the others, yet he was the least aware of this fact.

  Faye came to me last night. She thought I’d been oblivious to her constant appraisal. Her gaze landed on me whenever we shared the same space. Her stare unlike any other person I had ever encountered. I couldn’t just feel her eyes on me, I could sense them inside me, burrowing through skin, muscle and bones, piercing the fleshy gristle that camouflaged the impenetrable and sharply barbed cage of my ribs to dig around in the soft and secret places I kept hidden from everyone, even myself.

  I would excuse myself from her presence as quickly as possible and flee to the safety and seclusion of my room, but not last night, last night she came to me directly and I found myself
wishing I could do to her what she was so easily able to do to me.

  I wanted to see her. I wanted to let someone else in and unburden myself of the dark heaviness that weighed me down. I could feel it in her too - that pervasive, parasitic murkiness that clung to her marrow and imprinted itself in her cells. She was like me, yet not. She had endured, yet survived. No, not survived, she’d used it to fuel her, to make her stronger. I wanted that. I wanted her to show me how I could turn the stains on my soul into something more. Just like she had done.

  “Calliah, right?” she asked as she stepped over the threshold of my small, sparsely furnished single room.

  The brush in my hand faltered in my hair as my senses tripped over the irregular beat of my heart. I swallowed down the fear that skittered over my skin and resumed brushing my smooth strands.

  “Faye Hunter,” I replied, wanting her to understand that I knew who she was, “Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home. I appreciate it more than I can express.”

  Undeterred by my awkward rudeness and weak attempt at gratitude, I heard her step into the room and close the door.

  The feeling in the room shifted, and I wanted to stand up and force her out of my space, praying she’d take the pain that engulfed me with her. But I didn’t. I remained seated, my unseeing eyes fixed on something in the far distance, the brush scraping harshly over my scalp and keeping me anchored to the moment.

  “Who knows about you?” A simple question that told me she’d seen through my façade.

  “No one,” I answered honestly. Something in the air around said that she would instantly know if I lied. “No one here, anyway,” I offered truthfully.

  “You hide it well,” she stated with a note of awe in her voice.