Darklings

Hello friends. I must apologise to those of you that have been following the Shining and were expecting more of the story to be loaded last month. I was thoroughly waylaid by some of my side projects and just could seem to find the time to write. Couldn't find the time till roughly a week ago, that is. Expect more on the story within the next week or so. 

In the meantime, I have a different treat for you - well two treats to be exact. First is an motoring article I was lucky enough to be asked to put together. This article is the first publicly published piece of work by me, other than on this blog. Find the article at this link: http://www.autoworld.co.za/NewsArticle.aspx?Article=10812  I am very keen to hear what your thoughts on the article are. 

The second treat, is an unexpected collaboration with a fellow writer. She is not ready to enter the public space yet, despite all my promptings and bribery to get her to start. Keep an eye on this page for when she does cause I do believe her to be a phenomenal writer. Let me give you some background on how this collaboration came to be, before I get too sidetracked. Since late July had been suffering that age-old affliction known as writers block. Though I know where the story of the Shining is supposed to go, I could not get pen to paper (or rather finger tips to keyboard, in my case). Two weeks ago I mentioned my condition to my dear, fellow writer - mentioned above. In her efforts to cure me of the affliction, she suggested free writing based on prompting from random words we found. Now, it must be said, we were on two completely different trains of thought when the idea was first broached - let alone on the first few paragraphs of what developed as result. We eventually settled on a collaboration and here is what came up.

Keep in mind, we were not physically in front of each other when we wrote this and there was no plan at all for where the story would go.

Without further blah blah blah from me.. Here is the story. Read. Enjoy. Give feedback.

 

Darklings

"The boy’s bad news," Simpson said, letting the bloodied arm fall back to the floor. The body it belonged to lay some feet away, where it had been tossed. "He didn’t even know he’d led them here. It’s strange how they follow him."

His red-headed partner sighed, but didn’t comment. She missed working alone. This man had no style. She pulled her gloves on and looked over the remains of the body. "Where do you think he was hiding it?"

The smell of death always drew Simpson out of his usual introspection. He knew it made the others feel uncomfortable when they saw the excitement in his eye. "He probably locked himself in that walk-in fridge," he said, pointing. "I hear they have trouble sensing him through metal." He eyed Vanessa then as she meticulously pulled her gloves on.

Vanessa wondered if he knew the rumours about how he’d come to ‘hear’ so much in the first place. He had that manic look in his eye again, like the experimental Blood-Boil junkies she’d monitored when she was a rookie. He gave her a headache when he got like this. She walked over to the refrigerator, giving Simpson a wide berth. At the door, she stopped and delicately tasted the air. "He’s here," she confirmed. "Break it down."

Hearing those words was sweet release to Simpson. Without warning, he stepped up, grabbed the refrigerator door and pulled. The others watched as his muscles bunched. ‘Let them see,’ he thought. ‘This is what you get in exchange.’ His senses were keen. Almost as keen as Vanessa’s. His madness prevented him from accessing them fully, but it gave him strength. More strength than the others realised. The boy was just behind this door. All he had to do was open it. His fingers dug into the metal…

He’d gotten close to her before she realised. Before she could turn away, the power of his being hit her full force. Bloodlust, thick and heavy in her throat, and the taste of copper in her mouth. From inside her, she felt a sharp, crackling energy, strong enough to split her in two, she thought. She swayed, grabbing at the wall nearby, and realised that the feeling inside her was delight. Sheer, mad, delirious delight. Vanessa dug her fingernails into her palm, concentrating on the pain, trying to bring herself back to herself, before she let in any more of him.

The door’s hinges sheered and gave way with a cracking sound. Simpson heard a sharp, startled gasp escape Vanessa’s lips. When he looked at her he saw traces of the retreating Bloodlust in her eyes. The satisfaction of driving her that close to it was almost too much for him. ‘Soon, Vanessa. Soon you will submit to me,’ the voice in his head cooed. He tossed the huge fridge door aside with a negligent flick of his wrist. The others regarded him with hateful eyes. They dared not make a move against him. Not when he was this close to a frenzy. Inside the fridge sat a boy. No older than thirteen. Sandy haired. Eyes of perfect blue. Eyes that regarded Simpson with cool determination. Then Simpson felt it. The rhythmic thump emanating from the boy. Pressure in his head. The Other One wanted to take over control of the body. Simpson’s fangs ached to sink into the boy. So much power. The Blood Boil was calling…

It didn’t work fast enough; Simpson’s power still pulsed viciously from inside her, making her frantic. This had to be managed. She couldn’t afford to let the others see the full extent of her sensitivity. They were watching Simpson now, as he put on his little show; for once, she was grateful for the man’s arrogance. It gave her a chance. She yanked back her sleeve and pushed her forearm into the rough grain of the brickwork, dragging her skin against it hard. It did the trick. The top layer of her skin was sanded off, the pain immediate and clear, bringing Vanessa instantly back to full awareness. She gulped down lungfuls of air, relieved to be free. The refrigerator door landed on the opposite side of the room, and she watched the way the others stared at Simpson. Awe, terror, bordering on reverence. She knew at least one of them wanted to be jerking off right now. The boy’s scent drifted into her awareness, at the same time she realised that Simpson was close to turning. She gritted her teeth, and gathered up her energy, focussing it in the tip of her finger. She stepped between Simpson and the boy, and touched his forehead. ‘We are working. Stop this.’

‘The Touch. So close’. He bared his fangs at her in defiance. The Other One laughed. At that moment Simpson wished desperately for a way to shut Him out. To cut that sniggering laughter off. To kill Him. Once and for all. The rhythm of the throbbing sped up. He looked over Vanessa’s shoulder. The mist had begun to gather around the boy. The boy stood. Burning, unrelenting power poured out of him. They were too late. The boy’s feet had already started to disappear. The look in those cold blue eyes mocked Simpson. The smile on his lips a challenge. This power was the reason the Covenant wanted the boy. This power was the reason Simpson wanted to sink his teeth into the boy’s coronary artery. To drink of that blood. What wonders would it reveal? What power would he, Simpson, wield by taking in the boy’s Blood Boil? ‘None,’ the Other One intoned in the recesses of his mind.

‘With that power I will silence you,’ Simpson thought. The Other One laughed. The power pulsed now. Gathering around the boy as the mist continued to grow. Even though there were six of them, Simpson knew there was nothing they could do. A lump of disappointment twisted in him. If only Vanessa hadn’t moved so quickly. If only... Simpson picked up the scent of blood in the air. It wasn’t much but enough to get his attention. It wasn’t the blood of the three dead people in the room behind him. This was fresh blood. It smelt like... Vanessa? He looked back at her. She was calm. Finger still on his forehead, holding him back. Her arm had already begun to close the wound, but Simpson had seen enough. ‘So close...’

Vanessa almost wanted to laugh, though she suspected it would grow into a scream if she did. Or a sob. Caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea, and what a Devil Simpson made, raging silently behind her, his fury rising off him like steam and raising the hair at the back of her neck. And this boy standing before her, already manifesting the Shroud, gleeful malevolence spilling from him like blood from an uncauterised wound. She exhaled slowly, narrowing her focus to shut out the panic from the others, and the molten heat from Simpson. Deep, deep underneath, the boy remained. She half-closed her eyes and felt for him. ‘Who are you?’ she asked softly, and felt something shift. She knew she had the attention of whatever humanness remained, but also of the Other. She steeled herself, ignoring the feeling. Images and feelings rushed at her. Small. Confined. Painful. Someone pulling the wings off a fly. Gritty. The smell of saltwater- and now she knew why she’d thought of the deep blue sea. She saw a small boy playing on the beach, alone. The sounds grew soft, the sunlight dimmed, and the shadows distorted and danced around the boy. The child’s terror tightened around her like a tangible thing, and she knew she would see no more- the Other turned all his attention to her, and she felt the full force of his anger.

Simpson strained against the effects of The Touch. He needed to at least try get to the boy before the Shroud was complete. He felt Vanessa’s Projection touch him lightly, but its focus was not on him. It was on the boy. Did she want the boy’s Blood Boil for herself? No, she would serve the power to the Covenant. Her servitude to them would have to be broken. His immediate problem, though, was getting his body to respond to his commands. The Touch had effectively neutralized his movements. Frustration welled up inside him. He would not stand for this. He was of the Third, and deserved respect as such. His rage was a surprise even to him. Despair and frustration were immediately buried under a towering rage. The Other One laughed in the recesses of Simpson’s consciousness. ‘Do you want my power?’ it asked. Simpson could feel it mocking him. ‘What will you give me in return?’ Still mocking. He had no choice. His broken mind was so engrossed in his rage that he barely noticed when he bit his tongue off. The sweet pain was a distant sensation felt by someone else. ‘That will do just fine,’ the Other One cooed as he burst out from Simpson’s sub-conscious. He felt his fangs extend. Power surged through him. Yet, he felt it rush through someone else’s body. He saw himself move with incredible speed. Bleeding tongue spat out to one side as his slap threw Vanessa to the ground. The power! The body that had been his reached out a hand and caught the boy by the throat. The force of the throw that followed sent the boy crashing into the back wall of the refrigerator. ‘How did He access so much power?’ Simpson asked himself as he sat locked in his mind. Detached. He could sense Blood Boil powers that were never there when he was in control of the ancient body he shared with The Other One. His fury escalated. ‘How did He access that power?’

The electric zing of the slap took Vanessa by surprise. She had felt Simpson break her bind not a second ago. She hit the side of the fridge and caught herself just before she fell to the ground. She could not let the others see her fall so easily. Subordinates were supposed to believe her more than a match for Simpson. Yet, the fire-like sensation on the skin where Simpson had slapped her and the broken jaw told her she wasn’t. It didn’t make sense. She had bound Simpson as easily as she had done countless times before. She knew his limitations and was capable of handling him any time she wished. Her power superseded his. But somehow he broke her Bind. She had not seen how he did it, but had turned just in time to catch his backhanded slap. With her face. She clenched the muscles around her jaw to keep it in place. It would heal in a few minutes and she didn’t want to have to re-break it so it would set right. The shock of the sudden attack lit up her anger. Where had all that power come from? His Blood Boil was far below hers. Yet somehow he not only broke her Bind, but almost slapped her face off. ‘Get a grip, Vanessa!’ she silently scolded herself. ‘Get a grip, and put this arrogant asshole back in his place.’ Determination straightened her up. Shoulders set. On the brink of Turning. Then Simpson turned to regard her with calm, collected eyes. There was something different about him. His entire mannerism had changed. She sunk into the depths of terror as she realized it was no longer Simpson she was looking at. Had he managed to reclaim what he was? This cold malevolence that now turned to face her was new to her. It made her heart twist in fear. She didn’t have to Project to feel the power emanating from the person that had been Simpson. Had he been hiding this all along? Playing the part of a halfwit fallen lord while holding such power? Even the Second didn’t have this much power. The boy lay on the floor behind the stranger she now faced. He was either dead or unconscious. She had seen precious little of what Simpson - The Stranger - had done to him, but a glance at the other two told her he had done something unexpected and direct. She tried to speak, forgetting about her jaw. Pain exploded on her left cheek and she clenched the muscles again. ‘Who is this person?’

It was amusing to see the shocked look on Vanessa’s face. The others were in reverence to the power he had just demonstrated. The half-century of scorn and dismissal gone from their faces. Word would get out. Simpson had moved like one of the Third. He stood like them even as they stared. He was regal. Poised. Commanding. Vanessa eyed the tongue on the floor. Disbelief dawning on her. He bit his tongue off. It was a difficult part of the body to grow back, but he had done it. She looked back at him. Her eyes a mystery. He sensed her Projection tentatively touch the awareness that is The Other One. It was brushed aside with such negligence that Simpson wished he had that kind of power. He turned his attention away from the body he had been in control of just a few minutes ago. His focus on the Blood - the powers it held. He tried to find their source and why they were hidden from him. He had done this every time The Other One took control, which wasn’t too often. In the three centuries since his mind broke, Simpson had give over control of the body only twice. One of which was not by choice. Again he failed to find the source nor how to access them. ‘That bastard,’ he thought. ‘Give me Vanessa!’ he threw the thought at The Other one. His answer came in a flood of mental activity. ‘No,’ it said. ‘You will work to have her yourself.’ Frustration rose in him. How dare He take his body and not give him what he wanted.

The last of the pain drained away; her jaw was fully healed. It seemed to Vanessa that her panic had dissolved along with it; her mind was clear, calmly taking stock of the situation. The backup agents were belligerent, overcompensating sycophants at the best of times, but right now she knew they would be less than useless to her. Nothing in their briefing had touched on Simpson's malady extending this far, and the agents reeked of fear and desperation. And The Stranger, though he radiated malice strong enough to make her bones ache, didn't seem an immediate threat to her- although she'd been swatted away when she reached into its mind, it seemed uninterested in harming her any further. The Stranger had its sights set firmly on the boy, and the boy (back on his feet, completely unharmed) returned his interest with a barely-human grin. This was no longer a standard subdue-and-capture. This was shaping up to be a monster fight. As for who or what Simpson had become... This wasn't possession.

Vanessa had seen hundreds of cases, and Simpson didn't feel possessed. It didn't quite feel like turning, either. There was a nuance, a different flavour to it, that she had never seen before. She took a breath, releasing it slowly. What did she really know about Simpson? Many spoke of his power, but none spoke of him as a friend. His bloodlust, she knew from earlier, was deep and insatiable. He drove too fast and smoked cigars. He was the only man who looked her in the eye; the other Covenant lackeys zeroed in on her breasts or thighs. The man was an island, it seemed, entire of himself. Why, then, was he content to serve as a tool for the Covenant? Solely to feed his lust for battle? She bit her lip. With the boy and The Stranger sizing one another up, she'd faded into the periphery. And since the agents were paralysed and awestruck, there was one trick she just might be able to pull off.

  

Thats as far as we have gone dear friends. What did you think? Another one really enjoyed writing and it cured me of the writers block affliction. Its will carry on. We'll see here this one takes us.

Till next time folks. Take care out there.

Nic. Out.