Story Excerpt

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As the man crept across the room he held out one hand, covered by a thin black glove, about a foot away from his hip. The tips of his fingers encountered the rim of the table that held Gerard’s gutted body. The hood of the man’s coat covered most of his face, but Harvey could see the man’s nostrils constant flaring. A tiny flame of hope glowed deep inside Harvey’s icy being.

Could this man be a paranormal?

The man stopped moving before the door made of heavy metal bars that completed Harvey’s prison cell. He lifted his hand until the gloved palm was mere inches from the door and held it there.

A croaking whisper that was all that was left of Harvey’s voice broke the silence. “Electricity is running through the metal. It will knock you out cold if you touch it.”

The man lifted his head. Harvey’s stuttering heart stopped beating. Before him was an angel with golden skin, full lips, and pale milky eyes. He was an angel in black.

“Does the locking device on the door have one light or two that tell you when it’s safe to open?”

Harvey couldn’t answer for a moment. He was too star struck by the pure melody of the man’s voice.

“We need to hurry,” the man urged.

“There is a green light directly above a red light about two inches to the left of the door’s latch,” Harvey answered.

As he spoke he noticed the man’s beautiful wide milky grey eyes weren’t focused on him, but staring off above his head. Shit, they were dead men. There was no way a blind man was getting him out of this grim pit of vipers.

The man withdrew a plastic credit card from his deep coat pocket. The small square patch of silver on the front reflected a kaleidoscope of colors under the harsh lights of the lab. He held the card out between his thumb and index finger,

“This card needs to push the latch like you would open a regular locked door,” the man explained. “Can you use the words, right, left, higher, and lower to help me guide the card into the latch?”

“The electricity will melt that card and probably kill a little thing like you,” Harvey pointed out.

“It’s a special card," the man ordered in a clear crisp voice. "Now talk."

In the past, Harvey would have taken on any man who tried to give him orders. But those days, like his freedom, had been stolen by evil. Now, he didn’t have enough strength to make a fist much less hit anyone.

It took more than a few slow precise instructions, but minutes later the door swung open with an ominous squeak, triggering the hairs on the nap of Harvey’s neck to rise in alarm.

As the small man stepped into his cell, he said, “My name is Bailey.”

“I’m Harvey. Call me Vey,” Vey answered watching Bailey come closer.

Through the stench of decay another scent reached Vey. It wrapped around him,its sweet smell tantalized every nerve in his body. Want, desire, and need screamed through his veins. It made him crave. It made him yearn.

But above all, it made him thirsty.

There was little moisture left in his withered body. Through starvation, blood depravation, and torture, all that was left of Vey was leathery thick, gray skin, covering a skeleton.

When Bailey stood at his side and began exploring his body, Vey had to close his eyes and gnash his teeth together to withstand this new torture being inflicted on him. Bailey’s scent of honey and fresh greens overwhelmed him.

“I need to get these bands off,” Bailey’s low whisper tickled against his ear.

Vey groaned as what little that was left of his stomach turned itself inside out. His mind began screaming, “Need…need…need.”

Bailey knelt and Vey opened his eyes in time to see the man pull a pen out of his pocket. He pressed the top and a stream of bright laser light burst out of one end.

“I’m sorry,” Bailey said. “It cuts through the iron like butter, but it will also burn you. My brother, Basil, says it isn’t a bad burn, but like any burn it will hurt.”

“Do it,” Vey said, holding onto his sanity by a thread. He wanted to take a bath in a river of blood. He wanted to roll around in it until he was stained permanently red.

A line of fire sliced through the skin on his ankle. Seconds later his toes curled as he concentrated on withstanding the burn to his other leg. Bailey stood and fire lit up Vey’s waist and then his neck.

Vey froze. He could only take slow breaths hoping his thundering heart wouldn’t pound out of his chest. Bailey was cutting the last band holding him against the wall. “Need…. Need…Need,” screeched through his system again.

Small strong hands pushed against his chest holding him upright. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Vey opened his eyes and looked down at the pretty dark haired man. While baring his fangs, Vey lowered his head to the front opening of Bailey’s coat and struck. His teeth slid easily into Bailey's soft skin.

Rich, thick, ambrosia coated Vey’s tongue and slid down his throat. With every swallow, his strength returned. With every swallow of Bailey’s essence, they became one. Mouthful after mouthful had Vey’s heart recovering from shock treatments. Scars from operations performed while he was still awake healed. Missing parts of organs now regrew. Hair sprouted from his head.

And Vey’s mind cleared.

Minutes, hours, or maybe it was just moments later, Vey found himself sitting on the floor with Bailey on his lap. Fists no longer pounded at his body. Pulling his fangs free Vey saw Bailey was ash white and barely breathing. Stark fear gripped him. The more his body and mind healed, the more certain Vey became that Bailey was important to him.

In a panic, Vey used an overlong fingernail to cut into a thick vein near his neck. Cupping the back of Bailey’s head Vey pressed the smaller man’s lips against the blood pumping out of the wound.

Bailey latched on to his neck like a starving man. Vey smiled at his thoughts. Bailey was starving after what Vey had taken. Something inside told Vey it was now his job to willingly give up whatever Bailey needed.

The doors of the lab burst open and a muscular man in black stepped through with a gun in one hand and a knife in the other. “Get away from him,” the man shouted before he started growling.

A shaking hand pressed against the bare skin of Vey's chest. Bailey’s weak voice rang out, “Don’t hurt him, he’s mine.”