The Mark of Chaos

by Susan D. Kalior

“Yeah,” he smiled, “Jen the Shen, and Dan Kahn the Zandron.”

  His joke was funny, but I didn’t laugh. I lowered my head seriously, staring at my red pumps stepping through dried grass. “I thought you had used me to kill your enemy.”

  “You had to think that or you would have not moved into the next scene.” He squeezed my hand with a bit of affection. “You had to go through the red painting. I’d not intended on it going as far as it did, but it took you a long time to call for me.”

  “Well you looked a little preoccupied!”

  “Don’t let that notion hinder you from calling me ever again. I will come. Always I will come when you call. Always.”

  “When did you get there?”

  He slowed his pace until he stopped. He sighed. “I won’t lie to you.”

  “When?” My heartbeat quickened.

  “When they laid you on the stage.”

  I jumped back from him, breaking our handhold. “And you let me go through all that!”

  “I first came because you called for me. Then you began calling to your religious idols instead, so I waited. When you gave up on religion and again called for me, I stopped them.”

  “You let me suffer just to teach me that lesson?”

  “It is an important lesson. If we are far from each other, in different states or even countries, and you are in peril, I may not know that you need me . . . if you do not call.”

  I was frustrated that every one of his explanations always led me to liking him more. I wanted to hate him so that I could get out of this mess, this sinful mess of falling in love with a diabolical creature. I clenched my fists and huffed, “Why do you do this to me?”

  He curled a strand of hair behind my ears. “Do what?”

  “You drop me in hell, then pull me out by convincing me your actions are for my own good. You lure me close with caring words and seductive charms, but I’m not allowed to touch you unless I accept your evil. Then the same evil that you use to hurt others, you use to help me. You make me wish that you’ll never change. Yet, if I’m to be with you—you must! You want me to love you, but you won’t let me love you. I feel trapped. I feel—”

  “Why do you think I won’t let you love me?”

  “When I try to love you, to help you—you resist.”

  “That’s not the love I want.”

  “What then?”

  “I want you to love me as I am, but I don’t think you can.”

  He was right. I couldn’t. I was speechless.

  He captured my hand kind of hopefully and started us walking again onto a wide sidewalk that bordered a neighborhood. His long stride left me winded.

  I panted, “Why aren’t we taking a taxi?”

  “I prefer walking.”

  “Do you fear cars?”

  He started to laugh. “I don’t know what fear feels like; I only know what it looks like.”

  “What then?” I asked, panting hard. Speaking wasn’t easy.

  “It’s boring not to play. To be out in the field where the mice are is far more exciting than sealing one’s self in a box with four wheels.”

  My panting chopped up my words. “Play? . . . You mean have fun . . . at other . . . people’s . . . expense?”

  He slid his eyes my way.

  I barely blinked and somehow I was being carried in his arms, bobbing with his stride. Had time stopped or quickened? This was weird. We were strolling past rows of houses strewn with clusters of gang type youth, eyeing us curiously, sucking on cigarettes.

  “Put me down, johnny. I feel conspicuous, and I don’t want people thinking you own me.”

  “You should. Then they won’t bother you.”

  “Aren’t you afraid they’ll all gang up on you and try to do you in?”

  “They dare not. They wouldn’t survive it. You are fortunate to be under my wing. You are the only one ever that I’ve offered that position. You are under my eternal protection. And if I can manage it, when your time for death comes, perhaps our spirits can exit together. I don’t know. I have to work on that.”

  Leaning into his shoulder, I wrapped my arms affectionately around his neck. “But you are immortal.”

  “I know the secrets of time and dimension on levels that most humans do not, for they are too fixed. I think I might find a way.”

  “You are saying that you would die early, so our spirits could be together? You would do this for me, johnny?”

  “There is no death, not really. Just various worlds. We simply change form when we move from one to another. I can visit many of these worlds whenever I choose. And there is a void where time converges and all things are viewed happening at once. There is much I want to teach you, Jen, and much I want to show you.”

  His talk had taken me into a strange trance. My inquisitive mind had turned off. I felt porous and expansive, soaring in the heavens, on a mission of some kind. Sparkling energy flowed from my essence to specific places in the universe. Then a vision burst through of a beast ripping into human flesh. I almost choked. I blurted, “johnny, put me down.”

  “Let me carry you. Let me ease your burden, Jen.”

  “No, no, no. You can’t do this to me.”

  “Do what?”

  “Offer me paradise in hell.”

  “That is exactly what I’m offering you.”

  “But I can’t take the hell part.”

  He said nothing. Neither did I. I didn’t know what else to say. And it didn’t matter what I said, I still wanted to be with him, even when I’d tried to run away.

  I resigned myself to that want—for now, and settled into his arms so comfortably, I almost fell asleep. I must have dozed, because we reached his tenement much more quickly than I would have thought possible.

  He eased me down gently on the sidewalk. My red shoes were under clean concrete with no grease, no blood, and no empty drug vials. I think that was johnny’s way of rolling out the red carpet for me. I’d seen his magic and cleaning a sidewalk would be no great feat.

  My hand was happy in his as he led me through the entrance. When we reached the stairs, he turned smoothly and sat. He pulled my hands down, landing my knees between his wide-open legs.

  The Puerto Rican boys were heading in, cigarette packs popping out the pockets of black tee shirts. They parted to pass on either side of us on the stairs, trying to hide their astonished staring. They were smiling in a phony scared way.

  “Why are they looking at us like that?”

  “They have never seen me taken with a woman.”

  “Taken by me, or are you taking me, johnny? Which?”

  “When will you believe that I will not make you my victim? So many times, I could have. So many times, I have resisted. Does this mean nothing to you?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. I wanted to assure him that his vow to protect me did mean something, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted it to be. But it just wasn’t.

  He rose forlornly, which surprised me. He was not the woe-is-me type. Emotions were surfacing in him like the frothy head on beer, but would they dissolve the same, once the drink had settled? Once I trusted him, would I, despite his promise, become his prey?

  He reached back and took my hand. We walked up the stairs slowly. I think we were both contemplating our fate, contemplating staying together . . . and the improbability of it.

  Halfway up, I was out of breath again. He lifted my tired body effortlessly, positioned me carefully over his shoulder, and walked up the stairway. He never became winded, nor moaned from the weight of his burden. I felt about as real as a Barbie doll being carried by a GI Joe toy.

  Once on the sixth floor, he continued to carry me down the hallway. My stomach began to hurt. Just as I thought that, he put me on my feet. His orange eyes sparkled with affection. The sparkles left his eyes and floated toward me in slow motion, transforming into miniature holograms of sword fighting, and a fiery orange volcano silhouetting johnny with his long black hair blowing in heated pressur
e bursts. I was struck by a megaton dose of his masculine charisma. My knees buckled, and by heaven or hell, I felt a procreative fire burning in my womb.

  He steadied me with his hands, but I was crippled by the pangs of want cross firing throughout my body. He swept me smoothly in his arms, angling me close against him. He stared at me as he glided down the hall, needing no vision to find his way.

  My thoughts dripped like fine chocolate, smothering rationale, opening all my senses.

  I closed my eyes so that I wouldn’t drown in the virility spilling out all over his face, like molten lava, red orange and hot, edging closer to make me a part of its new landmark. But even as my lids lowered, I felt the heat of him seeping into me, lulling me into his volcanic depth. Merge . . . we must merge!

  I don’t even remember how we came to be in his bedroom. But somehow I was lying naked on the bed and he was naked on top of me . . . weighing me down with blazing kisses that took me fathoms into his diabolic heart. “Trust me,” he said in a raspy whisper of passion.

  His hands licked me like flames consuming wax. I melted into his essence, engulfed in unimagined pleasure, mounting, mounting, along with feelings of eternal devotion to mon cher.

  “I love you, johnny,” I cried out, “truly, eternally, unconditionally!”

  I thought I heard him whisper, “No, you don’t.” But I wasn’t sure. And at that moment, I didn’t care.

  He took me deeper, farther, faster into glorious crimson heat, transforming the rigid surface of my personality into fluid smoke that rose into the air as I moaned my intense sexual release. Had it been hours or minutes? I could not tell.

  I was lying in his arms. Each breath that rose and fell from me was full and sated. My cool sweating head rested against his bare chest. I smiled a little, thinking that the red had engulfed me again. But this time it wasn’t a bad thing. It was johnny’s heart. Wasn’t it?

  He started to speak softly, “I . . . I . . .” but then his words took the form of a gentle kiss on my damp forehead. It is not a Tazmark’s nature to feel what I feel. It can’t be love, because Tazmarks are not capable, and yet, it is something . . . something.”

  “I think it is love, johnny, even if it is not a Tazmark’s nature.”

  “Maybe my mother was wrong. I’ve never sat around and conversed with another Tazmark about it before. On the rare occasion I meet one, we fight. I win, and there’s no Tazmark left with whom to compare notes. Not that we would. It’s not our way.”

  I stroked his chest. “Your ways are hard for me, but love will bring us to balance. In some strange way I think it already has.” I shook my head slightly, “Before I met you. I thought everyone was human.”

  “You’d be amazed,” he said, “all the legends you’ve ever heard about fairies and elves, werewolves and vampires, all have a basis in reality. How else could they even be imagined? There are many sorts—many, but not many like you or I, not many at all, and fewer Shens than Tazmarks.”

  “Have you known other Shens? Is that why you know so much about them?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “What happened to the Shens you met?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I paused, but love gave me courage. “You took them, didn’t you?”

  He paused. “Yes.” I guess love gave him courage too.

  “Why?”

  “They called to be sacrificed. I craved their light, so I obliged.”

  “So,” I inhaled deeply, “you killed them?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, that was all long ago, right? And, you would not kill a Shen now?”

  “Not you. And now that I know you, I will kill no other Shen—ever, even if they call.”

  Love was powerful, and I believed johnny loved me, even if he didn’t believe it. “Is that how you knew my power wouldn’t be the same if you stole it?”

  He nodded.

  My face crumpled in consternation. “What happens when you take a Shen? Do they become a part of you?”

  “Kind of—for a hundred years or so. Their energy matriculates with mine, diluting Divine Light, but I am charged nonetheless, and my senses are heightened.”

  “Then what?”

  “Once I’ve digested them, their essence is set free.”

  “Free? Where do they go?”

  To their world of origin.

  I stroked his arm. “Maybe their presence in you, changed you, and allowed you to open to me. Maybe it is possible to—”

  “Don’t—”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t start thinking about converting me.”

  I smiled faintly. “Maybe you already have been converted. You touched me with your heart. I felt it. Stay home tonight.”

  “I can’t.”

  For some reason, I felt so brave. I wanted to swallow my dilemma with johnny. I wanted to digest it and make it a problem no more. “You told me that you take confidence, hope, innocence, and energy from others when you answer the call. Do you take blood? Do you take life?”

  He rolled on his side. “Do you really want to know?”

  I propped myself up with my elbow. “I just made love with you. In my heart, you are my husband. I must know the truth of you. How else can we make modifications that will allow us to remain together?”

  “I won’t change, Jen.”

  “Tell me anyway,” I said, not giving up on the modification plan.

  He rolled to his side, head propped on hand, staring at me oddly, as if scanning my brain.

  “I feed at night.”

  “Feed? Feed on what?”

  His penetrating eyes delivered an image to my mind. johnny bit into something and blood flooded his face. And the vision was familiar to me.

  I shook my head, dispelling the image, refusing the image, escaping in denial, as always I did when that sort of vision appeared. “Can’t you feed here?”

  “There’s nothing to feed on here—but you, and you know I won’t.”

  I furrowed my brows, trying to figure out how to pretend he wasn’t implying what he was implying.

  “The point is, I must go out to get what I need.”

  “What’s wrong with all the meat in your refrigerator?”

  “That meat is for you.”

  “Why can’t you eat it?”

  “Sh,” johnny whispered, “stop your mind before it takes you where you’d best not go. Not yet anyway.”

  “My fifth painting, it’s about —”

  “Let’s sleep.” He rolled on his back, bare hands resting on his stomach.

  My eyes widened. I sat up and examined his hands. A red ridge went from his middle finger, stretching to his wrist. It reminded me of the fin like structure lining the backs of iguanas. I traced my finger over the ridge. A strange excitement rushed through my body.

  With eyes closed, johnny murmured, “I am of the Dragon, Angel. That’s Dragon with a capital D. He sighed, “I am of . . . the Dragon.”

  Of the Dragon, I thought. The parchment said he was bestial. The beast was a Dragon. But Dragons weren’t even real beasts. No matter. johnny was real and I wanted my Dragon with me tonight, oh so very much. I whispered lightly, “Please don’t go away this night.” But he was already asleep.

  I snuggled close to him, but I was too agitated to rest. Now that I’d made love with johnny, I cared for him more than ever, and I had to convert him from evil to good. I played out dozens of scenarios in my head, all ending badly, for it was hard enough to change an ordinary man, much less an extraordinary one. I began developing a notion to paint him. The urge increased moment by moment.

  My tossing and turning didn’t seem to arouse him in the slightest. His stilled body never budged. His lungs seemed inactive. Of course they couldn’t be. That ancient paper I’d found, said he was human, but more. I guess the Dragon part of him made him sleep like a corpse. If I was sane, and johnny was who he claimed, then life was a trip and a half. I still couldn’t believe I was in love with a—well, a
beast of sorts.

  Maybe Shens and Tazmarks were all he had killed, and never ever humans. Maybe? Or if killing was involved, like the massive deaths in the bars recently, perhaps johnny just incited energies in people that influenced them to do violent things, but the people didn’t have to do those violent things. And if he did kill humans outright, maybe there was some righteous reason to it that I did not understand. Like, maybe he was an avenging angel of sorts, even though he denied it. And feed . . . well maybe God rewarded him, by letting him feed.

  I slipped out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. I noticed that the fat black candles were lit here and there. When had johnny done that?

  I showered, donning my white pants and indigo shirt, clinging to what purity was left in me. I paced the floors. Sitting in the big black chair, I read Sleeping Beauty twice. johnny usually slept each afternoon, awaking around 11.00 p.m. If he was holding true to course, he would soon be up. The table clock on the end table read 10:58. I stared into empty space from the black chair. I but blinked and johnny was squatted before me wearing the color of the night: tee shirt, jeans, and boots.

  “You are going to leave me now—aren’t you?”

  He grabbed my forearms with gloved hands, long fingers poking through. “I don’t want to leave you, Jen. I have to.”

  His lengthy hair curled a little over his chest, tantalizing my want for him. I tried to lift my hands to touch the onyx strands, but he held me in place.

  “Don’t,” he said, “you’ll make me want to stay.”

  My eyes rolled up as he stood.

  He stared into me warmly, melting the coldness in his stone-like face. He held his gaze on me as he walked to the kitchen toward the door that would grant him passage to another victim.

  I sprang up and ran after him. “I want to paint you, johnny—while you’re gone.”

  He stopped and faced me. “No. It’s too soon.”

  “Please. I can’t fight the urge. You know what that feels like, johnny, if you can’t quell your urges. If you can appease yours, why can’t I appease mine? It would be cruel of you to keep me from painting.”

  He sighed, long and deep, before turning away. He didn’t answer me. He just went out the door, leaving me alone with my need.