Splintered Energy (The Colors Book 1)

by Arlene Webb

  “You aren’t human, but you don’t know where you’re from? Are you a vampire? Will sunlight turn you to dust? Why’d the yellow lady try and kill you? I think she broke my chest. Did…you…er…force her? That’s why she’s so angry?”

  “I won’t spare time for irrelevant questions. Answer my one. Your ribs are broken?”

  “Spare the time! You gotta explain. This is unreal.” Evan stood, hugging his chest, fear shaking his voice. “Did you…you know. Then leave her clothes off? You’re a…but—I’m sorry. How could you, if she threw you like that? She can’t be human either. Why’s she so violent? What are you guys?”

  Evan assumed Malcolm had…sex? Nonconsensual? There’d be a label for such a crime. A serious allegation before he’d understood Jane could stop the atrocity. Forced sexual contact, ergo, a rapist. Malcolm wanted to vomit as yet another appalling insight figuratively slapped him in the face. If he wished to lower Evan’s pain, it’d require tactile manipulation. Forced contact.

  Had such been the kinky Evan feared? Sexual gratification of older, stronger male when youthful opportunity enters his home? Malcolm wanted to curl into an aphephobic ball and die. Oh my, oh my. I do not like this world.

  Evan stood, terrified and damaged. The price of a painted room. Mea maxima culpa. Perhaps the more often Malcolm touched, the better he’d become acclimated. Odds dictated no. This existence promised to be an infinite nightmare.

  “Allow my hands upon you, Evan. I’ll not hurt you, nor will I force anything. I want to check your injuries. I haven’t harmed her, nor have any desire to. She doesn’t understand clothes. Lose your fear. Pull up your shirt.”

  A patient nod, and Malcolm lifting the clothing himself hurried the process of human wanting to trust the alien. An alien that’d just lied to him. Forced entry of his current—unethical without consent—yet the simplest path.

  Malcolm’s first time deliberately touching a man sent rushes of distaste through him. What’s wrong with me? I must make this right, or at least better.

  His strokes turned demanding, his fingers soothed over Evan’s rib cage, and numbing energy penetrated the man’s skin. Malcolm’s caress over the heart regulated its rhythm, and he hated his superiority. If he increased his diffusion into the organ, a permanent freeze to the beat would be instantaneous, and the tally of murdered humans would reach two.

  Thankfully, success approached. His eyes wide with surprise, Evan’s exhales felt cool on Malcolm’s face, signifying pain had been anesthetized. Breathing would normalize, except for the stimulation. Should he increase the pleasure? Malcolm hid his sigh. One more wretched surge to control lingering ache, and the timid delight from a compliant youth being penetrated by a frigid being-of-light could end.

  A firm brush over flushed cheeks and another stroke over the ribs guaranteed pain should abdicate, frozen in sapphire until seizing up with lack of movement or suffering further trauma. Finally, he lowered Evan’s shirt and regained his personal space.

  He’d research later why Evan feared, yet liked, this hopefully non-sexual contact. A kinky male thing? Who cared? Malcolm never wanted to touch another being again. He’d verbally reassure, and then get the damaged human out of this house.

  “There’s much bruising. One rib’s cracked. Can you go for treatment, or do you need help to come to you?”

  “I guess I’ll take some aspirin for now.” Unfortunately, Evan’s dazed expression glowed with fascination. “How’d you do that? Your touch is so cool. It’s like an electric current of winter. I mean, I feel numb now. Will I—am I going to be…um…infected? What about you? Why don’t we get her arrested and not tell anyone about you?”

  “Oh, please. You don’t even pause for an answer.” Malcolm lowered his pounding head.

  To his horror, the Evan problem closed in. The pat on his shoulder activated Malcolm to raise his chin and harden his voice. “How many times must I ask you not to touch me?”

  Evan’s presence, thankfully, stepped back. “You really are contagious? Will I turn blue? If I turn yellow—I had her in a chokehold for half a second—will I be violent?”

  “The horror of contagion is my bias, not yours. Your touch, hers, anyone’s, makes me suicidal—and murderous. I fight the urge to wring your neck then bash my skull in. It’s not safe for you here.” Malcolm glanced and despised himself anew. “I’m sorry. I’m not serious about harming you.” Liar. Fear churned and he blurted his panic. “What I need is a revolver to threaten you and a stun gun for her. Then I wouldn’t have to touch either. Goodbye.”

  He turned back to the computer. Their survival depended upon Evan accepting he couldn’t get further involved. Perhaps if Malcolm lowered the confusion, explained his urgency. He reopened the window and revealed the website’s array of tasers. “She wants to destroy everything that looks wrong to her, including you. I need a weapon that covers all frequencies. I can’t protect you. What part about leave don’t you grasp?”

  He glared, surged to shine alien, and understood failure.

  The glassy-eyed youth appeared attracted beyond the point of reason. Despite his broken arm, bruised chest with three broken ribs, Malcolm radiated a power that seemed to be irresistible.

  Evan dragged his attention from beautiful-blue to the screen. “You’re too cool to abandon. God, your eyes are awesome. Let me help you.” He leaned to scroll. “A taser. Nothing an eighteen-year-old on a Saturday night in Cleveland can’t figure out.”

  Eighteen won’t make it to nineteen. “Are all humans unable to comprehend not invading personal space? Or just you? You’re a fool, in need of protection I cannot provide. Is this stupidity thanks to being young with an underdeveloped brain? Unable to fathom injuries will be more than bruised ribs?”

  Beyond frustrating. The simpleton didn’t even step aside, let alone flee for his life. Teenagers were an obvious defect in the human species.

  “Not as easy as I thought,” Evan muttered. “We’d have to mail order one. They’re legal in Ohio, so that’s good, but they ship from somewhere. With overnight express, we’re still looking at Monday. Let me try something.”

  Hopeless. Depressed beyond belief. What was Evan doing?

  A local weapon shop’s website. No listings of tasers.

  “You know, it wouldn’t be as accurate, but we could probably make one.” Evan brought up an electronics store.

  Oh my! Malcolm brushed Evan’s hand aside. He glimpsed schematics and connected to the store in Chagrin Falls. “An easy weapon to make. Thank you. I never thought of that, and I can build it with more accuracy, direct contact only. If I used wires, she’d understand and halt them before the probe penetrated.”

  He typed a precise list of parts to be picked up and fought the despair bubbling within him. The youth had actually puffed out his damaged ribs with his relief. How could Evan be this foolish when it came to self-preservation? He seemed desperate to ingratiate himself.

  “I’ll run get the parts, but I don’t want to leave you with her,” Evan said. “Can you go outside in the daylight?”

  “I don’t understand the question. The sun only annoys me.” Almost as much as a certain young man.

  “You’re not a bloodsucker, that’s cool. Come with me, okay?”

  “Vampire research has not been my agenda. I won’t leave her unguarded. I’m afraid to request delivery. I may get another nightmare. Return without exiting your vehicle. Toss the package by the garage.”

  Evan sighed. “Need anything else?”

  “I could use some blue rope, but I’ll make do. You must-must-must obey.”

  “Okay, fine, just wondering about so many things. How’d you get a credit card? I knew anyone could apply, but someone from outer space? Is that where you’re from?”

  Malcolm’s frustrated stare, his broken arm cradled against his chest, caused Evan to stammer, “I’m suh-sorry. Never mind for now. Before I go, I could help you.”

  “By not returning? Thank you.”

  “If I tape
d your arm, it’d feel better. Make a sling for you. I saw a first aid kit in your garage. Maybe some painkillers in there, too.”

  Evan left. Upon return, he set a red and white kit on the counter, and pulled out a roll of white gauze.

  Malcolm banged his head down and sobbed.

  “What?” Evan stood there, gauze in hand, not a clue what the combination of all the colors of the visible light spectrum represented to the bigot in her room and the one only a few feet from him. Reflection, not a pleasant sight for a purist to absorb.

  “Get that deadly fabric away from me.” Malcolm shoved to his feet, despite his aching rib cage. “Leave…”

  Oh. My. Show no fear. He forced his face blank and stepped in front of Evan. The bedroom door opened, and Jane Doe stood poised in the hallway. She stared, puzzled, at Malcolm, until her flickering gaze moved around him and filled with rage.

  “Out the back door. Evan, go.” His collision course perfect, Malcolm knocked her down.

  Her thrust flung his body off hers. The floor hit him hard, and she rolled up in a powerful leap. One he could match. Malcolm’s kick knocked her foot from Evan. He hurled himself to wrap one broken and one good arm around her. He outweighed her and she fell.

  Despite his dominant position, fists pounded his back—her arms tightened—his two crushed ribs snapped. Until he was a brutalized pulp, he’d hold her. Although Malcom had told him not to, Evan must escape and be smart enough to alert authorities. Yellow would get the bullets she deserved.

  Another scenario, his servant would die after Jane Doe escaped Malcolm’s larger mass. She’d roll him and free herself. He suspected there were other possibilities. Agony distracted from his thought process.

  With terrifying strength, she lifted them both to their feet. Brutally banging him with her head, she failed to break his hold, but it’d end soon. His essence dripped from his mouth. Things could only get worse. On cue, Evan’s ragged breathing eased. The fool swallowed his panic, readying himself for action?

  Evan pulled his mobile from his back pocket and lunged. He yanked blonde hair. “Let go of him. See this? It’s a gun. I’ll kill you!”

  Jane Doe pulled loose, leaving strands of gold in Evan’s hand. Malcolm had little—correction, no option in her grip. She lowered her head, chomped down on his good arm, and penetrated unbalanced droplets of 526 into him. A monstrous violation.

  Within his body, he fled her burning path. She released his broken arm, and raked his face with her nails. Malcolm took her with him as he collapsed backward. She covered him, rendering his size useless. Again, she bit his poisoned arm.

  Bitch. It burned her also. This time, Malcolm didn’t flee 526 within. He couldn’t bring himself to cross the contaminated path but—oh my—he could and did, control her light-essence within him from traveling further up his arm.

  His concentration slipped from his pathetic external control. She broke free, and bounded backward, up and off him. What advantage had he, with an internal block? Evan faced her without defense except deception, a cell phone between him and death. To Malcolm’s dread, the brave man forced his step toward her.

  Malcolm struggled to his feet. Her kick in his side knocked him back down. Vicious bitch.

  She spun and fled. He collapsed.

  The door to the yellow room slammed. Thank whatever that mobiles look like tasers.

  Oblivious to Malcolm’s cringe, Evan huddled down and lifted his head.

  Who needed a mirror? He could feel the blisters forming where she’d clawed him, penetrating the damaged epidermis to further infect his purity. One arm was now broken in three places, cracked in two more. His essence trickled from his mouth. He grunted. “Get that gauze. Make a line in front of her door.”

  “What good will that do? I have to bring you to a hospital.”

  “Trust me. It’s an awful thing to do, but…please hurry.”

  Tears splattering onto the floor, Evan bent to scoop up the gauze. He stumbled, thanks to the recurrence of chest pain, down the hall to the door separating him from the sociopath who’d tried to kill him twice now.

  Evan rushed back. “I did a line in front and doubled it. You aren’t gonna die, are you? Let me get some help.”

  Malcolm tried to sit. Unfortunately, Evan didn’t hesitate. He raised Malcolm’s shoulders and propped him against his leg. He bent to Malcolm’s pain-drenched whisper, “She won’t cross a death line. Fetch the weapon parts before she understands what a cell phone is. Drop them outside. Then go home. I beg this of you.”

  The fool wasn’t listening. Evan flung his arm under Malcolm’s knees and lifted him. Living energy, he carried his weight in the body, but he was still too heavy for this injured man. Who cared about returning where he belonged? Nothing was worth this. Evan settled Malcolm on the couch, and his worried face brightened. “Just a sec.”

  One hundred and twenty-two seconds, and a glass of water pressed to Malcolm’s lips. Lovely molecules soothed down his throat while Evan mumbled, “Why can’t I bring you with me?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll go into the bathtub.”

  “You want to take a bath?”

  “I need—must—rinse.”

  Another determined breath from Evan and hell continued.

  4.2 miserable minutes later, “safely” past the horror room, Evan placed Malcolm on the bed. Evan’s strength a surprise, his silence wonderful, he left and returned to drop the dripping coffeemaker in the corner, muttering, “I won’t ask.”

  Malcolm sat up. His attempt to retrieve control didn’t seem to sink in as Evan removed the torn shirt from Malcolm’s battered chest. Evan moved to Malcolm’s shoes, his naive eyes widening at the sight of blue feet. Like they’d be any other shade. Malcolm’s scowl penetrated, and Evan flushed. The dress pants were left alone, but the determined man lifted him again and carried him to the bath.

  What-what-what, would stop this selfless human from touching him?

  Oh my. Universal-solvent flowed over Malcolm’s skin, dulling the taint of contamination. Unable to bear Evan’s stare, he turned his focus on his broken body.

  Water droplets sparkled against the black and blue of his destroyed chest. The deep bites on his arm shone yellow with a green outline. Bruising from the poison twisted up into his darkened shoulder. The shattered bone in his other arm was visible, pressed against blackened skin. Malcolm flinched and faced the human blinking against his tears.

  “Stop it. I’m much stronger than you understand.”

  “The water’s cold, want me to put the hot on?”

  “No, thank you. You know what I want you to do.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Evan pushed himself from the tub’s edge.

  “Drop the bag outside. Evan, I’m so sorry.”

  Evan didn’t speak as he left. Malcolm allowed himself a sob when the truck pulled from the driveway. Water calmed the throb of broken bones, but yellow’s interior burn tore at him. He wanted, badly, to end this. The deterrents were a young man too stubborn to stay away, the missing ones, and a freed monster. Balance would still tip in favor of suicide, if it weren’t for the servant running Malcolm’s errands. Ironic, it made Malcolm want to pulverize Evan himself.

  There must be a solution to save the youth from this battle of colors. He cringed. Had Evan become a lifelong responsibility? Did it matter? Odds dictated Malcolm’s life would finale within hours. He was so weakened, he’d let Evan carry him not once, but three times—couch, bed, and water.

  He had to be stronger than this. Ignore the intolerable burn, forget the insufferable youth, and analyze. He’d fled, internally, from where her teeth opened his skin and 526 terahertz entered. He suspected his fear of contact had no foundation. If he could bring himself to do it, he could attempt to push her out.

  I can’t—I don’t want to touch her. Fine. He’d stop the mental whining, continue to block her path within him, and eventually test the theory that he, 631, was stronger. If so, he could bleed out the drops of Jane Doe. She had to b
e in considerable pain also, feeling just as contaminated inside from him. And yes, that knowledge gratified him.

  An angry battle of musical notes played in his head as he brooded. A wring of Evan’s neck would deny 526 the pleasure of torturing him to death. Horrors, but Malcolm could do something noble. Hold, comfort, and give pleasure while he froze internal organs.

  He submerged his face under the cleansing water. Were all humans this righteous when they learned psychotic color existed? Or was Evan the exception? The turmoil his minion must be in intensified the guilt, self-loathing increasing with every unneeded beat of Malcolm’s heart.

  Chapter Twelve

  Heart, ribs, brain, Evan hurt everywhere. He’d raced through the electronic store, knocked people aside in the hardware, and the drive back passed in a reckless blur. His cell phone weapon read 5:58 PM as he scurried past the closed door of the yellow room and into the main bedroom. He flicked on the bathroom light.

  Submerged in the tub, knees up—no air bubbles!

  How could Evan have left him? Malcolm couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t. Why didn’t he remember CPR better? Even more important, why care Malcolm was a dude? The bag fell from Evan’s hand. His knees hit the floor, and he drenched his shirt. Oh god. Laser eyes blazed open with irritation.

  “Why must you persist in touching me?” Malcolm groaned.

  Evan cringed back. “I thought you drowned. Sorry.”

  “Why would I breathe under water?” Malcolm pulled himself up to sit. “I only do so above because this head insists, sending an involuntary signal I haven’t learned to control. You purchased the parts? Saying goodbye?”

  “You don’t need to breathe? Cool! Can you fly, levitate? Walk through walls…er, sorry.”

  Evan pushed off the tub to stand. That glare had started his teeth chattering. Felt like the temperature plunged from the Ice Fortress of Solitude to absolute zero. He fought the panic building in his chest, and bent to scoop up the bag. Boxes of dye, along with the cord of white rope, tumbled onto the counter.