The Sender of Names 1
Prologue
The first cut was the deepest.
The blade seemed to slice effortlessly into the skin
of the dead priest. Michael smiled, nervous, but pleased
that he was at last alone.
He cast a wary eye about the room. The dull light of a
vapor lamp threw shadows across the wall. This was the prep
room: the place where the dead were made up before the
family would see them. It would have been easy to switch
on the high intensity overhead lighting above the table,
but Michael felt more comfortable in the shadows.
This was his time.
The second cut in the armpit of the priest was more shallow.
A swath of dark hair hid the incision. Michael brushed it
aside, careful not to trim around the area. He pushed the
rigid skin apart, expecting to see some fluid seep from the
wound, but nothing flowed.
For what seemed to be an endless flight of moments, he
balanced between trepidation and the overwhelming compulsion
to make one more cut.
-2-
The shadows seemed to be closing in around him as he looked
up from the table. He saw strange shapes gathering strength
in the pall of the dimly lit room. Trying not to weaken
against the onslaught of his mind’s creations, he let the
scalpel rest against the pallid remains of the Priest.
He had visitors.
They were taunting him there in the confines of this place
where he had spent so many hours; they toyed with him much
as his dreams did in the deep of night.
The monsters stirring across the wall were all a part of him
and he knew it as he went about the business of desecrating
the dead as they watched.
Whatever had been borne in his earlier years had left him.
Michael now existed as a manipulative cunning teen, excited
by the forbidden, enjoying the company of his legions of stray
demons that grew in his mind daily. His world was theirs
as they stealthily moved into his consciousness, let their
madness flow into his palatable mind.
He paused to consider his creations; the stirrings which
fluttered in the shadows in lifelike projection, the bad part
of him that wanted out-quietly watching him. These were his
soldiers in the world beneath his conscious state. They were
his friends; guardians of the other Michael-the one he had
to hide. Here, they were free.
-3-
He looked around, counted, checked each shadow as the
soothing breeze of the room ventilation whisked past him;
its soft currents exciting his senses. There was the
adrenaline of these moments as he shed the all too fragile
shell of his outer self in favor of the madness that existed
with his friends.
When he had finished counting, Michael turned back to the
body of the young priest. He had never known him, but
certainly was aware of his age from the records. He looked
closer at the details of his face, inspecting each feature.
Soon, some of it would change as the magic of a talented
make-up artist transformed each stress line and imperfection.
Normally the diocese left the work of preparing its own to
the expert skills of his uncle, with little comment or
direction; however, this young priest had come with specific
instructions-details on his final appearance.
Michael couldn’t help but notice that a great pain had
injected itself into the last expression before death.
As he looked at him, he felt a tinge of sorrow rise from
within his normally sterile soul. The Priest’s calling had
obviously left him depleted, robbed of the serenity of death.
Michael saw fear: a telling signature etched into his features.
The stress points had taken a toll on an otherwise beautiful
face. The young priest looked worn, debilitated in those last
moments as though he had cried out in anguish. Definitely,
something not so nice had worn into him, showered its force
into his being, left him bereft and pained as death settled in.
-4-
This moment of reflection was temporary. Whatever had come
over the otherwise healthy priest and caused his death was not
his concern. He had one more cut. The hour was drawing to a
close and Michael had to return his friends to their place until
the next time. His uncle would soon return. Naturally, there
would be no evidence of his mutilation.
After one last quick survey of the dead priest, Michael chose
the inner thigh as the place for his last incision. Carefully
and with the deliberate issuance of a surgeon, he moved around
the table into position.
He slowly moved the scalpel to the site. Carefully, he brought
the blade down.
Then, he felt it!
An arm had swiftly reached out, stopping his approach, gripping
him with such strength that Michael wanted to cry out. Terrified,
he felt his pleas fall back, lost to the moment.
In the next moment the young Priest sat upright. His eyes
opened as Michael was forced to watch, compelled by the
unrelenting grip. In that same moment he saw the blue
suffuse through those eyes, purse deep within, spike and
radiate out.
He knew that he couldn’t move even if he was able. He felt
paralyzed, glued to the floor. As he watched in real time
horror, the young priest opened his mouth, forcefully drew
Michael close and let the power flow into him.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
"The Sender of Names" A Novel of "Demon Lust"
CHAPTER ONE
(The Present)
Michael awakened to the sun streaming through his window.
Reluctantly he began to raise his head. For a moment,
he lay there-his mind, a muddle of thoughts. He turned,
looked at the clock, felt the usual hardness and
moved to right himself. He was impressive even in
the morning.
The previous afternoon, after returning home, a violent
storm had blown up without warning: gale force winds that
rattled the bay windows of his bedroom. He had watched,
fascinated by the sheer ferocity of the tempest which had
come from a deep blue sky.
In the distance he had seen what appeared to be a gathering
storm. It had moved in a random motion, far away from the
vicinity of his building: therewere no sirens, no warning
blasts from the early detection mechanisms mounted on a
distant street pole. Nothing. Yet, he had felt no fear,
only rapt fascination at the mysterious appearance.
-6-
Now, as he approached that same window, he saw little
evidence of the previous night’s activity. He began to
think deeper about his dreams, his fears, and the night
of bliss.
Michael had not been alone upon his return. The dreams
were by his side. It had carried over into his bedroom
as was evidenced by the disarray of his bed. He began to
think back: a myriad of images coming and going.
She was good to him. Responding to his urge, she had
masterfully moved him through her fingers, her palms
tasting the bittersweet of his force as it grew.
Michael enjoyed this, knew it to be his savvy as a male;
found himself deeply accommodating to her manipulations.
She was close to his center as she moved beneath him,
desperately moving to place him.
In a sweet delirium which rose from the splendor that she
held, he obliged. She cried out as he went deep, filled her
so readily that she collapsed in the beautiful torment of
his drive. He rode her relentlessly, again and again,
until he could feel the intense trembling beneath him.
He grasped her around the neck, drawing her to him. Her eyes, blissful, aware
of his service, relaxed in worship, as he bit into her neck. She didn’t move,
made no exercise to fight the desire. They were here at this place: this space
where they could feel the mountains move, the waters rush forth as he spilled
into her, trembling, convulsing in the depth of their mutual release.
- 7 -
By the time the winds had ceased their fury and the rain had subsided, his need was fulfilled. He moved to the bathroom, examined his well toned physique and slowly began to wash off the evidence of the previous night As he was about to enter the shower, he caught sight of his hands in the mirror. He stopped, turned the shower off and went back to the sink.
Slowly, he lifted his hands, his eyes glued to them. Meticulously, he
examined the nails. He dug beneath one and then another. As he rolled the residue on his fingertips, he watched it begin to flake. As he continued, it began to smear, darken. Blood-he had clotted blood under his nails. Anxious, he backed from the sink, refusing to believe or even question why?
..............
Near by, Wyatt Mckannon had dreamed: disturbing dreams. He felt the wetness beneath the pillows as he ran his hand across them. A quick feel revealed that he had soaked his bedding along with himself.
He was wet. Sweat ran as he swiped across his forehead. Absent a fever, he had never been this involved with his dreams. Never, had he felt such exhaustion and
exhilaration as with these recent episodes. Then, there were the visions which usually came to him during the day. They were more frequent now.
- 8 -
He pulled the wet sheets away from him, glanced at the clock and
moved to his closet. They were there. He hadn’t dreamed them. The videos: secret recordings of conversations with his clients; however, there was one in particular that interested him over all the others: this man, so together, so seemingly
impervious to self-loathing had revealed to him secrets; desires of which he
had no control.
Wyatt liked the benefit of power. That’s exactly what he felt when Michael
lay there, hypnotized, slowly releasing his torment. In place of dissecting Michael’s thinking he found himself glued to the mental blueprint that his patient had so willingly given up. Now it was his to do with as he desired.
..........
As Wyatt thought about his dreams, Michael’s day was passing without
incident. The previous discovery of blood beneath his nails had briefly concerned him;
however, after a quick examination, he let the event pass without attaching any
great significance to it.
Now, at day’s end, his body longing for rest, it was important that he get back into his dream. There had been too many of them, too many unanswered questions. Where were they leading him?
The night sweats were more often now. He rubbed the sweat from his forehead
as he relented to his desire to escape that world. He had to go back. He lay back, attempting to once again fall asleep.
- 9-
It came eventually.
This time he recognized that he was inside of the dream. He could see the
tall man moving toward the first row of steps which lead to a second and then
to the landing at the entry way.
As was the norm with his dreams, the body images were blurred. He couldn’t
see the detail of the man’s features. He forced himself to concentrate.
This stranger was enveloped in a cloud-like haze. He could only make out
general body shape, his movements.
He moved closer.
He was almost upon the man when he opened the door and entered the hallway.
Hesitantly, Michael followed. Cautiously, he turned the knob. The heavy oak
door moved slowly. He pushed and it gave, moving away from him.
As Michael followed, cautiously entering the hallway, the stranger looked
back abruptly. He smiled. Michael stood there. His adrenaline was rising.
After a moment, the man closed his mailbox, retreated to the landing and was
about to make his way up the stairs. He had ignored Michael standing there,
waiting, looking for some expression of fear.
There was none. It made his adrenaline flow faster. Michael's heart raced as he moved
toward the stairs. The man was ascending, undisturbed by his
presence. It angered him.
-10-
Suddenly, as he was about to begin his climb, the door behind him opened. In
walked a man and a woman, neither of which he knew. Michael's thoughts vacillated as he glanced back at them. The couple offered up their respective greetings. He acknowledged and moved back from the
stairwell. When he turned back, he could no longer see the stranger.
He was gone.
Michael had failed.
..............
Wyatt had watched Michael dream. Although distant, he had gone into
Michael’s mind, having used his considerable telepathic abilities to trace
his thoughts.
Many times during the previous months he had gone in, quietly taking a deep
look into the workings of his patient’s psyche, all of which Michael was
unaware; however, this time, the situation would be different.
Wyatt determined to reach Michael; to give him some clue as to his presence
without revealing himself totally. What had begun as a mere fascination into
his client’s psyche had turned into an obsession. He was becoming one with
Michael. If he could get deeper, connect with him at his subconscious, his
control would subvert Michael’s will to his own.
Wyatt would be in control.
- 11 -
It gave him goose bumps as he thought of the power. Never before, had he felt
the rush that swept over him as he followed Michael's mind when he dreamed.
Soon, he would let him know that he was there-a presence without a face. He
would become one with Michael’s mind, use his weakness to manipulate him. He
would build on Michael’s predatory instincts, refine them, make him into a
well tuned killing machine.
As he thought on it, he realized that he was changing. A quick feel gave him
notice of his excitement.
...............
The following day, Michael left his studio, got in his car and drove to the
outskirts of the city.
Even here, where he could think, he was grateful that he hadn’t become one
of those suburban yuppies. He pulled into the large secluded lot that bordered
the labyrinth of trails that he had walked many times in the past.
This was his place of rest: a time for him. Rarely, was he disturbed as he
wandered the string of trails that seemed to wind endlessly through the
forested corridors, away from the city-alone, forgotten and needing to be
misplaced. He could think here.
Michael’s thoughts had been bothering him. He couldn’t dismiss the blood
beneath his nails, nor could he find a way to explain the blackout which must
have come at some time during the evening
hours.
-12-
There was a time gap that gave him notice of his vulnerability; his desire to
evade the issue of his whereabouts; the thoughts that were bringing him closer
to an understanding of the inevitable.
He was losing control.
His mind was letting go to a stranger-something deep within him that surfaced
at times to act out some hidden desire.
He detected movement.
There-beyond the string of Birches that clustered in a deep mesh, dipping
into a small ravine, he saw it.
As he was settling into a possible explanation of his previous night, the
black out, and the dreams which followed, the sighting took him away from his
thoughts.
He fixated.
At that moment, fully awake, yet poised between his dream world and reality,
he let his curiosity guide him. The figure moved slowly-alone. Curious, he decided to follow. His altered personality- the ‘other’ decided to pursue.
He could make out the fluidity of movement. There seemed to be minimal
disturbance in the forest as the young teen swept through the brush,
unperturbed by the overhanging which crept up, blending into the carved foot
trails which had pressed into the ground much like a natural mold.
He moved on.
-13-
Michael could see his movements as the branches gave way in his path. For a
moment he slowed his pursuit, taking advantage of the opportunity of cover. And then there was the question of why he was there at all; stalking or curiosity. He desperately wanted to believe the latter and yet this thing that was releasing itself, rising from the secret part of his soul, controlling his surface desire-it made him follow, keep to the path.
Soon, he realized that he had totally changed his initial direction and was
quickly advancing toward the figure he’d seen in the distance. A part of him wanted to race up, move quickly, get right upon him before he could be discovered.
It needed to be over soon.
Another part, toyed, pulled at his resolve to move ahead recklessly, ignoring
any potential threat.
He balanced between the two as he struggled to counteract the efforts of his
‘other’ which had come up so quickly-without warning, clouding his
thoughts, moving for control.
It was winning.
He could now see the youth. A primitive, guttural sigh escaped from his
throat as he gave in to the pleasure of his thoughts. His mind was racing. The
control was waning as he moved closer.
A short distance separated him from the teenager. He rounded the bend. His
heart was racing as he skirted the two small inclines which separated him from
the teen. A large root protruded from the
- 14-
trail. Unseen, Michael stumbled, falling into the thick underbrush which lay to
the side of the hill.
The fall snapped him back to reality. As he gazed at the face, a hand was
extended to help him.
...........
Wyatt found himself consumed with his need for control, It would take time
,but he could see it coming. Deep in thought, he sometimes drifted into a world
that left him empty; satiated with the feelings of guilt; betrayal of his
profession; abuse of his abilities.
He felt himself a puppet, manipulated by his inner urges and his inabilities
to control his desires.
The ‘id’ was coming strong and like a novice, he waxed in the vision it
showed him. No one would know. He could fuel his desires from a distance, see
what it would be truly like to control another person. He was getting that
close. The sessions had become more frequent with Michael as did his desires to
reach deeper into his psyche.
On the second of three sessions in which he had Michael under, he had probed
deeper. At points Michael froze, possibly from the fear of confronting the
truth.
Wyatt kept pushing harder than he had ever gone with a patient. As he worked
into Michael’s thoughts, he felt this exuberance; a feeling of ecstasy which
washed over him, drowning him in Michael’s flavor. It was new; so satisfying
that he lingered in the rapture of each new revelation. He could taste it, see
it rise and flood his senses.
-15-
Michael returned home the following evening, mortified, full of
apprehension at the feelings that were erupting within him; closing in on his
conscious thoughts, struggling for position in his waking world. They were
getting closer and with each new scene, he was becoming more aware of what was
operating within him.
The ‘other’ was pushing to be let free.
He closed the door behind him, needing the solitude of his thoughts. He
wouldn’t answer the phone or go out. He had to be alone. As he poured the
wine and watched it slowly feel the glass, he began to relax.
Myra would want him tonight:
He could feel it: her soft, supple hands guiding him, exploring, releasing
him deeper into her, filling her with his spirit until she could bear no more.
She would cry out and he would later have dreams of her: confused dreams,in
which he actually loved her.
As he felt the smoothness of the wine flow down his throat, he fell back into
melancholy. This sensation had served him well in his lifetime, allowing him to
redress the wrongs that came from deep within.
- 16 =
He savored those times, feeling strong in his ability to overcome his
anxiety; with that alone he could out power his dreams-the ones that were
becoming more real.
He began to open his mail as he fell back into the thick, richly appointed
cushions which nuzzled him like a womb. He crossed his legs, folding them in to
him as he went from one piece to the next.
The last letter that he examined drew his attention. It was in a brown
package, bulkier than usual and contained no return address. The name was typed
in an elaborate calligraphy that he found odd. Tearing at it, unaware of its
contents and dismissing the effort that had gone into its presentation, he let
the contents fall at his side.
He saw the letter first. Then came the video-no indicator of title, and a
stick-em directing him to view the video before reading the letter. Confused,
he moved himself to the DVD player, plopped the video in and impulsively found
himself opening the letter.
It only contained a name-a single name.
Michael pulled the DVD out, furiously thrusting it across the room. In a fit of rage, he slammed his fist down on the set. Fire seemed to see the through his hand. He reeled from the pain. Grasping his injured hand with his left arm, he began to walk in circles, anxiously waiting for the pain to abate.
- 17-
In like manner, his fury was there. As he fought to move between it and the
ever-present throb in his hand, he fought to suppress the slightest thought
that the video had done something for him.
And then there was the matter of the name; a face to go with the name. It was
all real-there-before him-in his house. It both repulsed him and excited him.
Frantically, he searched the envelope, tearing it open, turning it over,
looking for some clue as to the sender.
There was none.
He began tearing, feverishly ripping apart the envelope into the tiniest
pieces he could shred. He ran to his office and futilely tried to feed the
already shredded pieces through his shredder. They dropped around him as his
eyes glazed.
The tears were coming.
He could not cry. He would not. Nothing about this was real .He moved to the
table, lifted his glass and downed the remaining wine. He poured another. As he
moved to the medicine cabinet, he kicked off his shoes, shred his pants and
shirt, removed his pills and forced them down his throat.
Shortly thereafter, he was running in place. The aerobics gave him the
release that he needed. As he moved, so did the effects of wine and the pills
he had consumed.
Ten minutes into his daily exercise routine, he was slowing, becoming
lethargic. The pain had subsided, virtually gone from his hand.
- 18-
Michael was drawing into that part of himself, outside of his anger; the part
that had always kept him safe, kept him aloof from the everyday simpleness of
the crowd, fortified him at his darkest place.
He felt power there.
As the pills took effect, he began to collect his thoughts. Walking over to
the discarded video which lay on the floor, he was surprised to see it in one
piece. Cautiously, he picked it up, examined it and carefully fed it into the
unit once more.
...........
Wyatt was proud of himself. He had been able to get into Michael’s dreams.
Therapy had given enough information to enter that private domain of his
patient.
Savoring the moment of his return to Michael’s thoughts, he sealed the
envelope, pulled the digital camcorder from his desk drawer and began to hum a
tune.
Walking over to his liquor cabinet, he poured himself a bit of brandy,
slushed it around in the snifter, watched it as though it were a rare brand;
bringing it to his nose for the aroma and then slowly, with a degree of
refinement, he let it settle on his palate.
The combination of his achievement and the fine intoxicant took him to an orgasmic height. His senses flooded with the newness of his accomplishment. He began to feel the small drip, the early flow of power.
-19-
As Wyatt drank more, contemplated his next victory, it dawned on him that he
was crossing over; that revenge was within reach. As he drank, he slipped the cross from his neck and drifted off. Soon, he was inside of Michael's dreams:
In this one, Michael was in the city. He moved cautiously toward the
teenager, who, unaware of his nearness kept volleying the ball back and forth
on the court. Michael took the time to sit on a bench within view of the court.
Michael counted ten of them, but there were two in particular. Micheal had
viewed one of the teens on the DVD that had arrived and was now recalling the
image in his dreams: however, it appeared that he found a second teen likewise
interesting.
As Wyatt watched the dream unfold, Michael began to fixate on the two teens.
He was going deeper, getting closer to them; yet, Wyatt could only make out
blurred images of their faces. On the other hand, Michael seemed much more
engrossed, enamored, as though he could see the teens clearly.
Michael smiled as he watched the progression of the game: patient, relaxed,
aware of his skill, confident of his cunning.
The stirring inside of Michael became more pronounced as he watched. It
bothered him slightly that he might be becoming a bit anxious. He prided
himself on his caution. A wrong move and he could easily expose himself to harm. No, he had to wait it out, find the right moment.
- 20-
Wyatt kept watching Michael’s dream progress.
As the game ended, the sun had begun to set. Michael watched them separate:
one after another, and then the pairing of the two teenagers as the others
walked away.
He watched closely as they began to leave the court. They were passing close
to him.
His heart raced.
Within seconds, they were moving toward his bench. This unnerved him. Michael
was the aggressor. He mind fed on the power of his control over others. Now,
both of them were coming his way; sweeping his power aside as they moved toward
him.
He could see the smiles on their faces. It bothered him. Didn’t they know
what he could do to them?
Why weren’t they running ?
As they neared, Michael could feel the anxiety mount. The distraction was
outside of his element. He wanted to get up and run.
Instead, he sat there. Both boys approached the bench. They were upon him, in
seconds, eyes glowing with the specter of youth. They smiled at him. He found himself acknowledging the gesture, responding to them.
Inwardly it confused him, made light of his control. He listened as the one
spoke, slowing his advance until he was directly in front of him.
- 21-
After a few moments of conversation, his mind laced with the compliments
which flowed from them, he began to feel strong again.
Michael was soaking in the compliments. His muscles were hardened,
strengthened by years of work outs. These boys could see it. He knew it as he
looked at himself in his dream.
He was their man.
After a brief dialogue, the conversation moving back and forth, Michael got
up from his seat and motioned for them to follow. They acknowledged and soon they were quickly exiting the park.
As they rounded the bend, she caught their eyes. She was beautiful, graceful, sleek. As she drew closer, Michael became distracted from the teens. He found himself getting aroused.
The three of them stood there, eyes glued to her; however, that moment was
fleeting as Michael returned to his control and motioned them on.
There would be another time for her.
..................
Awake, having somehow lost contact with Michael’s earlier dream about the
boys, Wyatt paced the room. Outside of his legendary composure, the man was
seething within. It had been over a week since he had entered Michael’s
dream. Repeated attempts to return had failed.
He moved back and forth, searching for answers. Desperate, he
- 22-
tried once again to feed into Michael’s thoughts. As he struggled to reenter
Michael’s dreams, there came suddenly a clearer picture than he’d ever
witnessed. As he followed Michael, Wyatt began to see the beginnings of what he
felt to be Michael’s plan.
Wyatt saw the tape. His vision led him on a progression of events through
Michael’s dreams. As quickly as his gift had finally allowed him entry, it
shut him down. The abruptness left him dumbfounded, confused.
Wyatt began to question himself. Perhaps he had been too confident. It
weighed on his mind as he walked to the receiver, picked it up and canceled his
remaining appointments.
He had been careful to disassociate his practice from the new obsession. A
part of him needed to stay in the real world, to be the same professional that
had given rise to national fame.
While his inner urges were tearing at him, Wyatt still believed he could
control, manipulate this as a mere game. He didn’t need to cross over. Yet,
the power-the thought of it was taking seed in his mind at a deeper level, even
as he fooled himself into believing otherwise.
Insistent, he returned to the davenport and closed his eyes, determined to
concentrate. Soon, his mind was riveted to the cloud which was clearing in front of him. He began to feel Michael’s thoughts: some more hazy, disconnected images that
traveled through his head. He worked to piece them together. After repeatedly
trying to connect, Wyatt
- 23-
still couldn’t get a clear picture of events.
There was no clear picture on this one. Frustrated, he got up and moved to
his desk. Cautiously weighing the value of his next move, he picked up the
receiver, dialed and waited.
...............
Michael let the phone ring.
Alone now, he drifted back into his dreams. With the help of Wyatt, he had
become proficient at reentering his dreams. Some, he decided to let go. Others,
he needed to go back; to find out details, images that haunted him on a daily
basis.
In the past, he hadn’t always been successful in drawing them back, but for
the most part he could at least pinpoint a route that his dream had followed.
It was the frustration of losing crucial images that left him vulnerable; a
small part of him that was growing each day, tearing at him. He needed to get
back inside, to revisit the source of his anxiety.
As he lay relaxed, unaware of any mind upon him, any that wanted to get into
his thoughts, he was there. Slowly, the image grew clearer. He remembered part of it. He wanted to go on. He willed himself past the moment to the next part of his dream.
Then it was there. He had reached it.
- 24-
Now, the three of them were alone. His eyes teared as he felt the pleasure;
the flurry of youthful vigor that could spend itself so freely. He felt the
emancipation of his need; a long held prisoner of beliefs, dictates, that had
until now only briefly interested him. He was there with his need, the obvious
intermingling of the forbidden. He wanted to linger there, but his mind raced
forward sending him beyond, to the next stage:
The first teen was standing there, a reflection in the mirror. The master
suite was large, extending well beyond the view from the bathroom. Michael
approached him from behind. The youth caught a glimpse of his approach as he
wiped his face, smiled in the mirror, cautious yet fulfilled in the aftermath
that marked entry into a man’s world.
Michael gave him a flirting smile as he stared deeply at the finely muscled
symmetry of his ass. Gently, he cupped him, ran his hands slowly across as his
fingers felt for the gentle depth of his recess. The youth smiled back at him.
Without hesitation, Michael quickly reached into his back pocket and
stealthily brought up the mysterious weapon. In one precise swipe, he delivered seven lethal cuts across the teen’s neck.
Seven blades had slit his throat.
Blood spewed onto the mirror: a wide splatter of red that
- 25-
dripped feverishly as the surprised youth struggled with the last throes of his
existence. His eyes drew back: a blank nothingness
stare that Michael watched as his final resolve left him.
He was weight now.
Carefully, Michael placed his limp body in the shower: There would be much
to clean up. The second one was there, at the bed.
Michael had not allowed him to enter the bathroom where his friend lay
quietly dead. It had only taken moments and this one was none the wiser.
Michael approached.
His reasoning was becoming clearer rapidly as he moved toward him. Here, was
beauty that Michael needed to possess, to own within himself; a storehouse of
power that would live with him. It would be his to control.
He stared at the young male, jockeys detailing his abundance as he stood to
greet Michael. For a moment, he found himself about to hesitate, draw back from
the teen; however, abruptly as the thought surfaced, Michael dismissed it. He
needed this beauty. Death would allow him to consume it, draw his power to him
He sat on the bed, bringing the youth to him. This was a male’s time; no
time for tenderness, only the fulfillment and then the end. He would die as the
man he was becoming. At that moment he would cross over. Michael sensed the
hesitation as he drew him near. He could feel his breath as he turned to meet
his smile,feel his satisfaction.
-26-
Oh, how he could see it in his face. When he was near enough, seated beside him, Michael raised his left arm, placing it around his neck, delicately rolling the muscle between his fingers.
The youth relaxed as he kneeded the flesh. Michael whispered to him as the
young man turned to look at him.
In that last moment of worship, Michael flashed the concealed instrument.
With one swift slash back to front, across and around, he took up his power.
Turning away, he raised himself from the bed. There was nothing there to
disturb him, no looks of anguish to discomfort his inner resolve, only the last
gurgling sounds as life left the youth.
It had been quick, painless,and fulfilling. With a deep breath, he felt the power of both surge within him
.................
Wyatt’s anxiety was increasing. He found himself unable to concentrate on
his other clients.
Michael had truly consumed him, something he’d always promised to avoid. It
had happened so quickly, this mystery man.
Even as he felt unnerved by the situation, that bit of trepidation gave way
to his need. He could draw on Michael’s killer instinct by manipulating Michael's thoughts to his benefit. Whatever existed inside his patient’s mind, whatever killer
- 27-
instinct played out in Michael’s dreams, he-yes he, Wyatt Mckannon
would use it to enact his own revenge.
He could do it even as he fought the moral implication. He could kill and
kill again, no one the wiser. Michael’s power could grow with each kill and
that power would be his as long as he wanted.
At some point and with his revenge enacted, he could give leave to
Michael’s mind. He was not a killer, he was a doctor.
Yet, there were some people that Wyatt believed better off dead;
perhaps, even helped by the light that would carry them to heaven or hell.
For now, he had to continue to get into Michael’s thoughts. As parts of him
struggled against this obsession, he delighted in the new world of his making.
The adrenaline flowed. Wyatt smiled. Beneath the mask that he had so
diligently presented to the world, was a man lost in his contempt for life.
Unknown to Wyatt, deep with Michael's psyche controlling Michael’s
killer instinct- the ‘other’ could feel an intrusion. Wyatt, having been
immersed in Michael's vision,,could feel the excitement and his physical
need could no longer be contained.
He moved his hand in search of this wonder.
(The Present)
Michael awakened to the sun streaming through his window.
Reluctantly he began to raise his head. For a moment,
he lay there-his mind, a muddle of thoughts. He turned,
looked at the clock, felt the usual hardness and
moved to right himself. He was impressive even in
the morning.
The previous afternoon, after returning home, a violent
storm had blown up without warning: gale force winds that
rattled the bay windows of his bedroom. He had watched,
fascinated by the sheer ferocity of the tempest which had
come from a deep blue sky.
In the distance he had seen what appeared to be a gathering
storm. It had moved in a random motion, far away from the
vicinity of his building: therewere no sirens, no warning
blasts from the early detection mechanisms mounted on a
distant street pole. Nothing. Yet, he had felt no fear,
only rapt fascination at the mysterious appearance.
-6-
Now, as he approached that same window, he saw little
evidence of the previous night’s activity. He began to
think deeper about his dreams, his fears, and the night
of bliss.
Michael had not been alone upon his return. The dreams
were by his side. It had carried over into his bedroom
as was evidenced by the disarray of his bed. He began to
think back: a myriad of images coming and going.
She was good to him. Responding to his urge, she had
masterfully moved him through her fingers, her palms
tasting the bittersweet of his force as it grew.
Michael enjoyed this, knew it to be his savvy as a male;
found himself deeply accommodating to her manipulations.
She was close to his center as she moved beneath him,
desperately moving to place him.
In a sweet delirium which rose from the splendor that she
held, he obliged. She cried out as he went deep, filled her
so readily that she collapsed in the beautiful torment of
his drive. He rode her relentlessly, again and again,
until he could feel the intense trembling beneath him.
He grasped her around the neck, drawing her to him. Her eyes, blissful, aware
of his service, relaxed in worship, as he bit into her neck. She didn’t move,
made no exercise to fight the desire. They were here at this place: this space
where they could feel the mountains move, the waters rush forth as he spilled
into her, trembling, convulsing in the depth of their mutual release.
- 7 -
By the time the winds had ceased their fury and the rain had subsided, his need was fulfilled. He moved to the bathroom, examined his well toned physique and slowly began to wash off the evidence of the previous night As he was about to enter the shower, he caught sight of his hands in the mirror. He stopped, turned the shower off and went back to the sink.
Slowly, he lifted his hands, his eyes glued to them. Meticulously, he
examined the nails. He dug beneath one and then another. As he rolled the residue on his fingertips, he watched it begin to flake. As he continued, it began to smear, darken. Blood-he had clotted blood under his nails. Anxious, he backed from the sink, refusing to believe or even question why?
..............
Near by, Wyatt Mckannon had dreamed: disturbing dreams. He felt the wetness beneath the pillows as he ran his hand across them. A quick feel revealed that he had soaked his bedding along with himself.
He was wet. Sweat ran as he swiped across his forehead. Absent a fever, he had never been this involved with his dreams. Never, had he felt such exhaustion and
exhilaration as with these recent episodes. Then, there were the visions which usually came to him during the day. They were more frequent now.
- 8 -
He pulled the wet sheets away from him, glanced at the clock and
moved to his closet. They were there. He hadn’t dreamed them. The videos: secret recordings of conversations with his clients; however, there was one in particular that interested him over all the others: this man, so together, so seemingly
impervious to self-loathing had revealed to him secrets; desires of which he
had no control.
Wyatt liked the benefit of power. That’s exactly what he felt when Michael
lay there, hypnotized, slowly releasing his torment. In place of dissecting Michael’s thinking he found himself glued to the mental blueprint that his patient had so willingly given up. Now it was his to do with as he desired.
..........
As Wyatt thought about his dreams, Michael’s day was passing without
incident. The previous discovery of blood beneath his nails had briefly concerned him;
however, after a quick examination, he let the event pass without attaching any
great significance to it.
Now, at day’s end, his body longing for rest, it was important that he get back into his dream. There had been too many of them, too many unanswered questions. Where were they leading him?
The night sweats were more often now. He rubbed the sweat from his forehead
as he relented to his desire to escape that world. He had to go back. He lay back, attempting to once again fall asleep.
- 9-
It came eventually.
This time he recognized that he was inside of the dream. He could see the
tall man moving toward the first row of steps which lead to a second and then
to the landing at the entry way.
As was the norm with his dreams, the body images were blurred. He couldn’t
see the detail of the man’s features. He forced himself to concentrate.
This stranger was enveloped in a cloud-like haze. He could only make out
general body shape, his movements.
He moved closer.
He was almost upon the man when he opened the door and entered the hallway.
Hesitantly, Michael followed. Cautiously, he turned the knob. The heavy oak
door moved slowly. He pushed and it gave, moving away from him.
As Michael followed, cautiously entering the hallway, the stranger looked
back abruptly. He smiled. Michael stood there. His adrenaline was rising.
After a moment, the man closed his mailbox, retreated to the landing and was
about to make his way up the stairs. He had ignored Michael standing there,
waiting, looking for some expression of fear.
There was none. It made his adrenaline flow faster. Michael's heart raced as he moved
toward the stairs. The man was ascending, undisturbed by his
presence. It angered him.
-10-
Suddenly, as he was about to begin his climb, the door behind him opened. In
walked a man and a woman, neither of which he knew. Michael's thoughts vacillated as he glanced back at them. The couple offered up their respective greetings. He acknowledged and moved back from the
stairwell. When he turned back, he could no longer see the stranger.
He was gone.
Michael had failed.
..............
Wyatt had watched Michael dream. Although distant, he had gone into
Michael’s mind, having used his considerable telepathic abilities to trace
his thoughts.
Many times during the previous months he had gone in, quietly taking a deep
look into the workings of his patient’s psyche, all of which Michael was
unaware; however, this time, the situation would be different.
Wyatt determined to reach Michael; to give him some clue as to his presence
without revealing himself totally. What had begun as a mere fascination into
his client’s psyche had turned into an obsession. He was becoming one with
Michael. If he could get deeper, connect with him at his subconscious, his
control would subvert Michael’s will to his own.
Wyatt would be in control.
- 11 -
It gave him goose bumps as he thought of the power. Never before, had he felt
the rush that swept over him as he followed Michael's mind when he dreamed.
Soon, he would let him know that he was there-a presence without a face. He
would become one with Michael’s mind, use his weakness to manipulate him. He
would build on Michael’s predatory instincts, refine them, make him into a
well tuned killing machine.
As he thought on it, he realized that he was changing. A quick feel gave him
notice of his excitement.
...............
The following day, Michael left his studio, got in his car and drove to the
outskirts of the city.
Even here, where he could think, he was grateful that he hadn’t become one
of those suburban yuppies. He pulled into the large secluded lot that bordered
the labyrinth of trails that he had walked many times in the past.
This was his place of rest: a time for him. Rarely, was he disturbed as he
wandered the string of trails that seemed to wind endlessly through the
forested corridors, away from the city-alone, forgotten and needing to be
misplaced. He could think here.
Michael’s thoughts had been bothering him. He couldn’t dismiss the blood
beneath his nails, nor could he find a way to explain the blackout which must
have come at some time during the evening
hours.
-12-
There was a time gap that gave him notice of his vulnerability; his desire to
evade the issue of his whereabouts; the thoughts that were bringing him closer
to an understanding of the inevitable.
He was losing control.
His mind was letting go to a stranger-something deep within him that surfaced
at times to act out some hidden desire.
He detected movement.
There-beyond the string of Birches that clustered in a deep mesh, dipping
into a small ravine, he saw it.
As he was settling into a possible explanation of his previous night, the
black out, and the dreams which followed, the sighting took him away from his
thoughts.
He fixated.
At that moment, fully awake, yet poised between his dream world and reality,
he let his curiosity guide him. The figure moved slowly-alone. Curious, he decided to follow. His altered personality- the ‘other’ decided to pursue.
He could make out the fluidity of movement. There seemed to be minimal
disturbance in the forest as the young teen swept through the brush,
unperturbed by the overhanging which crept up, blending into the carved foot
trails which had pressed into the ground much like a natural mold.
He moved on.
-13-
Michael could see his movements as the branches gave way in his path. For a
moment he slowed his pursuit, taking advantage of the opportunity of cover. And then there was the question of why he was there at all; stalking or curiosity. He desperately wanted to believe the latter and yet this thing that was releasing itself, rising from the secret part of his soul, controlling his surface desire-it made him follow, keep to the path.
Soon, he realized that he had totally changed his initial direction and was
quickly advancing toward the figure he’d seen in the distance. A part of him wanted to race up, move quickly, get right upon him before he could be discovered.
It needed to be over soon.
Another part, toyed, pulled at his resolve to move ahead recklessly, ignoring
any potential threat.
He balanced between the two as he struggled to counteract the efforts of his
‘other’ which had come up so quickly-without warning, clouding his
thoughts, moving for control.
It was winning.
He could now see the youth. A primitive, guttural sigh escaped from his
throat as he gave in to the pleasure of his thoughts. His mind was racing. The
control was waning as he moved closer.
A short distance separated him from the teenager. He rounded the bend. His
heart was racing as he skirted the two small inclines which separated him from
the teen. A large root protruded from the
- 14-
trail. Unseen, Michael stumbled, falling into the thick underbrush which lay to
the side of the hill.
The fall snapped him back to reality. As he gazed at the face, a hand was
extended to help him.
...........
Wyatt found himself consumed with his need for control, It would take time
,but he could see it coming. Deep in thought, he sometimes drifted into a world
that left him empty; satiated with the feelings of guilt; betrayal of his
profession; abuse of his abilities.
He felt himself a puppet, manipulated by his inner urges and his inabilities
to control his desires.
The ‘id’ was coming strong and like a novice, he waxed in the vision it
showed him. No one would know. He could fuel his desires from a distance, see
what it would be truly like to control another person. He was getting that
close. The sessions had become more frequent with Michael as did his desires to
reach deeper into his psyche.
On the second of three sessions in which he had Michael under, he had probed
deeper. At points Michael froze, possibly from the fear of confronting the
truth.
Wyatt kept pushing harder than he had ever gone with a patient. As he worked
into Michael’s thoughts, he felt this exuberance; a feeling of ecstasy which
washed over him, drowning him in Michael’s flavor. It was new; so satisfying
that he lingered in the rapture of each new revelation. He could taste it, see
it rise and flood his senses.
-15-
Michael returned home the following evening, mortified, full of
apprehension at the feelings that were erupting within him; closing in on his
conscious thoughts, struggling for position in his waking world. They were
getting closer and with each new scene, he was becoming more aware of what was
operating within him.
The ‘other’ was pushing to be let free.
He closed the door behind him, needing the solitude of his thoughts. He
wouldn’t answer the phone or go out. He had to be alone. As he poured the
wine and watched it slowly feel the glass, he began to relax.
Myra would want him tonight:
He could feel it: her soft, supple hands guiding him, exploring, releasing
him deeper into her, filling her with his spirit until she could bear no more.
She would cry out and he would later have dreams of her: confused dreams,in
which he actually loved her.
As he felt the smoothness of the wine flow down his throat, he fell back into
melancholy. This sensation had served him well in his lifetime, allowing him to
redress the wrongs that came from deep within.
- 16 =
He savored those times, feeling strong in his ability to overcome his
anxiety; with that alone he could out power his dreams-the ones that were
becoming more real.
He began to open his mail as he fell back into the thick, richly appointed
cushions which nuzzled him like a womb. He crossed his legs, folding them in to
him as he went from one piece to the next.
The last letter that he examined drew his attention. It was in a brown
package, bulkier than usual and contained no return address. The name was typed
in an elaborate calligraphy that he found odd. Tearing at it, unaware of its
contents and dismissing the effort that had gone into its presentation, he let
the contents fall at his side.
He saw the letter first. Then came the video-no indicator of title, and a
stick-em directing him to view the video before reading the letter. Confused,
he moved himself to the DVD player, plopped the video in and impulsively found
himself opening the letter.
It only contained a name-a single name.
Michael pulled the DVD out, furiously thrusting it across the room. In a fit of rage, he slammed his fist down on the set. Fire seemed to see the through his hand. He reeled from the pain. Grasping his injured hand with his left arm, he began to walk in circles, anxiously waiting for the pain to abate.
- 17-
In like manner, his fury was there. As he fought to move between it and the
ever-present throb in his hand, he fought to suppress the slightest thought
that the video had done something for him.
And then there was the matter of the name; a face to go with the name. It was
all real-there-before him-in his house. It both repulsed him and excited him.
Frantically, he searched the envelope, tearing it open, turning it over,
looking for some clue as to the sender.
There was none.
He began tearing, feverishly ripping apart the envelope into the tiniest
pieces he could shred. He ran to his office and futilely tried to feed the
already shredded pieces through his shredder. They dropped around him as his
eyes glazed.
The tears were coming.
He could not cry. He would not. Nothing about this was real .He moved to the
table, lifted his glass and downed the remaining wine. He poured another. As he
moved to the medicine cabinet, he kicked off his shoes, shred his pants and
shirt, removed his pills and forced them down his throat.
Shortly thereafter, he was running in place. The aerobics gave him the
release that he needed. As he moved, so did the effects of wine and the pills
he had consumed.
Ten minutes into his daily exercise routine, he was slowing, becoming
lethargic. The pain had subsided, virtually gone from his hand.
- 18-
Michael was drawing into that part of himself, outside of his anger; the part
that had always kept him safe, kept him aloof from the everyday simpleness of
the crowd, fortified him at his darkest place.
He felt power there.
As the pills took effect, he began to collect his thoughts. Walking over to
the discarded video which lay on the floor, he was surprised to see it in one
piece. Cautiously, he picked it up, examined it and carefully fed it into the
unit once more.
...........
Wyatt was proud of himself. He had been able to get into Michael’s dreams.
Therapy had given enough information to enter that private domain of his
patient.
Savoring the moment of his return to Michael’s thoughts, he sealed the
envelope, pulled the digital camcorder from his desk drawer and began to hum a
tune.
Walking over to his liquor cabinet, he poured himself a bit of brandy,
slushed it around in the snifter, watched it as though it were a rare brand;
bringing it to his nose for the aroma and then slowly, with a degree of
refinement, he let it settle on his palate.
The combination of his achievement and the fine intoxicant took him to an orgasmic height. His senses flooded with the newness of his accomplishment. He began to feel the small drip, the early flow of power.
-19-
As Wyatt drank more, contemplated his next victory, it dawned on him that he
was crossing over; that revenge was within reach. As he drank, he slipped the cross from his neck and drifted off. Soon, he was inside of Michael's dreams:
In this one, Michael was in the city. He moved cautiously toward the
teenager, who, unaware of his nearness kept volleying the ball back and forth
on the court. Michael took the time to sit on a bench within view of the court.
Michael counted ten of them, but there were two in particular. Micheal had
viewed one of the teens on the DVD that had arrived and was now recalling the
image in his dreams: however, it appeared that he found a second teen likewise
interesting.
As Wyatt watched the dream unfold, Michael began to fixate on the two teens.
He was going deeper, getting closer to them; yet, Wyatt could only make out
blurred images of their faces. On the other hand, Michael seemed much more
engrossed, enamored, as though he could see the teens clearly.
Michael smiled as he watched the progression of the game: patient, relaxed,
aware of his skill, confident of his cunning.
The stirring inside of Michael became more pronounced as he watched. It
bothered him slightly that he might be becoming a bit anxious. He prided
himself on his caution. A wrong move and he could easily expose himself to harm. No, he had to wait it out, find the right moment.
- 20-
Wyatt kept watching Michael’s dream progress.
As the game ended, the sun had begun to set. Michael watched them separate:
one after another, and then the pairing of the two teenagers as the others
walked away.
He watched closely as they began to leave the court. They were passing close
to him.
His heart raced.
Within seconds, they were moving toward his bench. This unnerved him. Michael
was the aggressor. He mind fed on the power of his control over others. Now,
both of them were coming his way; sweeping his power aside as they moved toward
him.
He could see the smiles on their faces. It bothered him. Didn’t they know
what he could do to them?
Why weren’t they running ?
As they neared, Michael could feel the anxiety mount. The distraction was
outside of his element. He wanted to get up and run.
Instead, he sat there. Both boys approached the bench. They were upon him, in
seconds, eyes glowing with the specter of youth. They smiled at him. He found himself acknowledging the gesture, responding to them.
Inwardly it confused him, made light of his control. He listened as the one
spoke, slowing his advance until he was directly in front of him.
- 21-
After a few moments of conversation, his mind laced with the compliments
which flowed from them, he began to feel strong again.
Michael was soaking in the compliments. His muscles were hardened,
strengthened by years of work outs. These boys could see it. He knew it as he
looked at himself in his dream.
He was their man.
After a brief dialogue, the conversation moving back and forth, Michael got
up from his seat and motioned for them to follow. They acknowledged and soon they were quickly exiting the park.
As they rounded the bend, she caught their eyes. She was beautiful, graceful, sleek. As she drew closer, Michael became distracted from the teens. He found himself getting aroused.
The three of them stood there, eyes glued to her; however, that moment was
fleeting as Michael returned to his control and motioned them on.
There would be another time for her.
..................
Awake, having somehow lost contact with Michael’s earlier dream about the
boys, Wyatt paced the room. Outside of his legendary composure, the man was
seething within. It had been over a week since he had entered Michael’s
dream. Repeated attempts to return had failed.
He moved back and forth, searching for answers. Desperate, he
- 22-
tried once again to feed into Michael’s thoughts. As he struggled to reenter
Michael’s dreams, there came suddenly a clearer picture than he’d ever
witnessed. As he followed Michael, Wyatt began to see the beginnings of what he
felt to be Michael’s plan.
Wyatt saw the tape. His vision led him on a progression of events through
Michael’s dreams. As quickly as his gift had finally allowed him entry, it
shut him down. The abruptness left him dumbfounded, confused.
Wyatt began to question himself. Perhaps he had been too confident. It
weighed on his mind as he walked to the receiver, picked it up and canceled his
remaining appointments.
He had been careful to disassociate his practice from the new obsession. A
part of him needed to stay in the real world, to be the same professional that
had given rise to national fame.
While his inner urges were tearing at him, Wyatt still believed he could
control, manipulate this as a mere game. He didn’t need to cross over. Yet,
the power-the thought of it was taking seed in his mind at a deeper level, even
as he fooled himself into believing otherwise.
Insistent, he returned to the davenport and closed his eyes, determined to
concentrate. Soon, his mind was riveted to the cloud which was clearing in front of him. He began to feel Michael’s thoughts: some more hazy, disconnected images that
traveled through his head. He worked to piece them together. After repeatedly
trying to connect, Wyatt
- 23-
still couldn’t get a clear picture of events.
There was no clear picture on this one. Frustrated, he got up and moved to
his desk. Cautiously weighing the value of his next move, he picked up the
receiver, dialed and waited.
...............
Michael let the phone ring.
Alone now, he drifted back into his dreams. With the help of Wyatt, he had
become proficient at reentering his dreams. Some, he decided to let go. Others,
he needed to go back; to find out details, images that haunted him on a daily
basis.
In the past, he hadn’t always been successful in drawing them back, but for
the most part he could at least pinpoint a route that his dream had followed.
It was the frustration of losing crucial images that left him vulnerable; a
small part of him that was growing each day, tearing at him. He needed to get
back inside, to revisit the source of his anxiety.
As he lay relaxed, unaware of any mind upon him, any that wanted to get into
his thoughts, he was there. Slowly, the image grew clearer. He remembered part of it. He wanted to go on. He willed himself past the moment to the next part of his dream.
Then it was there. He had reached it.
- 24-
Now, the three of them were alone. His eyes teared as he felt the pleasure;
the flurry of youthful vigor that could spend itself so freely. He felt the
emancipation of his need; a long held prisoner of beliefs, dictates, that had
until now only briefly interested him. He was there with his need, the obvious
intermingling of the forbidden. He wanted to linger there, but his mind raced
forward sending him beyond, to the next stage:
The first teen was standing there, a reflection in the mirror. The master
suite was large, extending well beyond the view from the bathroom. Michael
approached him from behind. The youth caught a glimpse of his approach as he
wiped his face, smiled in the mirror, cautious yet fulfilled in the aftermath
that marked entry into a man’s world.
Michael gave him a flirting smile as he stared deeply at the finely muscled
symmetry of his ass. Gently, he cupped him, ran his hands slowly across as his
fingers felt for the gentle depth of his recess. The youth smiled back at him.
Without hesitation, Michael quickly reached into his back pocket and
stealthily brought up the mysterious weapon. In one precise swipe, he delivered seven lethal cuts across the teen’s neck.
Seven blades had slit his throat.
Blood spewed onto the mirror: a wide splatter of red that
- 25-
dripped feverishly as the surprised youth struggled with the last throes of his
existence. His eyes drew back: a blank nothingness
stare that Michael watched as his final resolve left him.
He was weight now.
Carefully, Michael placed his limp body in the shower: There would be much
to clean up. The second one was there, at the bed.
Michael had not allowed him to enter the bathroom where his friend lay
quietly dead. It had only taken moments and this one was none the wiser.
Michael approached.
His reasoning was becoming clearer rapidly as he moved toward him. Here, was
beauty that Michael needed to possess, to own within himself; a storehouse of
power that would live with him. It would be his to control.
He stared at the young male, jockeys detailing his abundance as he stood to
greet Michael. For a moment, he found himself about to hesitate, draw back from
the teen; however, abruptly as the thought surfaced, Michael dismissed it. He
needed this beauty. Death would allow him to consume it, draw his power to him
He sat on the bed, bringing the youth to him. This was a male’s time; no
time for tenderness, only the fulfillment and then the end. He would die as the
man he was becoming. At that moment he would cross over. Michael sensed the
hesitation as he drew him near. He could feel his breath as he turned to meet
his smile,feel his satisfaction.
-26-
Oh, how he could see it in his face. When he was near enough, seated beside him, Michael raised his left arm, placing it around his neck, delicately rolling the muscle between his fingers.
The youth relaxed as he kneeded the flesh. Michael whispered to him as the
young man turned to look at him.
In that last moment of worship, Michael flashed the concealed instrument.
With one swift slash back to front, across and around, he took up his power.
Turning away, he raised himself from the bed. There was nothing there to
disturb him, no looks of anguish to discomfort his inner resolve, only the last
gurgling sounds as life left the youth.
It had been quick, painless,and fulfilling. With a deep breath, he felt the power of both surge within him
.................
Wyatt’s anxiety was increasing. He found himself unable to concentrate on
his other clients.
Michael had truly consumed him, something he’d always promised to avoid. It
had happened so quickly, this mystery man.
Even as he felt unnerved by the situation, that bit of trepidation gave way
to his need. He could draw on Michael’s killer instinct by manipulating Michael's thoughts to his benefit. Whatever existed inside his patient’s mind, whatever killer
- 27-
instinct played out in Michael’s dreams, he-yes he, Wyatt Mckannon
would use it to enact his own revenge.
He could do it even as he fought the moral implication. He could kill and
kill again, no one the wiser. Michael’s power could grow with each kill and
that power would be his as long as he wanted.
At some point and with his revenge enacted, he could give leave to
Michael’s mind. He was not a killer, he was a doctor.
Yet, there were some people that Wyatt believed better off dead;
perhaps, even helped by the light that would carry them to heaven or hell.
For now, he had to continue to get into Michael’s thoughts. As parts of him
struggled against this obsession, he delighted in the new world of his making.
The adrenaline flowed. Wyatt smiled. Beneath the mask that he had so
diligently presented to the world, was a man lost in his contempt for life.
Unknown to Wyatt, deep with Michael's psyche controlling Michael’s
killer instinct- the ‘other’ could feel an intrusion. Wyatt, having been
immersed in Michael's vision,,could feel the excitement and his physical
need could no longer be contained.
He moved his hand in search of this wonder.
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