The Mark of Chaos

by Susan D. Kalior

  Turning to the flickering fat, black candle on the end table by the bed, my knees sank to the floor. I brought the antique yellow parchment into the incandescent light. The uneven black ink was scrolled in Latin with a Spanish translation scribbled underneath each line of writing. For the first time, I was glad I was raised in Arizona where Spanish had been required learning in my grade school. However, I still struggled to translate. The hand-written script was strenuous to decipher. The title read, “The Heritage of Juan.”

  Juan must be johnny. My heart felt like it flew to my throat. At last, I’d know the truth. johnny’s secrets were at my fingertips!

  The first sentence contained a number. I wasn’t great at translating large numbers, and I doubted that I’d done it correctly given what I came up with.

  Juan. Born 1099 AD, Chile.

  1099 AD, Chile? The birth date was impossible. I must have mistranslated. Chile though, he was Chilean. South America. Interesting.

  I struggled to decipher the next sentence. You are Tazmark, a supernatural human with bestial alien genetics: vampiric, magical, of mental genius, superhuman strength, a master of seduction, and a weaver of mayhem.

  Huh? Bestial alien genetics? Vampiric? Like a vampire? Those two outlandish things aside, the rest of the description somewhat fit him. But how could this be true?

  I read on, ferreting out the meaning of the next sentence.

  Tazmarks are the mark of chaos on earth, heeding the call for power, the cry for blood, and the yearning of the sacrificial.

  Hmm. If this was true, he answered the call for more than pain. Maybe johnny was not evil per se, but a species of such, just being true to its nature, like a wolf, or a snake.

  I labored patience, unraveling the next bit. Tazmarks are rare, Juan—especially full bloods, especially Blacks. Emotions are few. We make no allegiance, not even to each other. I, who am of Spanish and Chilean blood, birthed you.

  His mother? His mother wrote this! Or, did she? Maybe this was part of johnny’s ploy to toy with me.

  Tazmarks—if not killed, do not get sick or die. I am over three thousand years old. Our wounds heal quickly unless received by paranormal species.

  He was immortal? Immortal? That’s crazy. And paranormal species? Just how many paranormal species were there? And his mother’s age confirmed that I probably did translate johnny’s age correctly. Still, they couldn’t be that old.

  I read on. I am done with you. Your father, a Tazmark from Castile, Spain, is done with you. And your father and I are done with each other.

  Well, if this all was true . . . poor johnny. He had no love growing up. None at all. And I thought I had it bad. I sucked in a quick breath. Where are his parents now?

  My intense mental focus in poor lighting had earned me a headache and sore eyes, but intrigue outweighed my suffering. The candle sputtered in a sea of hot wax, threatening to go out. I tried to hurry.

  I’ve left you to be raised with those whose blood is mixed with yours and mine, the Alacalufes, the Chilean Indian tribe who worship demons. You will survive their tortures; they will cheer you as leader, all fine training for future earth exploits. This that I have told is your legacy. And it is all you will ever have from me.

  My throbbing headache had turned into a migraine. I rubbed the back of my head with one hand, but my greater pain was for johnny and the way he apparently grew up. I was beginning to think love could change him, help him. I needed to stop translating and tend my headache, but I just couldn’t put the paper down.

  And this brings me to my final warning—beware the Shen.

  I shook my aching head, feeling nauseated. I didn’t know if that was the headache's fault or the fault of what caused my headache. I believed in a lot of things, angels, maybe ghosts, and perhaps other worlds out there—but a Tazmark, a flesh and blood immortal derivative of alien descent? However, it would explain a lot—his obsession with violence, his seductive manner, his magical ways. And what’s all this about, Beware the Shen? How could ‘I’ possibly hurt him? I doubted I could, but I was pleased to think I might possess that power just in case he turned on me.

  The paper combusted into flames, burning my fingers bad. I dropped it with a shriek and sucked on my fingertips. I felt a compelling presence at my back by the bedroom door. I rose stiffly and started to turn around. My heart pounded. My head pounded.

  Before I completed my rotation, the candle went out.

  I gasped, grabbing my stomach. A shadowy figure lurked under the door jam.

  “johnny?”

  “You are too clever.”

  “Is that you, johnny? You sound strange.”

  “It is I.”

  His silent rage thundered through me. My breath quivered. He had promised not to harm me, but men broke promises—always. I edged back toward the bed. “You are mad at me.”

  “Do you believe what you read?”

  “You are mad, so it must be true.”

  He stepped toward me, words oozing ire. “You . . . were not . . . ready . . . to know.”

  I sat on the bed, clutching the velvet comforter by my hips, believing what I’d read more than ever. “I must be, or I would not have found the paper.”

  His voice sounded harsh, even cruel. “You weren’t ready. You will never be ready.”

  Red eyes glowed in the dark. Red, for the third time now. Not even my imagination could hit three for three. The red glow gave faint form to his figure. I couldn’t make out his face. I kept blinking my eyes, hoping that his nebulous features would become clear.

  He stepped closer, his voice firm, almost vindictive. “They call us the destroyers. They blame us for their woe. They will never understand, we reap the seeds they sow”

  Something was terribly wrong with him. His street demeanor was all over him, and getting all over me. He stepped closer. Sweat beaded on my forehead. My migraine worsened. Shrill pain cut into the base of my skull on the right side. I repressed my urge to throw up. I kept thinking of what the paper said, bestial alien genetics.

  He grabbed my ribcage and lifted, landing me much further back on the bed. A shrill pain crossed my heart. Was I having a heart attack? He lunged on top of me with a deep throaty growl, forcing me to lie flat. His hair fell around the sides of my face. His breath smelled like blood. Blood! Did he drink blood? Did he—kill? Again, I thought of what the paper had said, vampiric.

  “johnny, johnny please,” I eked.

  “I could make you forget. But now I don’t want to.”

  His rough hand pressed against my thigh.

  I was glad I was wearing my white pants.

  “Such a nun you are,” he said, sitting upright, pulling off my pants with too much ease. He fell back upon me and pressed his rough hand against my thigh once more. Moving his fingers upward, he grazed my underwear. “Do you still desire fairy tale love with me . . . Shen?”

  To my horror—I did. “Mm hmm,” I whimpered.

  “What, Beauty and the Beast?”

  “Mm hmm.”

  “I suppose your love is . . . true, eternal, and . . . oh yes, unconditional.”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “I don’t believe you.” He squeezed my hip.

  “Then read my mind.”

  “The problem is—” He scratched long pointy nails that I didn’t think he had, above my underwear line across my pelvis, “—I cannot read your heart . . . Beauty.”

  My voice trembled, “You need not be the Beast, johnny.”

  Something cold touched my nose, cold and slimy. “I am the Beast—Shen.”

  My head felt like it was going to explode, my stomach too. “We can work on fixing that.”

  “I don’t need to be fixed.” His body convulsed slightly, as if struggling.

  I said, “I am saying this because I love you.”

  A drop fell on my face. I didn’t want to know what it was. He said mockingly, “You love me—truly?” Something cold brushed down to my cheek. “Even when I am like this?�
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  I had an urge to scream, but instead I forced the words, “You don’t have to be like this.”

  “That is not true love.”

  I gulped, “I can stay with you forever if you change.”

  “Eternally? If does not bespeak eternal love.” His teeth nipped my neck, and they seemed pointed.

  “I do love you—”

  “—Unconditionally?” He breathed hot in my ear, but his face seemed different, like his breath was closer to me than the rest of his head. He said, “Wanting to change me . . . that is not unconditional love.”

  “johnny,” I declared with choppy breath, “you said . . . you wouldn’t hurt me. You said . . . you were my guardian.”

  “Hmmm . . . and you said you loved me.”

  “I do,” I struggled for air under the weight of his body, “no matter how horrible the truth.”

  “And if it is a horrible truth, the most horrible truth, then what if you can’t stop me, change me, or stay with me?” I felt the pointy teeth again, pressing harder. My neck went cold. Had my skin been punctured? If so, wouldn’t it hurt more? At that moment, I felt my best chance at survival was to distract him.

  I inhaled deeply, attempting to fill my squashed lungs. “Why would you choose to protect someone who could be dangerous to you?”

  He lifted his head. His satirical laugh was most offensive. “You? You are not dangerous to me.”

  “Then what does, beware the Shen, mean?”

  “It means your kind can give my kind a headache.”

  “Ditto,” I whispered beneath my breath.

  With pointed tongue, he licked my cheek, and then my forehead—an animalistic lick, like a lizard trying to snap an insect into its mouth. I shuddered, disappointed by his minimization of my possible power over him.

  I said, “Even if I had the ability to hurt you, I wouldn’t.”

  “You wouldn’t?” he said mocking me, “Why, because you— love me?”

  “I do care for you, johnny. I . . . I can accept you, in time.” I swallowed hard, not sure if I was lying.

  “Can you accept this?” He nipped my lip with his long, sharp teeth. It did not hurt much, but he drew blood. I could taste it.

  “And this?” He sealed what felt like lips to mine and blew, filling my mouth with something hot, almost painful, but less painful than my headache. He scooted down, nudging the edge of the black silk shirt aside with his strange feeling mouth, and exposed my breast. “And this?” Gooey lips suctioned my nipple.

  He was invading me, like all the others. But it hurt more because I loved him, wanted him, needed him. But, I must never, never be invaded again. I’d rather die. I gasped, “johnny, you can’t do this!”

  He lifted his face. “I am.”

  “You can’t!

  “I can.”

  “Sex is sacred to me.”

  “Sex is the least of your dilemma.”

  “Please don’t hurt me, johnny . . . please.”

  “Accept me.”

  “I am trying,” I whimpered.

  I feared he’d kill me if I couldn’t, so I determined I would, somehow. Besides, I wanted to. Despite these most horrible, most awful of truths, I was unexplainably drawn to him. He drew out magical things from deep inside my being, making me feel empowered. And even more than that, he needed me. He needed me to love him truly, eternally, and with no conditions. I loved that. I’d never been needed by a man. He made me feel vibrant and necessary.

  I said more affirmatively, “I can accept you. I just can’t accept this, what you are doing right now. I can’t accept violence.”

  He drew in a long deep breath, then exhaled hotly, “Then you can’t accept me.”

  “Love can conquer many things.”

  A low guttural growl came from the back of his throat. Strained words followed. “Not me, Shen. Not me.”

  “johnny, I—”

  “I can’t be conquered. Ever. You don’t know who . . . You don’t know what . . . Not even what you read describes—” He moaned and closed his eyes as if fighting an urge.

  I shut up, not wanting to interfere with his concentration, especially if it was to my favor.

  He lifted himself off me and left the room so fast, I really didn’t see him go, but I heard the outer door slam. He was gone again. No use me trying to leave. I knew escape was impossible. And that was okay. If I couldn’t escape, I didn’t have to beat myself up for not trying to escape.

  Oh, I know in the horror movies, this is the part where the woman contrives a plot to kill the fiend or at the very least flee from him, but I didn’t feel that way. I believed I could change him. Gullible me, I guess. A glutton for punishment, I suppose.

  Or, possibly not. Beneath this frightful scenario, something beautiful brewed. I felt on the verge of embracing my true self, as if I were finally waking from a long dream. I didn’t want to go back to sleep and live out meaningless days painting horror until I was victimized to death. Something felt so right in all this wrongness!

  I curled on my side and wept. I wanted johnny, needed johnny, more than ever, even though he could change into something bestial. If he was this creature—a Tazmark, and he chose me to, in a sense, bring him new life, then that made me special, didn’t it?

  If his vow to protect me for all eternity was true, then it would be foolish of me to shun this great blessing, wouldn’t it? If he continued to bring forth my hidden talents, expecting nothing unsavory in return, that was love, wasn’t it? It just had to be. What’s that they say about playing with fire? And I knew I was. But for love, I’d do anything. Well almost.

  Chapter Eight

  After johnny left, I fell into a hibernating sleep, exhausted from the trauma of the night. When I awoke, johnny was there, standing at the bedside, staring at me. And though I feared him, I couldn’t help adoring his fine Castilian face. The parchment had revealed he was three quarters Spanish, and his features really showed it. He wore his regular black: tank top, jeans, and fingerless gloves. His damp hair implied a recent shower. His skin smelled fresh of soap. Oh, just what of the night had he washed away? He seemed his normal self, if you could ever call johnny normal, and I pretended like everything was all right, even though I knew it wasn’t. I felt safer that way.

  Even so, my stomach had gone cold and I could not keep my body from trembling.

  “Shower and dress,” he said, reaching his hand toward me to help me rise. “There are fresh clothes for you in the bathroom.”

  I took his hand and rose warily to my feet. Would he turn on me again?

  “No,” he said, reading my mind.

  I stepped past him toward the door, heading toward the bathroom. Tears welled in my cheeks. Pretend, I told myself, pretend. I plastered a vision of Zeke’s Meadow over the memory of him sucking my breast so cruelly. Would he do the same tonight?

  “No.”

  His words were coming solid like gold bullion bricks from behind me.

  I stopped walking. It sounded like, ‘no,’ but it was more than no. It was said as if he’d just put his whole volcanic world as collateral to cover the bet.

  I believed him. I did. I don’t know why I did, other than I loved to believe. I glanced at the floor. Not even ashes remained of the ancient paper.

  Then, without intending to, I turned to him and blurted, “Are you really over nine hundred years old?”

  “Yes,” he said dryly.

  “But how? How can you be? How is it possible to live on and on?”

  “It just is.”

  “You were different last night. You changed into something.”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “I just change.”

  “How.”

  “It’s what happens at some point, when I answer the call.”

  “Tell me about your powers.”

  “You already know about them.”

  “I mean, how did you make the music play without a machine, and the book appear after you left?”
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  “I can manifest things.”

  “Can you manifest anything?”

  “Almost.” He eyed my bare legs, trying to throw me off I think.

  “How?”

  “I can’t tell you how it’s done. I just do it naturally.” He flicked his hand toward the bathroom. “Go on.”

  “Well, do you actually create the object or does it appear from somewhere else?”

  “The second explanation.”

  “But isn’t that stealing?”

  He lowered one brow. “It’s the least of what I steal.”

  I frowned, not wanting to remember what I already knew. At least I knew now how he got his money and—everything else, perhaps. At least I could write off my theory about him being a drug lord. Even so, his method wasn’t ethical. Then again, neither was anything else he did.

  “I’m no Shen,” he said.

  “But couldn’t you go to work and—”

  “I do work,” he said. “My job is essential.” He stepped up to me, then turned me toward the bathroom. With his hand on my back, he pushed me along.

  “Are the police after you?”

  “My job is above the law, or . . . below, I should say.”

  I scowled. I was going to probe, but no, I didn’t want the details of his dealings—yet, although my curiosity was piqued. “What of your magic then? How do you seal the doors without locking them, and make the telephone dead, and see what’s going on without being physically present?”

  “Mind power. Now go shower and change. We have somewhere to be.”

  “You didn’t need a washer and dryer for my clothes the other day, did you?”

  “No.”

  When we reached the bathroom, I faced him. “Can you always read my mind?”

  “Only when I’m in it. If you speak your thoughts as they form, then you are telling me what I do not know. However, if you linger in your thoughts and do not speak, I will hear them. Like in your regressions, I knew what you experienced, but I wanted you to say it, to acknowledge it.”

  “Can I block you?”