Delicate
Thorns
BY
Ainsley Shay
Miranda Hardy
Delicate Thorns
Copyright © 2014 by Ainsley Shay and Miranda Hardy
All rights reserved.
Delicate Thorns is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the authors’ imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means. The scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the authors’ intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the authors’ rights.
Quixotic Publishing LLC
Royal Palm Beach, FL 33411-3005
Edited by: Todd Barselow
Delicate Thorns / Ainsley Shay and Miranda Hardy. —First Edition
ISBN 978-1-939588-09-8 (eBook)
For Faith and Cody
For Kevin
Table or Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About the Authors
Chapter 1
One would think that when you die, you remember your life: the people you loved, places you lived, favorite things, but I remember nothing. Perhaps that’s a part of going to Hell. It’s just another method of torture to drive me completely mad. And this is Hell, surely, it has to be. I wasn’t convinced at first, but I’ve slowly come to that conclusion.
The man-made notches on the tree begin to feel dull under my fingers. I move toward the last one at the base of the trunk, make another with the pointed stone, and throw it back into the sand. I stare at the marks—186 of them—and I can recall every moment of each of those nights. But not a single second before them. In all those agonizing days I still have no idea how I got here or who I am.
I’m not even sure what I am.
The first night was the worst, though. A shiver runs through me when I think of the arctic chill that woke me on the cold cave floor, and the searing pain that gripped every inch of my body. I felt like an ice cube that was being stabbed over and over with an ice pick. The sharp, jagged pain splintered up my spine and into my skull. The screams that ripped apart my throat were heard by no one else, only me.
The pain felt like it went on for eternity, but after a few hours, it stopped. I often wonder if that was my body dying and judgment passing through me while those above or below decided my fate. When the icy chill thawed, my senses abruptly exploded. I imagined I was like a newly born infant, discovering his world for the first time.
I wonder if my memories were erased while I dealt with the pain, if that was some sort of coping mechanism. Like some kind of wicked fever which left me with amnesia.
The pain also left me with other things, senses like an animal’s. I hear each wave crash against the shore, or the wind howling through the trees when it’s only a light breeze. Mingled scents can be differentiated from the other side of the island: animals, trees, flowers like birds of paradise, orchids, night blooming jasmine.
Feelings have also been enhanced. Exhilaration, I know I must have felt before, but I swear I would remember as I race down a mountain at the speed of the cheetah. And even though my heart no longer pumps, I envision it beating fiercely in my chest.
There is only one thing that makes my mouth water on this island of isolation. That’s where that cruel twist of fate comes in. The very thing that should cause me to faint now brings my senses alive and desire to fill within me.
Blood. It’s like an ache in the center of my core that begs on hands and knees, demanding attention.
The blood pumping through the animals in the forest, or the creatures lurking in the dark waters causes my mouth to salivate and my senses to kick into overdrive.
The need for it to slide down my throat drove me to kill that innocent cub the first night I woke. The beast within me surfaced quickly, and it has revisited me each and every night since. And it’s never satiated or satisfied.
The thirst is never quenched. There aren’t enough animals alive on this island to quench the thirst.
Yes, there is no doubt that this is Hell.
As I walk through the night, the moon shines down through the fronds. Even with only the smallest hints of light on the darkened, forested island, I can see unusually well. My toes sink in the sand as the waves lap at my feet. I walk deeper into the ocean, following the path of the moon. A school of small fish tickles my feet and ankles. Their silver bodies dart as one entity around me.
The water is almost as still as a lake and feels like cool silk being wrapped around my body as I sink into its depths. For an unknown piece of time, I silently and with perfect stillness relax into the arms of the ocean.
Only a slim moment of time passes and as if struck by a tidal wave, the desperate thirst beckons me back to shore.
Small creatures scurry at the edge of the forest. Some dart out from the safety of their own dwellings just long enough to succumb to their own cravings.
They are my dinner.
Disgust and hunger are at a constant battle within me as I chase the small creature into the forest, and just as I’m about to grab it that’s when it happens; the sliver of a face from my memory. It’s only happened two other times, a partial view of a man’s face. Each time, the flash of him paralyzes me. Then just as quickly, it slips away, just like my prey.
Anger thrashes through me. I rip away a branch of thorns from the thicket next to me, and crush them to dust in my palm. Delicate thorns blow away in the breeze.
Whoever painted the picture of Hell as fire and brimstone got it all wrong. I think we create our own Hell, because I’m now living my worst fears…the need for blood, the never-ending thirst for it, the isolation, and the lack of memories. I’ve wanted to die a thousand times over, but I know of only one way to end my life and it’s excruciatingly painful. The sun. Its beautiful heated light can end my suffering. I learned this valuable lesson by accident in the most dreadful and painful way. But, I can’t bring myself to walk in its glorious light.
Coward.
But when the sun rises, that’s when the real torture begins.
That’s when the people come.
Chapter 2
I’m able to make up for my loss and catch a rat scurrying on the beach. Dinner is light tonight, but at least it was something. I stay out for as long as I can before going back into hiding. The scent of night blooming jasmine is very strong this evening. The sweet, cloying smell blankets the dense forest as I follow the fragrance to the other side of the island and pick one of the delicate white flowers.
The sun will be rising in a few minutes and I race back to the safety of the cave. I need my rest for tomorrow.
I lay the flower next to me as I fall asleep for the day.
***
It happens every third day.
Today is the third day.
The cold s
tone’s temperature increases slightly as the sun rises directly overhead. No mere mortal could possibly feel the difference, but it’s there and that’s when the sounds begin to change. I can hear the waves beat against the ship as it draws near. I discern the sound of the engine rumbling and if I listen closely, I can hear the grinding of metal against metal.
Then the sounds fade as I focus on the voices. I can hear them begin as whispers, like they’re trying to hide their words from me. Their feet race across the wooden deck, hurrying to join me on the island. I hear the splashing and cries of children in a pool that must be on the ship.
I brace myself as it gets closer and closer. The wind propels the smells of fuel, salt, and blood into the cave. The sweet bouquet causes the hunger inside of me to blossom into a painful hunger.
My nails dig into my flesh. The tantalizing aroma of the people becomes unbearable once they hit the shore. I crouch down and cover my ears as the boom of laughter, the splashing, and the chatter pierces my head. It’s maddening!
The tears start to slide down my cheeks as the sounds start to meld together. Sometimes I can focus with precision and narrow in on one conversation or another, but today my focus scatters. I should have eaten more last night, just to calm this thirst, but it would make no difference.
The animals are never enough, and they don’t smell nearly as good as the humans. These days seem so long, a sliver of eternity, as my senses overpower me and sleep becomes impossible. This is the worst part of Hell. The never-ending craving for blood just beyond my reach; only yards away from the opening of my cave is the cure for this torment. Their blood, and possibly the end to this eternal loneliness, is mere feet from me yet I’m powerless to sate myself.
Not once has one of them ventured near me. Not once has a ship arrived before the sun comes up or left after it goes down. It is, as I’ve heard many times, only a day trip on the way to another destination. “A few hours of sun and fun to explore the shore.”
Sometimes they leave things for me to find, mostly trash I pile in a heap on the other side of the island. But every once in a while they leave a piece of humanity: a towel that smells of sunscreen, a bathing suit, or a tank top. I shred those items and send them back out to sea because their scent is too much to endure.
They have different odors to tease me. The children smell sweeter. Their hearts beat faster, pumping more of the life-infused nectar through their veins than the adults.
I imagine how beautiful all the people look, in their swimsuits, playing in the sand. How the sun caresses their bodies, and the tan skin that glistens in the light. I wonder what the styles may be.
My mind drifts to places it often does, imagining the impossible. I imagine the man from my visions walking off the ship, walking right toward my cave to be my salvation; his beautiful strong body picking me up and carrying me onto the ship with him.
My daydreams seem to last for hours as I imagine a million different scenarios to get on that ship. The hours drag along as the sun crosses the sky. It’s almost time for them to go, but then the unthinkable happens.
The sun begins to set, and the ship is still here.
Chapter 3
Is my time in Hell ending, or is this yet another cruel form of torture? Will they still be at the beach when the sun sets below the ocean horizon or will they disappear like a mirage in the desert?
The darkness starts to creep further across the cave’s entrance, swallowing the light and my anticipation grows. Their words resonate off the cave walls, and my ears prick to the highs and lows of the voices. The ache, the urge to break free from this self-contained prison sets fire to every cell of death that makes up my soul. I force myself to stay put. My arms wrap around my legs and my chin rests on my knees. Rocking back and forth, back and forth, until I can no longer stand the torture. Without another thought I’m on my feet and standing at the mouth of the cave. Their voices become louder and more distinct.
“How much longer are we going to be stuck here?” a man asks.
“Oh, stop complaining. They’ll get it fixed,” a woman’s thin tiny voice cuts through the air. “Besides, there are worse places to be trapped than on a tropical island, with me.”
Their voices fade into the crashing of the waves as they walk further away from the cave.
I step closer to the edge, careful to be quiet. This must be another trick of the Devil; the voices, the bonfire still blazing. I know when I get to the beach, the people will all dissolve into a cruel mirage and only remnants of smoke and embers from the fire will remain.
The glow of the fire masks the sun’s final descent, and I ease out of the cave toward the shore.
They are still here.
And they are real.
There are so many beautiful bodies sitting around the fire and at least a hundred or more on the shore. Many of them have left and returned to the ship.
About a hundred feet away in the thickness of the trees a stick cracks. “Damnit!”
The word fractures the quiet in the forest. As easily as a hunter sneaking up on its prey, I ease through the trees with noiseless speed until I come upon her. She squats near a palm tree. A large sun hat hides her face.
If my heart still worked, it would be beating so fast right now as I stare at her exposed neck. The vein pulses in rhythm with the beating center of her chest as if it beckons me. Her scent drifts by and my dry, needy mouth begs to be satiated with the taste of her. My predatory instincts take over. The moment she rises, I’m on her. The reminiscence of a scream lodges in her throat as I tighten my hand around her neck. Her pulse beats steady and fast under my fingers. Teeth, as sharp as a tiger’s, lengthen as I lean in for the kill. The tips of my teeth puncture her smooth thin flesh and I begin sucking the life from her, feeding a need that has yet to be satisfied. Every thought I’ve ever had in this new life flashes through my mind as the girl’s warm blood flows down my throat. The beast inside of me doesn’t even pause until every drop of her blood flows into my mouth, filling the gaping void inside me.
Only seconds have passed and the feeding ends.
Her blood flows freely inside me. I can feel its warmth surge like a freshly lit fire. The brilliant heat rushes through me, infecting each one of my senses. The blackness in the forest lightens, the tiny feet of the ants patter over the soft dirt next to me, the waves hum as they creep onto the sand’s surface, and the scent of night blooming jasmine is incredibly strong, as if I just sprayed perfume on my skin. My skin. The breeze caresses my arms and face and it feels like a thousand tiny hands stroking my flesh.
I have never felt so alive.
I look down at the girl in my lap and an irreversible regret comes over me, what until now has become something of a foreign feeling. But it’s there. And it’s very strong. Her once tanned skin is now pale and dead. “What have I done,” I whisper to myself. I smooth her dark hair away from her face. Her light green eyes stare up at me. She looks like she’s no older than me, twenty at most.
I want to run as fast as I can away from her, flee from the innocent murdered body lying on my lap.
A blaring horn followed by a booming announcement from the ship breaks through the panic in my chest. “Attention passengers, this is Captain Christopher Perkins. My crew has corrected the minor setback, and we are preparing for departure. Please make your way to the ship. Once everyone has boarded we will get back out to sea. And again, I want to apologize for any inconvenience we have caused. Thank you.”
I look at the dead girl on my lap and thoughts begin to derail as I think of what to do next. I pull strands of my hair to the side and look at them; my hair is almost identical to hers: dark, straight, and long. As clear as the water in the sea that has surrounded me for months, one thought rises to the surface: if there is any chance for me to get off this island, this is it.
Pushing all of the regret and remorse aside, I strip her of her clothes. As I slide her shorts off, a slim card slides from the back po
cket. It lists the name of the ship, her name and dates of travel, dining assignment, and a barcode.
I replace my clothes, which have become nothing more than rags, with her bikini top, shorts, flip-flops, and sun hat. I push the card into my back pocket. The ship’s horn blares again, and I make my way toward the shoreline and clean the crusted blood from my mouth with the salty water.
Some of the crew stays to make sure the bonfire is out, while others guide the passengers, including me, toward the ship. I pray no one walks the short distance into the forest and finds the lifeless girl near the tree. Picking up my pace, I distance myself from her body and quickly fall into step with the rest of the passengers. We walk down the dock that I had walked a thousand times over in only the solitude of the night toward the ship that will take me away from this Hell.
Their intoxicating scents surround me: sunscreen, warmth, human, and blood. I pull down the brim of the sun hat to hide my face and any expression of hunger or need that may be evident, and like a herd, we make our way up the ramp into the mouth of the ship. The thin card hardly feels like a ticket to a new life, or an old one I have yet to remember, but I hand it to the woman and she holds it under the scanner. I wait for it to beep like it had for the people in front of me as I roll my fingers over one another, kneading the firm joints. The light blinks green and the crew attendant says, “Enjoy the rest of your trip, Miss Reed.”
I nod and continue onto the ship. Crew members smile as I pass. One, a woman with short blonde hair, asks me how I am as she walks by me. I return a smile that I hope looks real and lower the brim of the hat. Panic rises up in me as I walk through the ship. I know I must look different than these people, and surely they must realize it…know that I’m a murderer. But, no one stares too long or too hard.
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