CONSUMED BY LOVE – A SHORT STORY
by
Pavarti K. Tyler
Copyright
www.EvolvedPub.com
CONSUMED BY LOVE – A SHORT STORY
(Second Edition)
Original Copyright © 2011 Pavarti K. Tyler
This New Edition Copyright © 2013 Pavarti K. Tyler
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ISBN (EPUB Version): 1622532937
ISBN-13 (EPUB Version): 978-1-62253-293-3
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Edited by Lane Diamond
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Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.
Table of Contents
Consumed By Love – A Short Story
About the Author
What’s Next from Pavarti K. Tyler?
More from Pavarti K. Tyler
More from Evolved Publishing
Consumed by Love
Slicing a knife through the skin and muscle of a human thigh is not difficult. Enough Novocain and Oxycodone evaporates the pain. The first time, it’s difficult to believe how hard it is to push the blade through the layers of thick muscle. Eventually, it, like so many other things, becomes habit—simply something that needs to be done.
***
Hugo had never been close to his father. Ever since his old man died, however, he hadn’t felt right.
His disorganized mind couldn’t stay focused on any topic for more than ten minutes at most. He missed deadlines at work, talked in his sleep and lost his appetite. Eventually, the only thing he could convince his sensitive system to digest was his wife’s meatloaf. He lost weight rapidly, and his normally deep bronze skin fell ashen and hung limp from his bones. Just an inch below six-foot, and with a once-athletic build, his muscles now wasted away. He appeared much older than his twenty-nine years.
His wife Bree worried.
He ignored her when she asked what was bothering him, pretending nothing was wrong. He kissed her on the lips, and asked what was for dinner with a strained smile before excusing himself to the bathroom. Once there, he cursed at his wane reflection, knowing his wife probably listened in the other room with tears in her eyes.
As weeks slipped by, Hugo faded, becoming little more than a stranger, detached.
Bree woke in the middle of the night, alone in bed again, and drifted downstairs to find him sitting in the living room.
He heard her, but didn’t turn. He just stared through the window up at the distant moon, as if it were speaking directly to him.
***
Skin easily pulls away from the flesh, having already been carefully separated from the muscles and nerves of the leg. The flap of skin is vestigial, only the casing of what had once lain beneath. Now it helps conceal and protect the next section allocated for removal. Necessity demands the sacrifice—love will reward it.
***
Doctors’ bills piled up, yet no one could diagnose Hugo. His health had degenerated, his energy gone. Now unemployed, he sat in the house all day, waiting for the moon to appear in the night sky. He barely moved and never spoke. None of the tests revealed a disease, a virus or a pathogen; nothing could explain his decline.
Bree became desperate. She cooked every meal he’d ever liked, trying to entice him to eat. She begged and cajoled him into walking around the block with her, hoping to pull him out of whatever had grabbed hold of the man she loved.
He’d become a mere memory of the man who loved her. The man who laughed easily, who charmed the Jehovah’s Witnesses at the door so much they now stopped by just to visit the “heathen native” who lived here, had vanished.
The doctors said it was all in his mind, that he’d suffered a break from reality when his father passed, his grief overwhelming him—too much for him to bear. Bree tried to explain that the loss of his father hadn’t been a tragedy, that they’d never been close and hadn’t spoken in over a decade, but they ignored her in favor of the simple explanation. They tossed about words like “institution” and “for his own safety,” but Hugo remained silent.
Having exhausted all the medical options available, Bree expanded her search, calling holistic healers, acupuncturists, and finally Hugo’s sister. He’d never wanted to have contact with her or any of his family after he’d left home at the age of fifteen, wanting to escape anything that reminded him of his childhood.
Now, Bree had run out of ideas. She hoped the woman she’d met only once years ago could somehow offer some real help. Doing something—anything—was better than doing nothing, and this seemed her last hope.
Rita was a quiet woman whose feathers never seemed to get ruffled. Bree’s feathers, on the other hand, remained in a constant state of ruffling. Hugo spoke fondly of his sister sometimes, usually after a few drinks or when they were out with friends. Yet he never talked about his parents. Bree only knew they were extremely superstitious and committed to raising their children the “old way.”
When everyone, including the holistic healer who advised her to bury a cow liver in the backyard during a full moon, had given up on Hugo, Bree broke her promise and made the call. Rita lived near a small town in New Hampshire, in a commune with other Abenaki Indians in the area. According to Hugo, she also maintained the “old ways.”
The phone on the other end rang.
Hugo hummed in the next room, a new development in his illness—no tune or melody, only the mournful hum of a vacant man.
“Kway?” a soft voice answered.
“Um, hi. This is Bree.” Her chest tightened.
“Awani na?” the voice asked.
“Is Rita there?” She forced the words out, her fear and nervousness battling for the right to constrict her throat.
“Rita! Oho! One minute.” The phone fell against the wall, and the slam of the mouthpiece assaulted Bree’s overwrought nerves.
“Kway?” a stronger voice asked.
“Rita?”
“Oho.”
“Um... I hope that means yes.”
“Oh! Yes, I’m sorry, it does. Who is this?”
“Ah, it’s Bree. You might not—”
“Bree! My sister! I’m so glad to hear from you. How’s Nevada? How’s my prodigal brother? We missed you both at this year’s gathering, and again at the funeral, of course.” Her voice darkened at the mention of her father.
“Yes, I... um... I’m sorry for your loss.”
“The community’s been struggling to find a new leader. It’s hard for a small group like us to stay together. Daddy’s death was... well, it’s been hard.”
Her sister-in-law spoke as if they had spent their childhood growing up together.
“I’m sure—”
“Are you...?” Rita suddenly sounded hopeful. “Are you calling because Hugo has reconsidered coming home?”
“No,” Bree blurted out. “I mean, he’s never mentioned it.”
“Oh.”
A sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone preceded silence, and the moment spread across the country, connecting wife and sister in panic and dread.
“Bree, you need to bring him back home.” Rita kept her voice quiet and serious, none of her usual perkiness in her grave tone.
“Hugo wouldn’t want that. D-do you know what’s happening to him?”
“You need to get him home, Bree. I can’t say anything more than that. When did he begin to fall?”
Fall? “Umm, he started getting sick about four months ago.”
“After Daddy died?”
“Yes, the doctors think its grief, but Hugo never—”
“No, he never did.” Rita sighed. “Bree, you have to bring him home before this changes him. We can help him, and he can be home and lead his people.”
Lead his people? “What the hell is going on?”
“You just have to get him here before we lose him completely.”
“Lose him to what? To who? Rita, I’m not bringing him there without some kind of explanation, without knowing what is going on. The doctor’s can’t tell me anything!”
Rita snorted. “No, they won’t.”
“Rita!”
“Bree, has he stopped talking?”
“Yes.”
“Has he stopped eating?”
“Mostly.”
“You have to get him home before he starts losing his hair. Before the tune of the devil takes over his mind.”
“He’s... started humming,” Bree whispered into the receiver.
“Listen to me. You need to get on a plane today. Get him home. If he changes, no one will be safe.”
Rita’s voice dripped with fear now. “It never occurred to me that my brother would let it go this far. He should have known what was happening when it began. He’s been preparing for it his whole life. I always assumed he would come home.”
“What are you talking abo— Rita, I can’t! He doesn’t want that. He wouldn’t want that.”
Sobs broke from Bree’s throat; tears of concern and fear intermingled with the cloud of confusion surrounding her.
“Bree, I know you’re afraid but you have to do this. You have to.”
“When he gets better, I’ll discuss it with him further,” she whispered, preparing to hang up the phone.
“Wait!” Rita’s voice was desperate, her fear clinging to every word. “Don’t let it go too far. If he starts to change, if his hair falls out, if his skin turns white.... You can’t let it go too far.”
***
People don’t realize how much blood and water there is in muscle. Just a small section of flesh can be diced and added to a meal like any other meat, but it’s the juice that sets it apart from an animal. The now-familiar aroma fills the kitchen with a spicy richness, intermingling with the vegetables it stews with. No broth is used—humanity itself provides all the complex flavor necessary.
***
Bree prepared the protein-rich drink the doctors prescribed for Hugo. It had been two weeks since she’d spoken to Rita, and her nerves balanced on the edge of hysteria. Hugo no longer appeared to sleep, and he ate only what she forced inside him, yet he would inevitably vomit half of it. He didn’t speak or move, only grew paler by the day, always keeping his vigil on the moon.
She reached for a knife to cut open a new package of whey powder, but sliced open her finger instead. Quickly, she pulled the wound into her mouth and opened the package, but not before two small drops of blood fell inside the package.
***
The desert is wide around the small house; some would call it desolate. Isolation is what they need now—nothing for miles. It appears abandoned but for the smoke rising from the chimney. A common misconception is that the desert is always warm, but at times it can be one of the coldest places on Earth. The wind can whip through a body, setting in a chill no soup can thaw.
By the blazing fire, the meal finishes early. Now all there is to do is wait.
***
Hugo’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. Stillness had captured his soul, but something woke him from his slumber. Outside, a rare rainfall brought the steady ping of droplets against the windows. He looked down and saw the old, withered hands of another man, a man he had tried to force himself to forget.
Shaking his head to dismiss the superstition he was raised with, Hugo stood unsteadily and moved through the darkness of the living room.
How long had it been since he’d gotten up from that chair for more than just a trip to the bathroom? How long had it been since he’d felt in control of his own body?
Moonlight spilled in through the windows, distracting Hugo with fractals of color splitting the night. Blues and silvers wavered on a spectrum he’d never imagined existed, while other colors drew him forward. They mesmerized him as he stepped into the glow and felt the power of home course through his body.
“N’mahom Pguasek,” he uttered before closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. He savored the night’s vivid flavors, and the sound of lizards scurrying about outside.
He turned his head sharply and breathed another scent into his lungs. Deep in his body, a hunger stirred, and he knew that peace awaited only a few steps away. He followed his instincts down the dark hall, back to the master bedroom where his wife slept. Inside the room, he gazed at her as moonlight shone on her face, as her blonde hair glimmered in the air, creating a halo of color around her perfect face. Breathing in, peace and love filled his soul.
He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb her, and watched her sleep.
A smile crept over his face as time sped by. The moon dipped below the trees and the amber lights of morning filled the sky. Bree’s breathing changed, and the flutter of her eyelids and the soft moan from her lips assured Hugo she was just moments away from waking.
He stretched out and stroked her face. “My love.”
“You’re back,” she said softly, still somewhere between the land of dreams and the world before her.
“For you,” he sighed, leaning down to kiss her lips.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she breathed in deeply, feeling safe for the first time in months.
“Don’t leave me again,” she begged.
“Never,” he promised.
He placed a soft kiss against her lips.
He was determined to love her pain away and prove he was hers forever. There was no ancient battle between good and evil warring within him now; there was only her: her lips, her neck, her breasts.
As he kissed his way down her body, she relaxed into his touch, choosing to believe this was the end of the nightmare. She had stayed true, taken care of him when he needed it, as she had vowed to do years ago. She’d proven her love for him, and now nothing could take him away.
He kissed his way between her legs.
She moaned and discarded all thought, losing herself in the thrill of his lips loving her through the thin cotton of her nightgown.
Her scent struck his nose, potent and sweet. It pulled him into her with a need he hadn’t felt before. He lifted the hem of her nightgown and ran his tongue along her lips.
Bree melted back into the bed. It had only been a few hours since she’d sat and pleaded with her catatonic husband to look at her. Now he explored her, filling her with such pleasure.
Stress, pain and loneliness evaporated into the cool air, leaving only the wisps of bad memories behind. Joy and love replaced them as Bree allowed Hugo control over her heart and mind. Her body rolled against his lips, seeking release.
Hugo’s hands gripped Bree and pulled her to him, needing to taste and feel every part of her. The smell and taste of her—sweet and fresh, like rain dew—transfixed him. He gripped her tighter, holding her to him as she screamed his name. The world shattered into tiny pieces and fell upon their bodies, leaving them alone in the creation of their love.
***
T
he door opens slowly, letting in sand along with the dry desert air. He stoops low to enter the home. His skin is tight against his bones, his muscles stretched beyond their natural length. He removes his jacket and boots before entering the small room serving as the living area. Pale skin shines in the firelight, giving his pallor an otherworldly look. His lips curl back from his teeth, split and sore, and hunger grips him as the fragrance of forbidden flesh reaches out and wraps around his sanity.
***
Bree stood in the doorway, watching Hugo sleep on the couch. His energy had been short-lived, lasting only a few days. She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself, praying to gods long dead for help and direction.
Hugo had refused to see more doctors, simply because they all had the same thing to say: he was tired and needed rest.
But Bree saw the signs returning: the heaviness in his step; the shallowness of his breath; and this morning, a small clump of hair fell loose when she ran her fingers through it. She’d taken medical leave from her job to care for Hugo, but now they had no income to make the house payment, and they’d already spent their savings, a fact she didn’t share with her briefly-returned husband.
She bit down on her lip to hold back tears. Her parents had died years ago, and she had no siblings or extended family to turn to, and Hugo’s family remained out of the question. Maybe she should have taken him to Rita. As things stood, they were thirty days away from losing the house, the phone company had disconnected their service, and her friends had stopped trying to help months ago.
Now it was only the two of them, and Hugo weakened by the hour.
Rita had called daily until the phones stopped working. Then the letters began, begging Bree to bring Hugo back to the family he had fought so hard to escape.
He exhaled loudly and a tremor ran through his body; something disturbed his dreams. A low moan escaped him, and a hand fell from his chest and hung limply off the edge of the couch.
Bree didn’t believe she could survive losing him, so she sat and kept vigil, day after day, as he—and now she—wasted away until they were nothing but skin and bones.
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