by Anthology
It was too dangerous to pull them out and peruse them, try to piece them together again, because if the others saw, they would dig until they hit bone, destroy them in their curious scrabbling, each one wanting to have what no other could. And if they could not have it, no one else could either. So they were left with nothing, unable to find what might remain of what they had once been.
His kind could not feel much of anything, serving as nothing more than mirrors reflecting what was around them, pantomiming the emotions their borrowed bodies told them they should be feeling. To his kind, human emotion was a foreign language that twisted their tongues with its openness and honesty. Emotion was a portal into the soul, and without one they were left an empty stage, too much space to fill with their own devices. This was why everything always came out so exaggerated and made the prey’s flesh crawl in warning.
One thing, though...one thing cut through the deadened layers, flashed sharp and bright enough that even they thought they felt something.
Pain.
Enough pain and they could feel it in their own memory of flesh, their own memory of spirit. Tear and cut and pull and shred their playthings enough and even they could feel it, revel in the faint sensation of the life they could no longer know.
Or could no longer remember—if he had been the human they told him he had been, once upon a time.
Pain was the only connection he had to the human he might have been. If he hurt them enough, he might feel something, too.
ONE DAY—one year, one decade, one century—he saw one that would suit his needs seated at a table in a crowded bar, sipping his beer before gathering up the deck of cards off the table and shuffling them awkwardly, somehow removed from the hustle and bustle around him.
BenBenBenBenBenBenBenBenBenBenBenBenBenBen....
The name clawed its way through him like nails down his spine, a strangely pleasurable phenomenon, both caustic and reassuring, and their jeering laughter slashed his cerebrum like broken glass. The spreading warmth that came with the name reminded him of the sensation of bathing in fresh blood.
They had told him his husband’s name was Ben, but he could never be sure—never be sure he had a husband, that this husband had a name, that it was the one they chose to share. It all went back to being human once—he understood that much—but with that uncertainty coloring his perception, the importance of the name had lost some of its edge.
And yet the feeling was surprisingly strong, cutting through his apathy like a knife through soft flesh. It was a flare of delicious agony that had him hard in his borrowed body more quickly than ever before.
He approached the table with an easy swagger, hands hanging at his sides, open and lax, tricking the subconscious into viewing him as less than a threat. “Can I join your game?”
He slurred his words only a little, allowing his eyes to go slightly unfocused, nowhere near enough to be perceived as too drunk to play. Two of the men at the table took in the cues he dropped so handily and gave him encouraging replies, though the man he had his eye on only squinted at him before giving him a reserved nod.
“Sure, why not,” the young man said as he finished shuffling the cards and started dealing. “That’s Tom and Grigory, and I’m James.”
He took in the clipped consonants and rounded vowels and knew this guy had to have a well-stocked credit chip, unlike the other two men whose words spoke of rural breeding. “Name’s Devin,” he said, plopping into the only available seat across the table from James. He watched the men as they picked up their cards, noting James’ fingers flutter upward and tangle in the chain around his neck, making the dog tags rattle.
“You in the service?” Devin asked, and when James looked up at him in surprise, he nodded his head toward the flat metal tags still dangling in James’ hand.
“Oh, no,” James said with a quick shake of his head, hand dropping away from the tags like they were a guilty secret. He looked a little embarrassed as he admitted, “It’s a good luck charm.”
“You’ll need it.” Devin laughed, letting his elbow slip slightly on the table and knock one of the other men’s drinks off the table. “Oops, le’me get you another.” He reached into his pocket and fumbled out a roll of bills, dropping several on the table as he attempted to pass over a twenty. It might have been an antiquated form of payment but was still legal, more difficult to trace, and still worth face value. The man quickly snatched it, and then eyed the rest of the cash when James shoved his ante into the pot.
“Ten to start, five to raise, right?”
Their two guests immediately dropped their money into the center of the table, giving Devin time to scoop up his loose bills. James gave him a small smile.
DEVIN EYED James, ignoring the other two men sitting nearby on either side of the table, the scent of their sweat heavy in the air as they shifted nervously in their seats and fiddled with their folded cards, waiting for James to make his play.
James chewed lightly at his lower lip, his lashes shielding his gaze, though Devin detected a flash of blue when James cast a covert glance in his direction. His fingers grazed the corner of his cards, pinching at the edges slightly before relaxing and resettling his grip.
“Call.” James pushed the last of his money into the pot.
Devin could not help but smile as he threw off the tense mantle he had been wearing through most of the game. He piled his money with the rest, the messy stack of bills and credits littering the center of the table. With a flourish, he laid out his cards, his smile only growing sharper at the sudden inhalation from the two men still watching.
“Full house, aces high,” Devin said, a pleased rumble echoing in the words.
James’ shoulders wilted a little, and Devin leaned forward, his tongue darting out as if to taste his triumph, when James suddenly sat upright in his seat, tossing his unruly bangs off his forehead with a shake of his head. He gave Devin a cheeky grin, dimples cratering his cheeks as he laid out his own hand in return.
“Royal flush.”
Devin’s eyes flicked from James to the cards on the table and back again, his body stiffening in surprise. “You played me.”
“Aw, c’mon man,” James said as he swept the pile of money toward him, “like that lower lip thing you had going when the hand was dealt wasn’t a ploy?” He stuck out his bottom lip in a pronounced pout and batted his lashes at Devin before breaking into a laugh.
Devin quelled the surge of anger that wanted to wreak vengeance, knowing the response was inappropriate in this situation, no matter how much he craved a little blood-letting. He allowed a small smile to grow upon his face, purposefully relaxing his tense shoulders as he leaned forward and said with more appreciation, “You played me. There aren’t many who can claim that anymore.”
James just gave him an insouciant wink as the two other men grumbled at the loss and made their way to the bar.
“That just means I’ll have to keep an eye on you,” Devin said, only half-kidding, his smile turning a little more dangerous.
“I owe you a drink,” James said with a friendly slap on Devin’s shoulder.
“You damn sure do,” Devin grumbled. “I lost quite a bit in that last hand.”
“If you hadn’t shown up with that terrible drunk act of yours, they might have caught on that I wasn’t as new to poker as I claimed.”
“Hey, it wasn’t that terrible!”
James just grinned and shook his head, leading Devin to a free booth. Two beers were quickly delivered to their table, and after a long drink, Devin set the glass down and slowly licked his lips free of foam, gauging James’ reaction to the motion.
“So what’s a high class kid doing hustling cash at a low-end poker game out in the middle of nowhere?” Devin held up a hand to halt James’ protestations. “I can tell just by looking at you.”
In this backwater burg, James stood out, tall and lean, his body evidence enough that he had grown up in a house with regular meals and the quality of his clothes appar
ent in the stitching and the fabric.
James fell silent, absently toying with his still full glass. “I’m not really sure.” He paused, and Devin waited impatiently for him to continue. “I’m taking a road trip to, you know, figure things out.”
“Then I’m going to buy the next drink.” Devin’s reply broke the sudden lull in conversation as he gestured for a waitress. “I always figure things out better with alcohol in my system.”
James relaxed slightly, his shoulders loosening. “I’m not sure that theory is sound, considering your recent loss.” He hesitated and then added, “But, thank you. It’s kind of lonely on the road.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Devin agreed, sharing a smile with James, exuding an easy camaraderie. He had to appear temptingly harmless, a friendly lecher, if anything. Devin settled back in his seat, adjusting himself slightly beneath the shelter of the table.
He might play with this one first, make him trust him, love him... maybe.
The betrayal would taste that much sweeter.
Chapter Two
IN HELL, in the span of every blink, too many of his tomorrows became yesterdays, all of that potential gone because he let down his guard for just a fraction of a second. So much was lost in the flicker of an eyelash, a seemingly simple and meaningless act that amazed him every time he managed to find a place in the world Above.
Catching sight of himself in a mirror might enrapture him for hours, blinking in carefully measured increments to find that nothing had changed, that the world was still firmly in place just as he had left it the second before. The human world was so slow, an oozing, viscous thing—like blood from a corpse on a cold winter’s day. Everything the same, heartbeat after heartbeat, breath after breath.
Sometimes he wondered how the humans survived the monotony of it all.
Sometimes he thought he might be jealous of their assuredness, that it would all still be there when they opened their eyes—the fixedness of their being, their purpose.
Nothing ever changed here. When he inhabited one of their meat suits he was trapped by every tick of the clock, unable to escape the inevitable chime of the hour; the rising and setting of their slowly dying star held this body in its sway.
It was a strangely comforting stability. If only he did not get bored so quickly.
“WHY DOES he do it?” the boy asked, his eyes wide as he sat cross-legged on the floor with his cousins. “Why are they all the same?”
Brad shrugged indifferently as he sharpened his knife with studious care, the silver dog tags resting heavily against his still scrawny chest. “It’s what he knows, squirt. The demon fixates on trying to destroy what he once loved.”
“No way,” Maureen interrupted, her long blonde hair swinging as she leaned forward, her eyes intent even over her girlish freckles. “That’s what proves we can still save him. As long as he cares enough to kill the same type of person, it shows he still remembers something. That’s what daddy said great-grandpa told him.”
Brad elbowed her roughly, pushing her away from them both. “Don’t be stupid, sis. He’s a demon. It’s that kind of attitude that’s going to get you dead.”
“HEY.” JAMES laughed, elbowing Devin in the ribs before he stuck his hands under the freezing water sputtering from the tap. “You’re not that pretty.”
Devin blinked slowly, turning his blank gaze from the cracked restroom mirror to James’ grinning face before Devin’s features reanimated, as sudden as a switch flipped in a darkened room.
“Look again. I think I am.” He tossed James a casual, cocky grin, a flash of teeth guaranteed to charm and beguile.
Something indecipherable swam in the darkness behind James’ eyes. Devin could not quite read it; humans were so unclear on what they wanted that it was often difficult to interpret what their bodies were trying to say. Most times Devin took the shortcut and forced them to understand what it was they really desired, even if they kept telling him no, their cries almost believable as they echoed in his ears.
“Vanity is a sin, you know,” James reminded him with a quiet laugh, heading back into the restaurant.
“But not one of the fun ones.” Devin rested his hand on James’ shoulder as he followed him out, his stomach grumbling noisily.
For the first time, James did not move away.
PLAYING WITH his new pet alleviated the dullness of the earthly plane. It was a surprisingly novel experience even after so many, a reflection of his trial run when every scream and begging breath seemed just as fascinating as the first.
But they hadn’t even gotten to that part, yet—still trapped in the foreplay, circling each other like junkyard dogs, James unable to stretch beyond his own inhibitions. That was what made it so fresh.
Devin could hardly imagine the excitement when they finally got to the screaming.
WHEN HE found out James needed a part for his car and would be stuck in town for a week or more, it turned out Devin was stuck, too, raising some spare cash before hitchhiking his way onward.
It was all so convenient. Two men, on the road, met up in a bar, and a friendship was born. They were even staying at the same motel, merely a few doors apart, so it was only logical they kept running into each other at the vending machines, video links, and credit scanners.
It was only logical they met up for meals, for the occasional beer that turned into a nightly visit to the bar.
It was only logical they could not go a day without seeing each other in some way.
Devin knew how to manipulate his luck, how to make himself indispensable to a lonely guy traveling the highways and byways of the Consolidated Americas, pointing out the best places to eat in the area, the cheapest fuel sources, the people willing to barter something other than credits for necessary supplies.
It was only logical these two men, having grown so very close over such a short span of time, told each other everything about the families they left behind, the absentee mothers and fathers, how the desire for something different made them feel like freaks, even within their own strange families.
All the things that kept them apart from everyone else, made them different, were what brought them together, made them exactly the same.
JAMES TUGGED at the wrapper on his bottle, picking at the paper with his well-manicured nails as his eyes skittered across the table top. “My father and I...we didn’t get along. I can’t really blame him, I guess. From what mom said, that was how he was raised, how his dad was raised. After my parents died, my uncles took me in, but it wasn’t much different. I don’t think open communication was ever a skill any of my family favored.”
...abandonedyouleftyoulovedhimnevergoodenoughnevernevernomatterwhat....
The hissing laughter scrabbled against the inside of Devin’s skull, making his eyelids flicker. “My family was rough on me, too,” Devin admitted. “I think it’s a law that guys as awesome as us are related to assholes.”
A strained smile stretched over James’ face. “Maybe so.” He settled back in his seat. “Are you sure you have to go?”
Devin shrugged his shoulders, eyes turning away. “Yeah. I’ve got to leave later tonight. I’ve spent too long hanging out here in no man’s land, as is.” Devin timed his exit, waiting for the hesitation and James’ lips to form words he was still unsure of before Devin got to his feet. “Glad to meet you, James. Hope we run into each other again. I’ll see you before I leave, right?”
James nodded, shaking Devin’s hand, his grip tightening as if reluctant to let go. “Yeah, sure. I’ll drop by to say goodbye.”
DEVIN TOOK his chance when he got it, playing the effeminate whore and drawing the attention of a couple of bigoted assholes that he had picked out at the bar—two good ol’ boys complete with trucker caps and steel-toed boots, guns pocketed under their shirts and knives at their hips, hidden beneath layers of denim and flannel.
He let them maneuver him out back where Devin kept their hands busy bruising his soft, human flesh, arousing their anima
l natures so they no longer kept quiet enough to remain unnoticed. He pretended to be weak, too drunk to offer any kind of fight.
Devin kept them off long enough for James to pull up and see his friend being mugged in the alley, to join the fight, to give as good as he got. It was sufficient time to pull Devin free and into his car, stopping to toss Devin’s bag in with his and peel out of town with the squeal of rubber behind them.
JAMES PUSHED the man against the alley wall, his forearm putting dangerous pressure on the man’s carotid until his pulse fluttered like a trapped butterfly against James’ skin.
“Back off,” James hissed, spittle flying out and sprinkling the other man’s cheek. “He’s mine.”
The man’s eyes dropped to the dog tags swinging freely against James’ chest, the silver glinting dully in the streetlight leaking into the alley’s throat. His disgusted gaze swung over to Devin, who had apparently rallied at the sudden appearance of James, punching the other man with an expression of child-like glee on his face.
James pressed forward to cut off the blood until the man passed out, before he hissed warningly at the man’s limp body, “Trust me, asshole. You really don’t want to fuck this up.”
“SO WHAT was that about?” James asked, breath still coming in quick pants, skin flushed and sweaty and spattered with blood, all together tempting from Devin’s point of view.
Devin shrugged, faking a wince at torn skin and bruised flesh. “Dangers of traveling on the road alone.” He laughed wryly, letting the motion tear open the gash on his lip just a little more until a perfect drop of blood trailed down his chin.
James’ eyes flicked over to his before refocusing on the road. “You are not alone anymore. You’ve got me.”
