Consequences
Authors: Elyse Draper
Tags: #speculative fiction, #philosophy, #greek mythology, #mystery suspense, #dark fantasy horror speculative fiction supernatural urban fantasy weird fiction, #mystery and magic, #mythology religion mystery, #fiction fairy tales folk tales legends mythology, #paranormal creatures sci fi for young adults
By
Elyse Draper
Smashwords Edition
Consequences
Copyright © 2012 by Elyse Draper
Cover Art By
Elyse Draper
***~~***
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment
only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
The author is grateful for your appreciation of their work;
although if you would like to gift or share this eBook, please do
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reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased
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purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of
the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental
and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
***~~***
Many thanks to W. Freedreamer Tinkanesh, Jennifer
Reece, and Lori Smith who helped me edit and revise this story, not
to mention, patiently allowing me to use them as literary Guinea
Pigs.
I am blessed by having amazing family and friends,
all of whom give support freely with abundance of love -- in
particular: my husband, Rob, my daughter, Cassie, and my parents
Polly and Chuck. Thank you!
As I use music to help me capture the different
personality traits of my characters, I want to thank, 30 Seconds to
Mars, Breaking Benjamin, and Incubus for their beautiful
contributions to inspiration.
***~~***
The Freewill Trilogy is dedicated to those
precious souls we have lost over the years. Those beautiful hearts,
gone much too soon, who have, due to their absence, left the world
a little less complete.
Chapter 18: Reawakening the Monster
**~~**
**~~**
Christopher
**~~**
Dreams
As the mist parts I see her standing by the
stream looking like she did, when we were finally able to be
together, last spring. Her eyes light up when she turns and finds
me staring at her. I can smell her from twenty feet away … ozone,
electric and clean; like a Rocky Mountain thunderstorm. I’ve
learned to take my time, no matter how painful; I have to take my
time. I have to cherish this dream world … where she is mine.
Walking at an even pace, I savor every one of my senses as they
play over her form. I can taste what it was like to kiss her. Her
flavor was magic, like catching snowflakes on my tongue.
My heart always pounds right about, now …
right when the wind catches her hair and exposes her neck. I watch
her pulse through her skin, and remember when she was once mine to
hold. She was solid; she lived just for me, but only for
twenty-four hours. No one will ever give me such an exquisite,
gut-wrenching gift as she did that day, brief hours of unrestrained
bliss. I can hear her thoughts now, repeating what I heard then….
repeating over and over again, driving me insane.
“Every human has the capacity for darkness,
and Christopher, you could excel at cruelty.” I can hear truth in
the statement, words expressing something she would never say out
loud … this talent to hear people’s thoughts, not just thoughts,
but the truth … her honest fear makes me hate myself. Outwardly
though, her expression only reveals love and intrigue. Knowing her
talent as well, knowing she is empathic and able to feel my
thoughts, my heart … I imagine what she’s sensing, what my emotions
must be telling her. I’m sure she knows that I’m ultimately going
to let her down, that I’ve already signed my name in blood on a
damned contract, selling my soul to demons.
Every night this happens … once again, I am
gratefully torturing myself so that I can watch the dread in her
eyes and hear her soft tone echoing in my head. This would break
me, if I weren’t already so broken by her absence.
“My God, Christopher… you’re beautiful!
You’re a creature created to lure a person in with beauty, stun
them with charm … then get them to reveal all their secrets and
hidden fears.”
No matter how hard I try to stop them, the
tears always form, and my stomach clenches painfully. “Please,
Ellie; please, don’t fear me … please.”
Some part of my subconscious cringes at my
pitiful display; but after all, this time I have no pride left … no
self-respect after letting her go.
I fall to my knees. Every time I’m here I
fall to my knees, and look at her bare feet caressed by the dark,
rich soil and soft pine needles. As she steps forward, I see the
impression her weight leaves in the dirt. Focusing on Ellie’s
footprints reminds me again that she was touchable, for me, once.
When she kneels down in front of me and wiggles her way in close to
my chest … her voice, Oh never forget that voice, fills my head and
my ears.
Finally hearing that sweet tone allows me a
reprieve from listening to her thoughts, “Nothing will ever hurt us
again, because we are one and the same; like pouring red water into
a glass of blue water … we have become something new; merged and
inseparable.”
Inside my dreaming mind, another occupant's
angry voice, now small, crushed by insane longing, screams, “LIAR.”
I have become very good at ignoring the monster that resides in my
head, but in my dreams that part of me he represents, still
screeches from somewhere hidden behind my mirage. Even though I can
hear him, I turn my back on his presence and focus on my fantasy,
my Ellie.
Born out of the serenity brought on by
hearing her voice, the pain of my memories begins … I have the
electricity of her touch, but I can’t return her embrace. Our time
together, when we first met, when we fell in love … was
bittersweet, the most exhilarating and frustrating time of my life.
Now, I’m left yearning to make contact, to lift her chin and raise
her eyes to mine. I can only touch her like I would touch a breeze:
fleetingly, blowing through my fingers never meant to be held. She
consumes my whole world; my inadequacies in holding her make me
feel as if my hands are cuffed painfully behind my back. I hate how
dreams can turn so quickly into nightmares. I feel trapped by this
shadow, this illusion of Ellie.
When the real Ellie used to enter my dreams,
I could hold her. The only place I could hold her was inside my
sleeping mind, because in the waking world, she existed in another
dimension, where I cannot touch her at all.
Back then, I had accepted our connection as
one-sided; I couldn't initiate contact with her, only Ellie had the
power to bring about our physical bond. She alone had the power to
set my skin on fire, and leave my mind desperate for more. That
was, until that one glorious day, when she gave up everything, just
to give me one brief opportunity to initiate our connection and
touch her body, her soul. Our spirits have always been entwined; I
should have realized sooner … that was enough.
She can sense my feelings and read my heart
just as easily as I can hear her honesty and read the truth in her
mind. Resting her forehead on mine, looking into my eyes, pressing
our minds and spirits together, she whispers, “We can never forget
this happiness, this fulfillment … every day we have to choose
contentment … if we hope to survive.”
Then as sleep starts to fall away, she gives
me one last gift … I have to endure so I can ask her what it means.
She shows me butterflies; flying, dancing, and twisting in
intricate knots, taking me to the doorway that leads to the waking
world and forces me to open my eyes.
**~~**
The cabin is frigid, and both Lune and Ursa
are curled up on top of me. I watch as my best friend resituates
himself, pressing closer to his mate. The only real clues to their
differences are: Ursa’s paws are twice the size of his, and her
eyes are golden, almost yellow, where his are multicolored, blue
and brown. Everyday her gaunt, sleek frame shows signs of the pups
she carries inside. Michael says she could have them any day now;
he wants me to e-mail him, so he can come down from the ranger
station when it's time. He’s worried that her run in with the
logging truck, last fall, may have paved the way for a difficult
delivery.
She’s wild, and really should return to her
pack; but Lune and I were adamant about wanting her to stay until
she was healthy enough to survive the harsh winter. That was two
and a half months ago, and now we are waiting for the arrival of
our Husky/Wolf hybrid puppies.
Dragging my feet out from under the covers
and placing them on the wooden floor, I can feel the cold bite my
toes. My daily routine always starts with me hopping to put on my
sorrel boots, and trudging outside to start up the generator. Upon
returning to the cabin, I stoke the wood burning stove and start
the teakettle in the kitchen. The cabin is pretty self-sufficient,
everything electrical runs through rechargeable batteries and the
generator. The stove, refrigerator, and hot water are propane, plus
the cabin is heated primarily by the wood burning stove, and our
water comes from a well out back. The only real luxury I’ve
allowed, in my self-proclaimed solitary confinement, is a satellite
connection to the Internet. With no phone lines or electricity
poles, therefore no phone or public service bills, I’ve managed to
take myself off the grid. Communication has been broken down to
aliases talking to aliases by e-mail and word of mouth. Those that
cared about me before this life know to expect a
one-word-acknowledgement once a month. If they don’t hear from me,
they should expect the worst, and know that nobody will ever find
my body.
As I look in the mirror over my sink, I
barely recognize the man gazing back. I look as if I’ve aged
fifteen years since I left Colorado last June. My beard only barely
covers the scars running along my jaw line. I inspect the stubble
down to my neck where two scarred puncture marks are still white
and fresh-looking, pulsing on top of my jugular. Both the scars,
that look like a mountain lion has mauled me, and the facial hair,
hide my nineteen years of age…but it’s my eyes that make me look
like an old man. My cheekbones, cut sharp from my Native American
heritage, match my darker skin tone only to be betrayed by my blond
hair and blue eyes. My time in Las Vegas bleached out my hair to
almost silver, which only makes me look older ... giving me the
illusion of graying before my years. I strip off my shirt to splash
water on my face; the flash of black on my chest draws my eye to
the thick-lined tattoo of one of Ellie’s butterflies. It reminds me
why I need to keep fighting, and why I hide; but mostly it reminds
me that I have to survive … for her.
Behind me, I see movement through the mirror
and smile as the flow of mahogany hair brushes my lower back. “I
dreamt of you again last night … I miss the feel of your touch when
I’m lost in sleep. Even though I can’t touch you … at least we have
moments like this, when you grant me the pleasure of your contact.
I live to feel your electricity against my skin.” Out of my
peripheral vision, I see her beautiful catlike eyes smiling in
response to my voice.