The Mark of Chaos

by Susan D. Kalior

  Chapter Seventeen

  Days passed. Weeks. Months. I began to recover in the first few days while the fires in the woods were being quelled, but then I commenced a steady descent into the hell I’d tried to ward away. I’d thought I’d known hell in times that violence had touched me. But that wasn’t hell. Oh, no. It wasn’t as brief as all that.

  johnny’s absence didn’t lend me that sense of freedom as once it had. I felt more bound by him than ever, not by his love or even his need, but by his hate that was eating me alive. I was down to 98 pounds and void of appetite. Sickness grew in me like a wild weed, siphoning my energy, siphoning my will. I had bouts of nervousness that jogging didn’t quell, and panic attacks that God couldn’t or wouldn’t quell.

  Hysteria rose in me each morning, and stayed until I knocked myself out with wine every night. However, when the nightmares began, I tried not to sleep. For when I slept, a black dragon with johnny’s face, came into my dreams. He swooped over me with great wings and deadly talons, breathing fire, laughing, teasing, taunting, and then locking me into a coffin of claustrophobic torture. Had johnny lied when he said the spirits assimilated through him? I think they were captured forever.

  I went to church daily, avoided Ricky when I could, averted my eyes when I couldn’t. He never noticed me though, for the lovely young woman by his side was the object of his attention. The spell had worked—thoroughly. He didn’t want me anymore. Who would?

  I confessed my sins to the priests. They had never heard of Tazmarks, but they did decide that I was possessed somehow.

  They prayed for me. They even tried to exercise the demon. Of course, they had no luck. No one was stronger than johnny. No one, human or otherwise.

  And when I tried to heal myself, the light wafted away from me like aromatic steam from hot pancakes. The more I tried, the weaker I got. If johnny’s plan was to take my spirit and kill me, why didn’t he just do it the way he did others? Why this slow torture? Had he left that day, not by compassion, but rather to exercise his malicious plan? Did he hate me that much?

  I said the Rosary every morning, read the Bible daily—for hours. I painted nothing, dated no one, talked to no one but Catholics, went nowhere beyond necessity. I was repenting.

  I lost five more pounds, heaving every hour or so. My stomach was sore and empty. I was empty . . . empty . . . empty. Heaven was only a dream I’d had, once long ago. I’d lost my faith.

  I took two trips to Zeke’s meadow, hoping for relief. I did not get it. Finally, I considered using my light to burn johnny. He told me if I ever did, he’d make me suffer tenfold. We’ll, it seemed he already had. And if death came to me instead, well, death would be better than this, even if it meant my soul was his, if indeed it was not already. How much worse could anything get? Besides, if I used my light, perhaps I could win and be free. I had to take the chance. It was time. What’s that they say, ‘Do or die.’

  I didn’t know if I could shine my light far away, wherever he might be, but johnny had made me believe I could do almost anything with it. An ancient hope rang from the bells of insanity. I would do this horrible thing. I summoned my light to cause injury to johnny. Strangely, it gathered at my forehead slightly above my eyes. It seemed I could shine my light from my mouth, hands, eyes, heart, and now my forehead. In the past, it didn’t seem to matter much where my light emanated from; it had the same affect. I was interested to see if emanating it from my forehead would make a difference. My light shot out. I imagined it soaking into johnny with the words, You can’t have me. You can’t take me.

  After twenty minutes, I heard screaming that seemed to crack time and space. Then, I heard crying. Was this real? Had I injured johnny? I stopped shining. I couldn’t bear to hear him cry like that. I’d never heard him cry at all. I let a day go by. I felt more sick, more empty. I decided to shine my light again and not quit until I felt better. I beamed it at him stronger, unrelenting, for hours, until I was exhausted, but I heard no cry and I didn’t feel better. On the other hand, he hadn’t struck me dead either. Why?

  Maybe my light hadn’t touched him. Maybe he hadn’t cried out that first time. Maybe I’d imagined it. That was it. I imagined it. My light wasn’t that effective. I don’t know how I hurt the Zandron. Maybe johnny just made me think I did. He’d probably toyed with me, making me think I had the power to burn, when it was his power all along.

  I resumed praying, not to God, for such efforts seemed futile. I prayed to the Angels, the Angels I’d always painted. Maybe my ethereal paintings were premonitions too. If I walked through my horrific pictures, why not the beautiful? I called to the Angels, hard. So hard.

  I didn’t feel helped, but an angel-like voice in my head kept saying over and over, all calls are answered, just not in the way one expects. Why my head kept saying that, I don’t know. Wishful thinking, I guess . . . because my calls seemed to fade into dead air. Heaven, apparently, was no longer an option for me.

  Somewhere in the days to come, I had a birthday. Perhaps my last. Randa was in a frenzy over my health. She phoned me daily. She even tried to get johnny involved. How could I tell her that it was from him I was trying to get uninvolved. I couldn’t. If she interfered on my behalf, he’d hurt her.

  By the passing of the sixth month, I’d grown too weak to get out of bed, too weak to answer the phone, too weak . . . . I drifted in and out of delirium. I heard Randa’s voice once. I pushed my eyelids open slightly. The light filtered in. Her face, her once amused face was hanging in sadness.

  I closed my eyes and opened them. I was in a hospital. Rings, dings, and light, and people dressed in white, needles poking into me . . . Randa’s voice now and then. I felt so ill, thunder in my head, explosions in my ears, flames of fire, voices again, black dragon, glacier heart, eyes like ancient red stones pulling me into a solidity I could not bear. I was emblazoned forever into the solid gray stone that adorned Satan’s throne. I glowed faintly at his feet literally as they say, ‘between a rock and a hard place,’ too spiritually unworthy for Angels to save and too spiritually worthy for Satan to ignore.

  I had urges to call for johnny to rescue me. But it was he, was it not that sought my destruction? I’d always feared that if I stayed with him, I’d have to sell my soul. But there was no sale to be made. johnny had told me that he always took what he wanted. And he never lied to me, right?

  I heard the words, “We’ve done everything we can. She’s dying.”

  Yes. I knew that. I knew that. Randa’s brown eyes. I saw them so close.

  “Randa?”

  “Yes, Jenséa.” She stroked my head.

  I whispered, my breath barely audible. “I’m dying. Take me to Zeke’s meadow.” I inhaled slow and deep, my breathing jagged. “I want to die there—alone.” I had to die alone, for what would happen to Randa if johnny appeared to finish the kill? I had to protect her. I struggled for air, “That’s the way I want to go. If you love me, you’ll do it.”

  “I love you, Jenséa. I’ll do it.”

  I heard her arguing with the doctors before I blacked out.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I don’t know how Randa got me there, but she did. She helped me out of a gold jeep. The sleeveless white nightgown I wore felt more substantial than me. I weighed so little that Randa carried me in her arms over to my favorite tree—a tall, sprawling blue spruce filled with life and free things that die naturally—not supernaturally. I envied them.

  She leaned me against the trunk, my legs flat in front of me. My lifeless arms hung like brittle twigs. My skeletal hands rested on pine needles and dirt. The birds chirped faintly, or was it that I couldn’t hear them well? The bluebells at my feet whispered something. I couldn’t hear them either. They’d probably said, goodbye. Warm air brushed against my face. It was summer again. Early July, Randa had said. One year ago johnny came into my life. Now he would take it.

  Anemia burned in my veins. The dryness in my throat made swallowing a monumental task. My thinned and b
alding hair hung limp over my shoulders. I was cold, so cold. “Go, Randa.” I couldn’t tell her that in a few moments I’d be gone.

  She wrapped her arms around me and sobbed, “Let me stay with you.”

  “No. I’m cursed.” I licked my dry cracked lips. I pushed words out my numbed mouth that sloshed in a whisper, “For your own safety, you must go,” I inhaled deep and jagged, “and please, please, make no contact with johnny, not ever again.” I gasped for breath. “That is my dying wish. Promise me.”

  Her weeping increased.

  “Promise me,” I whispered.

  She sniffled, and said lightly, “I promise . . . but why?”

  “Trust me.”

  “But—”

  “Go! I love you Randa. So you must go.”

  She withdrew from me. I heard her steps walking away. I heard her crying. I heard her open the cabin door, then her feet stepping on twigs and pinecones, then the car door . . . the motor starting . . . the car driving away.

  I sighed. I was here in my place of hopes and dreams, the place I’d always come to find my freedom—to find myself, to find the purity that could help me heal and grow. I’d been weak all my life, a fragment of something bigger that I could never touch, like a little finger on a whole body that hasn’t much power on its own. I sank into my pain. I grieved for the loss of my dreams that would never come to pass. I let them go. I let hope go. I was nothing. I was nobody, except johnny’s prisoner for eternity.

  I heard a light thump at my feet. I jumped a little, for there was not much life left in me to jump more. I cracked a slit in my eyes and saw the black dragon medallion sparkling in the sun. I rolled my eyes upward and saw johnny’s face like a shadow. His head seemed to waver or perhaps it was my vision. Everything was turning black.

  I whispered, “You’ve come to finish me.”

  “Jen.” His voice was deep and calming.

  My heavy lids fell shut. My faint words sloshed, “Take me quickly. I can bear this no more.”

  My shoulders warmed with the touch of his trembling hands, or was I trembling? He had knelt to me. He pulled me onto his lap. The side of my arm squashed his chest. My head flopped forward. Stringy hair fell over my face. I couldn’t fight him. Whatever he was going to do to me, I couldn’t stop it.

  I was feeling warmer. No doubt, he was going to burn me up. “Why johnny,” I muttered, “why do you hate me so much?”

  He said softly, “I don’t hate you.”

  He took one hand to the top of my head, the other to my upper back. I felt fiery energy pouring into me, some strength returning and some power behind my voice. “Are you dousing me with fires of hell, johnny?”

  “No, Jen. I’m not dousing you with the fires of hell.”

  He pulled my head up slightly and brushed his lips over my rough parched mouth.

  I asked, “Are you going to steal the last sparkle of my spirit with a kiss, johnny?”

  “No, Jen. I’m not going to steal the last sparkle of your spirit with a kiss.”

  He licked a tiny liquid tear bud from my eye. The last time he licked me, he sank teeth beneath my skin.

  “Are you going to bite me, johnny? Are you going to feed upon me when the sun goes down?”

  “No, Jen. I’m not going to feed on you.”

  “Then what? What are you going to do to me?”

  “I’m lending you energy, and I haven’t much, so it won’t last long, but maybe long enough to help you heal yourself.”

  “Oh . . . I see, you aren’t through playing.”

  “It wasn’t me, Jen. I didn’t do this to you.”

  “I don’t believe you. Just kill me quickly and be done with it.”

  Pain threaded his voice, “I would never do this—to you.”

  “You have!” I cried, squeezing my eyes shut tighter. “I’ve seen your face in my dreams!”

  “You were made to see my face in your dreams,” he said gently.

  “What do you mean?” I lashed, smashing my hands over my eyes.

  “Trickery,” he said.

  “And you’re the trickster. If you’re trying to win back my affections, it’s too late. I’m dying.”

  “I’ll not let you die.” He brushed his trembling hand up my neck. I guess it was his hand that trembled. His hand emanated a warm heat that seeped into me, warming my bones. “That's why I am here,” he said, “and it was no easy feat considering what you put me through.”

  I gasped, “What I put you through!”

  “Open your eyes. Look.”

  I pushed open my lids, easier to do now since he’d done whatever he did. His face and neck were grotesquely red and blistered. My head jolted back, speechless for a moment. “I . . . did that—to you? I burned you that badly?”

  He nodded. He showed me his bare hands covered with thin, wrinkled, red skin.

  I exclaimed, “The cries I heard from you were real.”

  “Had you not stopped between your first attack and the second, you would have finished me. Still, your attack held me immobile for weeks. I nearly died.”

  “But you said you’d kill me if ever I tried to attack you.”

  “I could have. I should have. If I had, I’d not have suffered. But I wouldn’t, couldn’t wipe you away. I could not return to my old existence. You made life interesting. You had rescued me from gloom, a gloom worse than torture.” With his grossly scarred hand, he stroked my bony fingers. “Now aren’t we a pretty pair?” he said smiling.

  I didn’t laugh. I studied him, wanting to believe he hadn’t hurt me, wanting to believe he truly loved me. Proof of his struggle was evident. He was burned red and in some places purple and black. He was unkempt with messy, matted hair, and his black tee shirt and jeans were caked with bloodied dirt. But I wasn’t naive anymore.

  I inhaled deeply and expelled a quivering breath, “I hurt you, yes, but that doesn’t make you innocent. Maybe I needed to hurt you more.”

  I heard a voice in my head. He’s evil—don’t believe him.

  I tried to scramble out of his hold. “You deceive me!”

  He pulled me back weakly into his lap, groaning as if he were taxed. “Why would I bother at this point? I could do with you as I wish, with or without your trust.”

  I clamped my hands over my temples. “I don’t know! I don’t know the truth anymore.”

  “You are Shen. Deep inside, you know the truth that your head won’t let you accept.”

  “Who then? Who besides you could do such a thing to me?”

  “Him.” johnny flicked his head to the side, motioning for me to look.

  I looked across the clearing. For a moment my eyes gained strength and clear vision. About forty feet from us stood a man in a light gray sweater and pants. He had short gold-colored hair, a rigid triangular face, and black fingerless gloves, or glove. Seems he had a missing hand. Wait, I knew this man. Yes. It was the man who had threatened johnny and I in New York, the man johnny didn’t want me to view. But that glimpse of him, I could never forget.

  I was aghast and relieved all at once. “Was it truly he who had attacked me all these months?”

  johnny nodded. “That’s Chord—a Golden Tazmark, five hundred and sixty two years old. He has over fifty thousand spirits to his credit, but never a Shen. He’s been drinking you in slowly, savoring you with each taste. Once you were his—you’d have been captured in his realm for at least a century. He could have made you last that long. Could have, Jen,” he gazed at me with serious intensity, void of his usual cool countenance, “but not anymore, not if you’ll love me again.”

  “But why have you waited until this last moment? Why didn’t you come yesterday, or the day before?”

  “I was rendered immobile for days. I am weak. I quite doubted that I could make it to you now, but if I didn’t try, there would be no tomorrow. I doubted I could share my last bit of energy without dying, but it seems I have. I doubted I could convince you of my innocence, but I must.” He closed his eyes. His brea
th was quick and shallow as if he were fighting to stay alive.

  A stupid old pang of mercy filled my heart. I didn’t want to feel mercy. Not toward him. Not ever again.

  He opened his eyes and continued, “When you removed the medallion, you broke our connection. I didn’t seal the opening as I told you I would. I couldn’t abandon you, forget you, or kill the caring I’d come to know. I was vulnerable. Chord took advantage and attacked me more relentlessly than you. Between you both, I’ve been impaired severely. But I am a Black Tazmark. My powers double his, or I’d be gone. And if left alone, a Tazmark can regenerate to some small degree. As you and I reunite, we will grow stronger to defeat him.”

  I stared deeply into his once bright orange eyes, now muddy, dull, and desperate. I longed to believe his words. Maybe I did want to feel mercy for him again.

  “johnny!” My voice hung frantically in the air, “Is this true?”

  Words came into my head again, He lies.

  johnny said, “He’s using telepathy to turn you against me. I felt the thought go into you.”

  Digesting the new information, I looked back at Chord. He felt like a beacon drawing me in. His bright gold eyes sparkled even from a distance—whirling, whirling.

  “Shen!” he called out, “he deceives you! I am not your foe! It is Juan, as always you thought! That day in New York, I had come to warn you.”

  johnny grabbed my chin and made me face him. His eyes captured mine—whirling, whirling. “Don’t listen to him, Jen. I would not have rejuvenated you if I wanted you dead.”

  “Maybe you just want me to last longer.”

  “Why is he here then?” johnny breathed hard for a moment, in seeming pain. “If it was I who possessed you, why would he, who has no allegiance to you, appear now to help you?”

  “Maybe he wants me out of you, so he can have me for himself. Maybe my chances would be better with him, a Golden Tazmark. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt me as you have.”

  “Maybe he’s already hurt you too much.”

  “Well, if you’re really on my side, why don’t you attack him?”