| Subject: Nephillim |
Author:
T.R. Jones
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Date Posted: 11:31:28 12/07/00 Thu
Author Host/IP: host-209-214-106-213.bhm.bellsouth.net/209.214.106.213
Nephillim
I meandered through Friday night crowds, hungry. Pressing myself against the bodies of young dancers, their heated energy seized my synapses and for that slight moment, when flesh met flesh, we shared life. That spark, passed from body to body, would sustain me, but it would not satisfy me. If only it could!
"Thank you, Rosalyn," I said to the waitress who led me to my table, hidden in shadows.
She knew me for what I was at sight, accustomed to catering to my kind, the perfect servant, never questioning, only providing. "I will bring you the house special. We have a delectable blend I believe will suit your taste, an appetizer before the main course. I am sure it will please your sophisticated palate."
I fingered the hem of her leather skirt, brushing the satin of her thigh. The skirt had been a gift, given to her by one of my brethren, not made from cow's hide but from human dermis. Despite her beauty and alluring aroma, she was tainted. Her bloodstream carried a pathogen, passed down to her from generation to generation, embedded in her DNA. Her father had been one of us, and his father before him. She could spot us, could possibly destroy us, but had decided to serve us instead.
Vanishing into the throng, I began my search. Unlike so many, I am very selective. Like a wolf, I know my prey as soon as I see it. To me, weakness is the most beautiful characteristic a human can embody. What some see as a flaw, I see as a lost and abandoned jewel. The taste of their addictions can be compared to nothing in this world.
Rosalyn returned with a carafe filled with burning red wine and a crystal goblet. She poured, smiling, and she was hungry just as I was. Sliding into the booth next to me, the heat of her body so warm, she whispered to me.
"Drink," she said, "and then I will lead you to what you desire."
Her voice, against the steady beat of a hundred hearts pounding out a primal symphony, was hypnotic. I did as she said, drinking the ruby Merlot-blood blend. It was incredibly full, but heady and by the time the glass was drained, I was drunk, the bitter taste of some drug lingering in my mouth.
She led me out of the club into the bullet sharp rain. Pushing me into her black sedan she sped away and I faded into unconsciousness. The nowhere place I was in was close, vibrant, nourishing, yet dark. I floated in amniotic peace.
"We're here," Rosalyn laughed, waking me from the bliss of nothing.
Opening my eyes, I spied her carefully applying deep red lipstick to her perfect lips.
"I apologize for spiking your drink," she said, putting wispy curls back into place. "I didn't know if I could trust you."
"I assume that is reasonable," I replied straightening my rumbled clothes and cramped legs.
She opened her door. "Here are the rules. We go in. You take what you need, but don't make a mess. When you are finished, go downstairs and out the back door with the remains. I will be waiting for you."
"How much is this going to cost me?" I asked, taking out my wallet.
Tugging at her skirt, she paused to think. "We will worry about that later."
She took me inside of the humidity chewed, dual centuried plantation house. Music, deep and low rattled the windows, while lethargic, drug heavy mortals danced like zombies. Some reclined on plush pillows with leaden eyes, seeing nothing but the darkness. They were all waiting for their host to come and hew them down. In my mind, I could see their reactions. Some would whisper and moan. Some would scream upon realizing that what they thought they wanted was the very monster beneath their beds that they feared.
But I couldn't dwell on this delightful flight of fancy. The one I wanted, the one I had hungered for since waking spiraled alone in the center of the room, her white skin glowing translucent beneath the black light. Her dark hair hung to her corseted waist, her blouse open showing a black lace bustier and a bare but bruised shoulder.
Rosalyn grinned from her vantage point across the room. One of the young men knelt before her, pushing up her skirt. His mouth, his tongue, worked lazily at her shaven pubis. Her expression never changed. Her eyes remained locked on mine.
I danced behind the girl, thrusting my hips against her, one arm encircling her. She relented to my embrace, her body turning to water in my hands.
"What is your name, child?" I whispered, kissing her behind her ear, turning her into fluid fire.
She tried to turn to face me, but I held her in place, fearing that she would recognize me and run. "Cecelia," she answered, her voice weak. "What is yours?"
"What do you want it to be?" I asked, pinching her hardened nipple, pierced through by a silver hoop.
With her fever burning hand, she covered my hand, moving it down her flat belly. "Zepar," she groaned out, a name I hadn't heard in ages. He always did have such admirable taste!
Cecelia followed me up the stairs into the nether regions where there could be no secrets. There were no doors to any of the rooms. The aromas of death, blood and sex excited my senses. For an instant on the landing, she hesitated, her gaze lingering on the safety of the steps. It didn't take much persuasion to tear her away from her doubt.
I took her into the only room not being used by a living duo or trio. The only occupant here was the corpse of a woman, sprawled out and bloated on red stain sheets. I imagined her to have looked much like Cecelia when she was alive, but older and less beautiful, somehow, less tragic.
"She is lucky," Cecelia spoke softly as she absently undressed. "He took her."
I watched each button unbuttoned, each hook unhooked, fascinated, as I have been my entire existence by the bonds that women bind themselves with.
"You aren't going to undress?" she asked, lying beside me.
I traced the contours of her body, the roundness of her breasts. What a perfect creature to damn all of humanity, so much like me, forever hungry, never satisfied, always wanting more. "Your eyes cannot look upon me. Your brain cannot comprehend. That is why I adore you so."
"Please, let me see you," she begged, fingers grasping at my clothes.
I laughed. She knew yet she knew nothing. "Later, love. Close your eyes and when you open them, you will see all you have longed to see."
Slight muscle twitches of her body warned me. She was afraid beneath the chill of my breath, instinct soon to seize her and overcome her desire. This was not an evening I needed a fight. All I wanted was surrender. Before she could leap from my arms, I struck, incisors slicing through the arterial wall of her carotid.
Her small frame jerked, spasmed, as if she were caught in the jaws of an animal. Ah, the first gush! It is always the best, so inebriating, rising from the vein like finest cream. The spinning world revolved in orbit around us and I sank into the dizziness of the spheres, my own limbs tensed, cracking her fragile bones, my weight the gravity holding her to me.
After the heart's first few beating bursts, the images came and I steadied myself for the onslaught of snapshots that had been sweet Cecilia's life. The springtime of her innocence bloomed out in child's play, Christmas mornings, dancing dreams of things she would never become or behold. Then there was summer, the naiveté gone into the green eroticism of womanhood. I waited for more, but there was only darkness and I was ensnared in the bleakness between her tomblike mental walls. She refused to watch this film, refused to share it with me.
Teeth ripping at her flesh, I was so angry, so betrayed, so saddened. I wanted to extinguish her, to absorb her into my static void. In the last seconds, she was gone, her soul shooting upward into the bosom of the Godhead. I sobbed over her mangled body. She had denied me her soul, seeking instead a final stare at redemption.
Drunk on her blood, I wept, rolling off of her death shell into the cold floor writhing in pain and jealousy. What she had seen would never be shown to me. I had taken for granted all those glories now fading from my memory. I could no longer see the face of creation.
I stumbled down the stairs, dragging her behind me, her long hair wrapped around my hand. Everyone turned their heads way from me. The music, the lights, the breathing was crashing around me and it was me who wanted to break into a run to escape. Demons, death, hell exile, all lived under this roof.
Rosalyn waited for me outside, feeding the oven like furnace already ablaze. She took Cecelia from me and gave her over to ashes. I collapsed on the stone and lay there motionless until I felt Rosalyn's hand on the back of my neck.
"Stand up," she said firmly. "It's time for you to pay me."
I knew what it was that she wanted. Removing my coat, I tossed it in with Cecelia along with my shirt and pants. Naked, the wind was daggers beneath my flesh but I was numb to it.
"Open them," she said urgently.
Closing my eyes, I awaited the agony. I breathed in the embers of Cecelia and the smell of magnolias, waiting for it to be done. My wings unfolded.
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