by Kade Cook
Gabrian glares but he only stretches his smile wider and returns to his celebratory plans. As he continues to pace in front of his prizes, she notices a couple more faces have been bound to the wall. Shane and her uncle, Tynan, are now a part of the party, pinned tightly in their comatose state in between Ethan and Orroryn. Her eyes water at the thought of losing the last of what she has for family and her heart explodes with a mixture of fear and hatred for this man, this thing they call her flesh and blood—her true father.
“Nooo…” she screams until her throat refuses to push out the violent noise any longer.
Adrinn’s head turns, revealing a sly gaze but is no longer his face. The conceited glare of control is now the pretentious smug illusion of Caspyous. Her eyes hungrily search the wall for him but his body is not among the other Elders; how could she not have noticed this before?
“Oh yes, little girl. You see all of this?” Caspyous hisses at her and waves his arm over the lot of bodies hung before him on the wall as she stares in disbelief at him. “Do you?”
Her ears ring in the wake of the bellowed question, every word filled with hatred toward her existence. “Yes, yes, I see it.”
“This is all of your doing. Their ruination will be your fault. Every drop of their spilt blood will be on your hands.”
“No. I didn’t do this!” Gabrian screams, struggling under the invisible constraints, and her fingertips warm in her distress. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just wanted to stop the pain.”
“Nevertheless, it is your burden to carry now, and you get to spend all of eternity knowing that you are a monster—just like him.”
Gabrian’s fingers, now burning past her comfort level, spark at the ends, causing a bright burst of light to eject from them that steadies into a constant flare against the stone below, changing the molecular structure under its intense heat.
“You are helpless to stop it, all because of him and what you have done,” he continues with conviction, “all of these souls have been sentenced to death. I would even dare say that your wicked ways were to blame for the deaths of your beloved caretakers, Sarapheane and Jarrison.”
In the last vicious words spit out of his mouth, Gabrian’s heart shatters into a million shards of pain.
It’s your fault, echoes over and over again in her head, growing louder and louder. Unable to shield her ears, the words tear into her soul without remorse. A crimson ring appears around her wrists from where the magical binds wear at her skin as she struggles to break loose.
Cera’s slender form appears at Gabrian’s side in a blurred haze. Lifting her arm, she rests her hand upon her daughter’s wrist, causing it to still, slowing the intensity of the flare surging within her fingers and the disintegration of the stone constraint beneath.
She whispers to Gabrian in a calm, lyrical voice, “Let them go.”
Gabrian doesn’t hear her. Her attention is glued to her family pinned up, being readied for sacrifice.
“Gabrian, let them go.”
Hearing her this time, Gabrian glares at the woman—appalled by her absurd suggestion. “No! I can’t. I won’t.”
With a firm grip, Cera wraps her hands more tightly around Gabrian’s wrist and steps in front of her, blocking her view of the hostages.
“I can’t, I can’t. They are all I have left!” Gabrian screams at her, bobbing her head to the left then the right, trying to see past her.
“Gabrian, you have to let go. None of this is your fault, save yourself or you will drown holding onto the guilt,” she pleads, not removing herself from the line of sight. “Gabrian, Gabrian…”
With one last attempt, Gabrian rips back her arms and tears free from the binds that had held her. Throwing her body forward and away from the stone captor, she ignores Cera’s interference and pushes past, blinking to clear her sight and strains to find the wall. But all she sees are eyes the colour of a Mediterranean Sea glued to her, riddled with concern.
The scent of summer wafts gently through her nostrils, clearing her mind from sleep’s tormenting wrath. The echoing voices that called to her from beyond are no more—just the low familiar hum of her guardian’s voice calling her name is heard, sheltering her ears from the sharp accusations haunting her from within.
19
TEMPTING DAYDREAMS
Afflicted again by the demons in her mind, Gabrian tries to assure Shane that she is fine even though the wide-eyed, frazzled expression she woke up with still wore on her face when he returned her home that morning and she left for work.
Between the nightmares, the Covenant’s twisting of words, and her squeamish stomach when it comes to feeding lately—not to mention the inability to sort out any of the truth behind what happened with Adrinn—her energy is dwindling and setting her off in so many directions that she always feels unsteady.
Though she forces herself to feed on dark energies to satisfy the hunger, it is never enough to dissolve the craving of what she truly lusts for—Gabrian knows she is different now. Something happened to her the night she was kidnapped and though it is wrong, she still longs to feel the rush of pure light as it sears through her veins.
Every client she books that walks through her office door is just one more temptation at her mercy—she knows it—but what she doesn’t know is how long she is going to be able to continue to resist and is just fooling herself thinking that it will get easier.
Ethan makes regular drop-ins in between clients to ask how she is feeling and each time she lies, telling him she is fine. She wants to tell him she needs his help, even just to seek his council for advice on how to deal with her new dilemma, but guilt reminds her he has enough to deal with. He does not need to deal with her problems as well. Truth be known, she does not want him to see her as any less than an equal. Not in his eyes. It means too much to her and so she will learn to suffer through.
She’s good at it.
After lunch, Gabrian sits silently in her trusty brown leather chair listening with as much attentiveness as she can muster to her one o’clock appointment, Mr. Jones. The man’s weathered voice fills the room with a soft hum as he retells tales of his troubled youth and all the horrors of it. She knows that within his words she will find the triggers she needs to look closer into his subconscious mind and locate what the true issues are, but today, she is not doing well to focus on anything. Last night’s nightmare keeps re-surfacing, fighting for attention over her paying client’s time.
It had drained her more than she expected.
Letting her mind relax so that she can try to focus on the hidden messages needed to breach the surface of her client’s blathering, she finds herself watching more than she should. The enchanting way his life essence swirls and dances around him in wisps of light of eggshell white has her utmost attention. The strands mix every few seconds with streams of beige and brown but she suspects that these are the lies his memory offers him from some darkened fantasy he conjured up as a child to make his boring story more believable, mixed in with the partial realities that keep him coming here to see her.
Feeling the angst within him building, she focuses on the dark energies like Ethan has taught her to do to replenish herself, to feed—also serving another purpose. It removes and relieves him of the darker strands of energy that plague humans—the unnecessary stress they seem to suffer from. Once she ingests them, it allows the host’s mind to settle and begins a healing process within, hopefully docking one more session he would need to attend with her.
Inhaling with less than an enthusiastic effort, she coaxes the dark energies to fragment, breaking away from the strength in the bond of its host. It snaps and sparks as it leaves and slinks toward her. Her lips part ever-so-slightly to allow the dim light to enter her mouth—instantly tasting it on her tongue as it does. The bland and bitter energy works its way into her system, filling the void of her lingering hunger, but it does not energize her like it should, and she imagines that it must be what eating sawdust must feel like to a
n animal that craves the supple texture of flesh.
Reaching her fill of the tasteless sustenance, enough to keep her somewhat functioning and alive, she exhales a less than satisfied breath that should be filled with a wave of charged elements—the exchange of feel-good chemicals, much like endorphins, that are absorbed back into the host and registered by the brain as a good trade.
Today it is only mere fragments of her lent Borrower Magik but the small trade is instantaneous. Mr. Jones’s aura still surges into a bright flare around him as the transaction settles—completely undetected by him except for a change in attitude.
His stories change direction, shifting from tragic little traumas to quirky and adoring memories and moments of sheer joy. Gabrian’s lips curve upward at the expected results but her body shivers with hunger—more than just hunger.
Since the night of her kidnapping, her insides ache and claw at her like she is starving all the time—always gnawing at her even after she has spent days of constantly feeding on dark strands of energy. But the need to feed never seems to stop now. Before, she could contain it and somewhat stifle it with the bland food, but now it constantly claws within her, wanting to be continually fed and pleading like a wanton beast that is denied nourishment.
Watching Mr. Jones’ delight, her eyes dilate. She becomes lightheaded and drifts back to the memory of when she had felt alone and filled with emptiness—a time when Ayden, or Adrinn, had found Gabrian and befriended her while the world around her seemed to be on fire with pain. It was a time when he had showed her how to make it all go away—to suppress the pain and how good it had felt afterward.
As she replays her nostalgic outings in her mind, the memories of only using miniscule strands of forbidden life essence, she falls deeper within the daydream and is disconnected from where she is. Mr. Jones sits oblivious to her mind surfing as he continues his session of rambling endlessly in his new elated state of mind, certain that he is making progress—the swirls of his amplified white aura sway and twist playfully around him. The two sit in their own little fantasies of the past while the fragile strands of light begin to twitch, changing direction and fragmenting again, only now drifting their way toward Gabrian.
Burning and sparking from its taunted disconnection from its host, the light lingers closer and closer in her direction. Still caught in the exhilarating remembrance of how the energy tasted on her tongue, her mind shifts into a much more vivid recall of how the experience delivered her from the mundane existence she had suffered and sends her reeling into euphoria, leaving her guilt behind as the white life dances upon the sensitive flesh of her lips.
Somewhere within her, a warning goes off, something alerting her to the fact that this memory feels much too real—the recollection of the taste is much too sweet to be but a mere daydream. Gabrian, in a brief moment of clarity, forces herself to pull back, mentally retreat and refocus as to where she is just as the taste of pure life essence trickles over her tongue and explodes into her mouth.
She is caught somewhere in a state of purgatory. Her senses burn with desire at the taste, demanding her to take more, but her mind freezes in terror with guilt. Knowing she has stolen her client’s life strands slaps her hard even though the act was innocent.
With her pupils so over-dilated they appear completely black, Gabrian grips the sides of her leather chair—digging her nails into its fleshy arms—and wills herself to stop the euphoric gratification rushing through her, electrifying every nerve in her body.
The starving demon within whispers to her seductively and tries to ensure her that she knows how to do this, she knows how to feed the empty pit within.
Just a little more, then let it go.
No one with ever find out, no one will ever know.
Just a little more—just a little taste.
But the rational armor that had been silenced screams at her and flushes through the blinding desire to feed the beast inside. It flares out a remorseful and determined exhalation to push away the white strands of light drifting in front of her, accruing and awaiting to be devoured. Pressing hard against the floor, she springs up on her legs and twists away from her torment in tremendous speed. The excruciating lust for Mr. Jones’ life is scorching her just beneath the momentary controlled illusion, threatening to tear loose against the demands of its master.
Her abrupt movement startles her otherwise oblivious talker and he juts upward, twisting to the side to stare at her deer-eyed, confused by the sudden disruption in his confessions. “Is everything okay, doctor?”
“Yes, yes, everything is fine.” Gabrian glazes over her torment beneath with a forced and less feral smile to settle Mr. Jones—poor, delicious Mr. Jones.
“Have I said something wrong?”
“No, Marcel, not at all.” She covers her nose with a cloth napkin she keeps on her desk to try and buffer the sweet scent reeking from him as he sits up to attention. She had had cravings for a while now but today her body isn’t obeying her orders to resist. Gabrian’s constant denial of her body’s instinct to feed, she fears, has reached its breaking point and breathing normally is a luxury that may strain her thin string of control to finally snap. Gripping the underside of her oak desk, her fingers press tightly against its wooden grains as she tries focusing all her pangs of hunger and pain into her hands, desk creaking under the pressure. “How do you feel?” she utters, her breath sounding laboured as she restricts her inhales to a shallow pull.
His face softens when her eyes catch his—her pupils dilating in a rhythmic wave as her mind sends him a reassuring message that all is well, he is safe. The conflict he held within his gaze toward his doctor’s bizarre actions evaporates as the message takes effect. “I feel great actually, much better that I had expected to feel when I came in.”
“Well, that is wonderful.” Her eyes still their silent incantation and slip to the hands on the clock hanging just behind where Mr. Jones sits. A wave of relief washes across her when she notices their position. “Our time is nearly up, Mr. Jones. With only a few minutes remaining, I am afraid that I am going to have to end our session here today.”
His eyes dim at the unexpected request.
“I have forgotten a pressing matter I truly need to attend to.”
“Oh, all right then.” Mr. Jones’ mouth drops at the edges and he nods, accommodating her news.
“Would it be all right with you if we were to reschedule another appointment for next week instead of our usual bi-weekly session?”
His eyes flutter and beam at the thought of coming back so soon.
“And to thank you for excusing me, I will mark it down as a discovery session—half the cost of a regular session. Would that be all right?”
Mr. Jones jumps up from the couch and grabs his things—pulling his jacket on with more emphasis than normal—his mouth pulling tightly across his teeth with pleasure at her offer.
Nodding with him as he tiptoes his way across the office floor, Gabrian grits her teeth and bites the inside of her cheek to focus on something other than the creamy white flares of light tantalizing her as she escorts him to the door. Afraid she might falter with the lack of breathing, she hurries him out with more enthusiasm than normal. Even though Ethan mentioned once that her Borrower gift allows her to slow down her breathing, limiting oxygen intake to a minimum without much repercussion to her normal existence, Gabrian has never tested this theory out and thinks now is not the opportune time to try.
With Mr. Jones now happily out the door and eagerly waiting in front of Racheal’s desk to schedule his half-priced session, Rachael peeks up from her computer with an ever-pleasant and welcoming smile. Making eye contact with the man in front of her, she deflects her attention for a split second to shoot a quick glance at her friend—a serious look filled with concern.
Gabrian forces her eyes to smile back but pushes the door closed, breaking the connection, and rests her body against the barrier between them for a moment. With the small blockade set up to s
eparate her from her cravings, she inhales deeply, filling her lungs with air to try and appease the burning in her chest, but she can still taste the remnants of Mr. Jones’s energy lingering in the air. Her mind begins to whisper its wicked little murmurs of temptation again.
You can do this, you know.
You can feed on this endless supply of delicious life at your fingertips.
They will never find out, no one will know.
Remember, no harm no foul.
She knows it is her subconscious talking but it is Adrinn’s voice she hears uttering the words like before. The building of hunger begins to scratch at her with an intense desire to listen to the voice, to give into its logic. She had done it before for a while until the night Shane had caught her, the night she nearly crossed over the line of want to need.
“But I will know,” she whispers out loud.
Shaking her head roughly to answer her demon, she tries to break free from the pull of food just on the other side of the door—her mouth waters, sensing it being too close. Her eyes rush open as her thoughts start to drift.
She needs help. She needs Ethan.
But she cannot stomach the thought of letting him know what she is thinking, how weak she has become, though he probably can taste her desire through the walls from the intensity she feels inside.
Raising her body away from the door and rushing toward her desk, she tears through the objects on her work area in a frenzy, searching for something, anything that can help her calm down. A stack of papers falls in disarray across her desk from her carelessness, and she notices a yellow sticky note attached to a file with something scribbled across it.
Her hand trembles as she reaches out to gather it. Slipping her fingers beneath the yellow sticky tab, she pulls it toward her, lowering her body until her backside touches the cushioning of her chair. Caught in a strange trance, Gabrian’s free hand reaches for her phone and robotically presses each scribbled number displayed on the note. Slow and accurate, the seventh digit goes down but on connection, her hand crushes the receiver on top of its base.
