The fingers tightened around her throat. Around her throat, purposely cutting off the air flow to her lungs. The long slender fingers were as intimate and familiar as her own. Pale porcelain flesh pressed into her own. Her little china doll.
That's what he was. What he would always be, even in this moment. His huge blue eyes, wide and swallowing her up. There was no conflict in them. He believed completely that his actions were right and correct. He was probably right. They were probably right and she was beyond hope for redemption.
She was grateful that they had given her the final gift of death at his hands. They gave her the precious opportunity to die with her angel's image burned into her mind. They were linked together in life, and now they were linked together in death.
An anguished cry was released from her killer and his fingers pressed harder into her throat. His thumbs digging deep. He was digging his nails in, drawing up blood if her nerves were sensing things correctly. What a good, smart, kind boy; allowing her to leave a beautiful corpse. He would make her proud.
Just a little bit longer. The edge of her vision was starting to get black. It was probably just the combination of her strong will and the desperate need to absorb the memory that kept her from embracing sweet death.
One last touch. If only she could feel that soft skin one more time she could die at peace. Attempts at freeing her arms from the long legs that had her pinned to the ground only resulted in them being driven further into the hard wooden floors. She was helpless and at his mercy. Only one final touch...
I will find you again... my love. You are my eternity...
Everything was swirling. His entire world was crumbling down around him and all he'd have to do was let go. Everything felt wrong, but he couldn't stop. It was his duty, his responsibility to ensure that she didn't fall further victim to her own mind. That was his purpose, the reason he existed. That was his sole reason for living, to ensure the order of the known world.
But why did it feel so empty and wrong?
He heard, rather then felt, the throaty cry escape his lips. He had no way of knowing whether it was even him who had produced such a miserable vocalization.
She no longer struggled. The frantic twitching had reduced to an infrequent shiver and the rise and fall of her chest was near imperceptible. Ten more seconds and a final jerk was all it took to end it.
He gazed down at his victim. Her blue eyes were still wide open, but their familiar spark was replaced with a glassy reflective surface. Her lips were blue, frozen into a stiff “O” shape and the red swollen marks raised up violently from her neck.
The elation of freedom was over powered by the overwhelming emptiness. The smile of relief was hidden beneath the waterfall of tears flowing down his cheeks.
“You did well” The gruff voice issued from behind him. He had stepped in from the patio doors. It was low and scratched like sand paper. Too many years of exposure to nicotine. “You have ten minutes to gather your things. Then we'll be leaving”
He turned and walked out of the study. The large oak doors clicked closed, leaving the boy alone with thousands of books and the beautiful corpse. Cutting the moment off from reality for just a little longer.
“...God...God dammit” He hissed, as the sobs shook his body. His arms encircled the woman's shoulder and pulled her close to his chest. His body began to sway back and forth. His hand buried into her blond hair and he let go.
Why? He screamed internally. Why did you have to be the one I loved and the one I hated most of all?
October 23, 1963
“Congratulations Mrs. McCormack... you have a beautiful baby boy”
Angela gazed down at the tiny infant nestled into her arms. The boy had been wrapped in a light blue cotton blanket. The pastel color accenting the thick patch of red hair on his head beautifully. Just like his father.
She smiled.
“You're so beautiful” She was awed. The joyful sensation tingled through out her entire body and her heart swelled with love. “So incredibly beautiful”
“What will you name him?” One of the nurses, a young girl in her mid twenties, inquired. “He's so beautiful, you should name him after one of the angels”
Angela's disapproving frown incited a look of shame and regret on her face for even making the suggestion.
“Rory” Angela finally said after what felt like an eternity to the nurse maid. “I will name him Rory... my red king...”
“Rory, it's a beautiful name” One of the older women cooed. Her hands reached for the infant, but Angela's gaze held her from moving too close. She seemed to pull the baby in closer to her, trying to absorb it's tiny body into hers.
“Mrs. McCormack, don't you want your husband to be able to see his magnificent son?” Angela tried to recall the face of her husband, but all she could see was the infant child in her arms. Her life before now had been meaningless. None of it had mattered. She finally understood what it meant to love. She finally understood what her purpose was this time around.
To love and protect her red king.
“... Angela... the child?”
She blinked, glancing up to see her husband. She supposed he was a handsome man. Tall and strong with a shock of red hair that sharpened his somewhat bird like features. She vaguely remembered thinking he was a beautiful man once.
She was horribly mistaken.
“Rory, Adrian. I have named him Rory.” She reluctantly held the child up and he took it into his arms. Her husband smiled, fingers playing along the boy's little button nose.
“Rory... Yes, I like that” He smiled. “You'll grow up to be a strong, proud boy. Just like your name sake...”
“Yes...” Angela was slowly drifting off as the adrenaline died down. “He'll be... a true king.”
Angela drifted in and out of consciousness through out the night. Her eyes would drift open, scan the room and then close again. Once in awhile, she'd sit up and survey the room, before her body fell back into the pillows and sleep resumed.
She awoke early the next morning in a panic.“Where is he?!” She screamed at the morning attendant. A vase of mixed flowers went sailing across the room, hitting the opposing wall with an angry clatter. A few pieces of glass rebounded off the sterile hospital wall. The majority tumbled to the floor below.
“Mrs. McCormack! Please... Calm down!” The attendant pleaded from behind the neighboring bed. Angela's answer was a banshees' screech that echoed down the hall “Mrs. McCormack, please! Your son is fine! He's in the nursery!”
“No!” The attendant had become accustomed to distraught new mothers, but her voice still quaked when facing the desperate wrath of the woman.
“It's for his own well being Mrs. McCormack”
“You will bring him to me this instant!!” She readied another vase. The woman dived beneath the safety of the bed and prepared herself for the projectile. From behind her echoed a voice that sounded like the intense thunderstorms that were so common in the world's deserts. Booming, rumbling and larger then anything possibly human.
“Angela, Restrain yourself”
The single command stilled the entire room. The click of the vase being returned to the bedside echoed throughout the hospital room like an explosion. The rustling of her sheets howled like the winds.
“... Scion...” Angela's voice came out as a whisper. Her face had paled.
“... This is uncharacteristic of you Angela.” The man clicked his tongue with disapproval. “I realize that giving birth is a trying experience for any woman, but a little more propriety is in order...”
The man turned his gaze towards the attendant. The hazel brown eyes sent chills up and down her spine. She shivered involuntarily and forced her gaze to turn away.
“The boy” he finally said at length. “Bring him here. I wish to see him” It was not a request.
She nodded the affirmative, her feet caring her swiftly away.
There was a heavy silence as Angela looked upon the old man. Scion, her superior in every way. The man who had taken her under his wing as a child and taught her how to use her own special abilities.
“You think he's one of us?”
“The council believes so...”
Angela frowned, thinking of the crotchety old men that made up the ruling body of the true immortals. They hid deep within their chambers, scrying and plotting. When troubled times arose they would remain in the safety of their controlled environment. Others were sent to die in their stead.
“And if he is?”
“... You know what happens if he is, Angela. You went through it yourself”
“You're going to take him from me?”
“No. Not until we feel he's ready. Even then, it's possible that his skills may coincide with your own and you will be his mentor”
“Assuming I'm the most suitable” The thought of losing her baby made her blood run cold. A shiver racked her body.
“We'll see how things progress”
The door swung open and the attendant returned with the baby cradled in her arms. She rocked it back and forth, cooed over it. Admiring how lovely it looked, especially for a new born.
“Give him to me” Scion held up his arms, the woman placed the baby into them without hesitation.
“Now go”
Angela watched Scion cautiously while the woman left them once more. His face remained blank as he examined the new born. His eyes were half-lidded, seeing everything and nothing inside the boy all at once. She half hoped to hear Scion announce that he was only a mere human, like his father.
A chill descended upon the room. Waiting was hell. It felt like an eternity but could have truly only been a moment.
“... There's something there” The older man's eyes refocused. Angela felt her heart sink. She would lose him. “Keep an eye on him for an irregularities...”
Her breath caught in her throat.
“I know the drill, Scion..." No.... I can't lose him...“... Will he be taken from me?”
“If he will be, it won't be for many years. Not until he's mature enough to understand and use what is required of him. If possible, I'd like to keep him under your wing until he's at least 18.”
“Yes yes!” She could have cried with relief then. “He is my son. He is welcome with me always...”
“Yes.... but Angela...” She tried not to cry as she gazed into his rugged face. “Don't allow yourself to become too attached. There will eventually come a time when he will leave and not come back...”
“I know, Scion...” He'll always come back to me. My precious child... “It is the way of life for us. I know better then anybody.”
“Good...” Scion stood up and bowed politely. “Then I'm leaving. Shay sends her best wishes.”
“Thank you. Tell her to come by for dinner next Sunday. She can see Rory then...”
“Rory? That his name?”
“Yes”
“Heh...” He smiled, his face appearing ten years younger with the simple gesture. “The Red King, fitting for that one. He's got his momma's good looks”
She blushed. “I know Scion...” I know...
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I saw that sleep story again. It gets more scary whenever I see it. Momma says I gotta write down what I see when I sleep. I see lot's of sleep stories, but this one is the scariest. The sleep story where I'm dying. Well, it's not me but it is. Momma says it's something that happens in our dreams. That ours are special. Mine especially. Our dreams represent the past and she thinks some might also be of the future. I don't like that though, because I don't want this dream to happen to me... or not me if that's the case.
There's always a lot of blood all over the place. It hurts just being there and I always feel sick. I don't like it. I don't like thinking about it, but momma says that if I don't then I might miss something important. All I ever see though is the blood. And the man. He's scary but not scary at the same time. He looks like my grampa before he died. But his eyes are nasty. His eyes are mean and filled with rage.
When I look at them, I think I might suffocate. I always get so scared.
Momma will protect me though. Right?
I can't remember where it happened. I don't think I ever dream of why. I just always see that same scene. That man, looking down at me or not-me. Momma says to call it a victim. I don't know what that is, but it sounds bad. I guess I'll try to roll with it for now. He's looking down at the victim... I can never move or scream, so I think I'm restrained. I saw some tapey and ropes in another version. The man brings a butcher knife back and raises it high above his head. It plunges in swift downward strokes 1...2...3...4..5 times. Sometimes it's more and sometimes it's less. Sometimes I wake up before he's finished. This time though, he stopped at five.
I don't think that's a very efficient way of killing someone. It's dramatic and spectacular but it wastes a lot of energy and it's too easy to miss your mark. You should strike up and forward. That's what I would do anyways so I could use all my weight and have more control.
There were a few other figures this time but it was too fuzzy to make out any details. They were far away. Glasses would be helpful next time around.
That's all I can remember.
January 27, 1968
The soft pitter patter of tiny clothed feet against hard wood floors floated on the still night. The long hallway was lined on either side with seven identical heavy oak doors. Ornate decorations were carved out and in laid into the wood work and molding. The feet never paused or faltered, walking with a purpose out into the great room.
Lightning flashed outside the row of massive windows to the right. Rory paused, his great blue eyes turning towards the source of the sudden light.
“1...2...3...” There was a thunderous crash that shook the house, followed by a series of rolling growls. His lips curved upward in a smile that was wrong on the face of a four year old wearing pastel blue footsie pajamas.
The smile thankfully was as fleeting as the flash of lightening and in a moment, he was continuing onwards to his intended destination. Through the great room, around the dining table and into the massive coral kitchen. It was a modern kitchen, they even had a microwave but he wasn't much interested in that.
He had already pulled a light weight chair over beneath the long cabinets beside the sink and was pulling down a short glass. Quick and efficient, the chair was relocated to the fridge and the half gallon bottle of milk was lifted.
He poured the glass to half full and set the bottle onto the counter. The small boy angled down, contorting his body around so that he could sit on the chair. Rory took several quick sips of the cold, smooth drink before downing it in a long swallow. The glass was refilled and he repeated the process.
Another flash of lightening and crash of thunder filled the house. Rory was just starting the process of cleaning up, when Angela appeared beside him.
“What are you doing awake, baby?” She asked, her arms encircling him and lifting him off the ground.
“Thirsty” He pointed at his dirty glass. “I had that sleep story again momma. The real scary one?”
“Did you?” He frowned and nodded. His face scrunched up, lips puckering and eyebrows knitting together cutely. “Poor baby. Momma had bad dreams too”
“No!” He threw his little arms around her neck, squeezing it tightly. “I don't want momma to see what I see...”
“Oh babyboy” She laughed a little. The sound was like a chime: soft and comforting. “Don't you worry about that. Momma can handle it. Momma's more worried about you, my love... did you want to talk about it”
She saw him chewing on his lip. His eyes flashing as he mulled over the decision to let her into his private world. The eyebrows knitted together again, thinking.
“No” He stated flatly. “Not yet. I don't like to think about it”
“I understand love” She purred, setting him down and taking his hand. “Why don't you sleep with momma tonight, hon. I'll give you happy sleep stories”
“Even when yours aren't?”
“Of course, I would give you the world china doll”
“... alright” He nodded, pattering after Angela's long strides. His fingers squeezed tightly around hers and they exchanged loving, secretive smile.
My momma...
My red king...
The sun shone through the large bay windows, casting a bright yellowish glow on everything in the parlor. Angela was sitting at the table, her hands wrapped loosely around a bone china tea cup. Across from her, sitting silently, was Scion. His roughened appearance seemed out of place amongst all of Angela's finery.
Both individuals were watching the young boy with keen interest. Angela watched with the love and tenderness only a mother could know. Scion watched with a sharply analytical eye, observing and classifying his every action.
The young Rory played with his cars with little concerns for others in the room. He crawled all over the hard wood floors. The cars moved along with him and the running commentary was interspersed with frequent vrooms and an occasional squeal.
“... He's just a normal little boy” Angela announced after a long time. Scion turned his gaze upon her. The piercing eyes boring straight into her soul.
She shivered.
“You know as well as I do Angela that that boy is the farthest thing from normal...”
Angela chewed on her lower lip. She knew what was coming.
“I'd like to have him interact with others like us.”
“Well, of course, Scion. I had no intentions of isolating him here away from the entire world.” Angela fired quickly. She ran a hand through her golden hair then reached out and lifted the tea cup to her lips
once again. Though I want to...
“Of course Angela.” He didn't seem to be buying it. Angela forced a smile, the tension in the air becoming thick enough to cut with a knife.
“He'll join Sienna's son for inducing next year” Scion instructed her. The tony of voice left no room for argument. Angela didn't even consider protesting.
“What if we're wrong”
“I have never been wrong Angela.”
“There's a first time for everything!”
“That's enough Angela” His voice was a dangerous and accompanied by the disapproving glare, Angela knew she as pressing her luck. She shrunk back a little, a burning sensation shooting to her face.
“It's better that we induce him and find out he's just human then risk what would happen if it was allowed to fester”
She'd heard stories of what happened to those who had gone under the radar and the destruction caused when the pent up energy finally released. She'd never seen it but...
Scion took Angela's silence as a sign of resignation.
“I'll be back on his fifth birthday. Please have him ready to go...”
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