Living Nightmare
He walks slowly away from the elf's room and sighs quietly to himself. It's all gone wrong again; and this time he can't see any clear way to put it right.
Christmas itself had seemed to go so wonderfully well - well, apart from the "accident" with the eggnog which resulted in his spending Christmas Day itself with a hangover. But even that hadn't managed to spoil the magic of the day.
No; it was afterwards that things had started to go wrong. Something happened Christmas night; something concerning Lucien and Trent. The police showed up, and there were a lot of serious looks. Vincent in particular seemed absolutely furious with them both, but even Marius seemed somehow to know something about it - though he reacted in typical Marius fashion, keeping out of the way and brooding in his room a lot.
Brooding - and fingering a certain stained white linen cloth. Something that Lucien's people were supposed to have "taken care of", though Lucien wasn't saying anything. But the 26th was the night that Marius vanished and the elf's nightmares had started. Eric hadn't bought the story the elf spun the next day about old dreams coming back. So he had waited until the elf was taking a nap, and had snuck back into the elf's room whilst everyone else was out.
Lucien talked in his sleep. And sometimes, if you spoke to him in just the right way... he would talk to you. If you knew the right way to direct the conversation. It was a bit like being a hypnotist, really. And Eric had found out more than he had bargained for....
Lucien and Trent had desecrated the altar, the night of Vincent's confession at church. And somehow, Marius had known... but so had others; and those others had come for Eric's brother - a wayward angel with no knowledge of Heaven or Hell. Two black-winged angels had carried Marius away to face the judgement of Heaven.
Eric glances into the living room; his brother has curled up on one of the couches again and fallen asleep, still dressed in Trent's velvet jacket - a little too short for him, his slender wrists protruding from the end of the sleeves. An empty tea-cup sits on the floor beside one trailing hand. Quietly Eric retrieves the cup, returning it to the kitchen; Lucien is so proud of his tea service, and it would be a shame were any of the delicate cups to become broken through carelessness. Carefully Eric starts to wash up the cups, teapot and milk jug, still lost in his thoughts.
He had reached the point of sheer desperation when he thought of searching for his father. He had left the elf sleeping and stole away through the mirror portal. He'd never opened a Door by himself before; he had no idea if his father would even see him. After all, Asmodeus is the Demon Prince of Lust and Homosexuality; why should he condescend to speak to some half-breed bratling incubus, even if said bratling were his own son - let alone agree to intervene to rescue an angel?
But Asmodeus had greeted him with surprising tenderness; and Eric had been stunned by the physical resemblance between the Demon Prince and his eldest son. There was Marius' long blood-red hair and smooth alabaster skin, the features so familiar. The only difference was the eyes; where Marius' were a soft, loving lavender, Asmodeus' eyes were a fiery gold that seemed to pierce your heart and read every thought and desire within.
Asmodeus had returned with him, and in a display of power that terrified Eric even to recall it now, he had forcefully wrested the Nexus within Lucien open, reaching through the elf to bring Marius back from his imprisonment in some other realm. Eric had been horrified to see that there was not a single scrap of his brother's skin that had not been burned, cut or flayed; his whole body resembling nothing so much as raw meat. His wings and hands had been broken in several places, fingers mangled and mutilated; his eyes gouged out. Only the long red hair had remained the same. Eric doubted he would ever get that image out of his head....
He pauses, then silently slips back into the lounge to crouch and stare at his sleeping brother for a while, just to reassure himself that Marius is indeed alive and unharmed, no trace of blemish on the smooth white skin. Soap suds drip unheeded onto the carpet from his wet hands for long minutes. Finally Eric straightens and returns to the kitchen to begin drying up the fragile tea things.
Asmodeus had seemed strangely unconcerned with his eldest son's state, instead being more preoccupied with the elf. And he had "rewarded" Lucien in the fashion of a Demon Prince of Lust....
Eric shudders, remembering the scene. How thankful he is that the elf remembers none of it, believing it all to be a dream... yet Eric had known all along that it was only too real. Marius had healed himself with Lucien's help, drawing once more upon the power of the Nexus; and then both had passed out. For a while, the elf had stopped breathing; how well Eric can remember the feelings of helplessness as he had tried to revive the elf... yet in the end, nothing he did had any effect. Something within Lucien himself had caused the elf to revive.
Devin had been furious, of course. Eric had allowed a demon into the house; and not just any demon but a Demon Prince - one who had then despoiled his beloved cousin. But Lucien and Marius themselves had no memory of what had happened; or if they did, they believed it to be only a dream. Only Eric had known the truth.
And that truth had eaten away at him. He could not eat, could not sleep; his mind had replayed that horrible scene over and over again. A couple of days later, Lucien had discovered that Eric had been spending time with Cain... and in return for certain "favours", Cain had been giving him drugs.
He sighs as he quietly puts away the tea service gently. There had been a huge row between Cain and Lucien; the Visceral bassist was still sporting a black eye. And Lucien... had refused to talk to Eric. Until he had caught the boy trying to slip out of his bedroom window a couple of hours ago, heading for the streets....
Eric stares around the silent kitchen and wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. He is deeply ashamed of the row that resulted from that little encounter; remembering how he had twisted Lucien's words back on himself, wounding him as only one who knew the elf's innermost vulnerabilities could. How could he have done that to him? To one he had called "brother"? He had reduced the elf to tears and a desperate reawakening of his cravings; but Eric feels no satisfaction in what he has done, only remorse.
And now the elf has cried himself to sleep in his room on a heap of blankets in front of the fire, not understanding why Eric has withdrawn from him and hurt him so. The boy walks slowly out into the garden and makes his way over to the tree. Staring up at it, he pulls himself easily up into the branches.
In two days, Visceral will be seeing in the New Year with a massive concert in New York. Five days after that, Eric himself will be saying goodbye to a year of his life and turning 17. He sighs, and presses his face against the bark of the tree. It should be a joyous time, but all he can think right now is how badly he's screwed up.
"I'm sorry, Luce," he whispers to the empty garden. "Sorry I had to do that to you. But I can't let you get close enough to me to know the truth...."
He pulls out a mobile phone; not his. This one is sleek, black, state-of-the-art. Lucien's. Scrolling through the address book, he comes to a number; he hits the "dial" button and waits.
"Dr Richards? It's Eric Asmodey. I have something of Lucien's, and I need you to take it back...."
Christmas itself had seemed to go so wonderfully well - well, apart from the "accident" with the eggnog which resulted in his spending Christmas Day itself with a hangover. But even that hadn't managed to spoil the magic of the day.
No; it was afterwards that things had started to go wrong. Something happened Christmas night; something concerning Lucien and Trent. The police showed up, and there were a lot of serious looks. Vincent in particular seemed absolutely furious with them both, but even Marius seemed somehow to know something about it - though he reacted in typical Marius fashion, keeping out of the way and brooding in his room a lot.
Brooding - and fingering a certain stained white linen cloth. Something that Lucien's people were supposed to have "taken care of", though Lucien wasn't saying anything. But the 26th was the night that Marius vanished and the elf's nightmares had started. Eric hadn't bought the story the elf spun the next day about old dreams coming back. So he had waited until the elf was taking a nap, and had snuck back into the elf's room whilst everyone else was out.
Lucien talked in his sleep. And sometimes, if you spoke to him in just the right way... he would talk to you. If you knew the right way to direct the conversation. It was a bit like being a hypnotist, really. And Eric had found out more than he had bargained for....
Lucien and Trent had desecrated the altar, the night of Vincent's confession at church. And somehow, Marius had known... but so had others; and those others had come for Eric's brother - a wayward angel with no knowledge of Heaven or Hell. Two black-winged angels had carried Marius away to face the judgement of Heaven.
Eric glances into the living room; his brother has curled up on one of the couches again and fallen asleep, still dressed in Trent's velvet jacket - a little too short for him, his slender wrists protruding from the end of the sleeves. An empty tea-cup sits on the floor beside one trailing hand. Quietly Eric retrieves the cup, returning it to the kitchen; Lucien is so proud of his tea service, and it would be a shame were any of the delicate cups to become broken through carelessness. Carefully Eric starts to wash up the cups, teapot and milk jug, still lost in his thoughts.
He had reached the point of sheer desperation when he thought of searching for his father. He had left the elf sleeping and stole away through the mirror portal. He'd never opened a Door by himself before; he had no idea if his father would even see him. After all, Asmodeus is the Demon Prince of Lust and Homosexuality; why should he condescend to speak to some half-breed bratling incubus, even if said bratling were his own son - let alone agree to intervene to rescue an angel?
But Asmodeus had greeted him with surprising tenderness; and Eric had been stunned by the physical resemblance between the Demon Prince and his eldest son. There was Marius' long blood-red hair and smooth alabaster skin, the features so familiar. The only difference was the eyes; where Marius' were a soft, loving lavender, Asmodeus' eyes were a fiery gold that seemed to pierce your heart and read every thought and desire within.
Asmodeus had returned with him, and in a display of power that terrified Eric even to recall it now, he had forcefully wrested the Nexus within Lucien open, reaching through the elf to bring Marius back from his imprisonment in some other realm. Eric had been horrified to see that there was not a single scrap of his brother's skin that had not been burned, cut or flayed; his whole body resembling nothing so much as raw meat. His wings and hands had been broken in several places, fingers mangled and mutilated; his eyes gouged out. Only the long red hair had remained the same. Eric doubted he would ever get that image out of his head....
He pauses, then silently slips back into the lounge to crouch and stare at his sleeping brother for a while, just to reassure himself that Marius is indeed alive and unharmed, no trace of blemish on the smooth white skin. Soap suds drip unheeded onto the carpet from his wet hands for long minutes. Finally Eric straightens and returns to the kitchen to begin drying up the fragile tea things.
Asmodeus had seemed strangely unconcerned with his eldest son's state, instead being more preoccupied with the elf. And he had "rewarded" Lucien in the fashion of a Demon Prince of Lust....
Eric shudders, remembering the scene. How thankful he is that the elf remembers none of it, believing it all to be a dream... yet Eric had known all along that it was only too real. Marius had healed himself with Lucien's help, drawing once more upon the power of the Nexus; and then both had passed out. For a while, the elf had stopped breathing; how well Eric can remember the feelings of helplessness as he had tried to revive the elf... yet in the end, nothing he did had any effect. Something within Lucien himself had caused the elf to revive.
Devin had been furious, of course. Eric had allowed a demon into the house; and not just any demon but a Demon Prince - one who had then despoiled his beloved cousin. But Lucien and Marius themselves had no memory of what had happened; or if they did, they believed it to be only a dream. Only Eric had known the truth.
And that truth had eaten away at him. He could not eat, could not sleep; his mind had replayed that horrible scene over and over again. A couple of days later, Lucien had discovered that Eric had been spending time with Cain... and in return for certain "favours", Cain had been giving him drugs.
He sighs as he quietly puts away the tea service gently. There had been a huge row between Cain and Lucien; the Visceral bassist was still sporting a black eye. And Lucien... had refused to talk to Eric. Until he had caught the boy trying to slip out of his bedroom window a couple of hours ago, heading for the streets....
Eric stares around the silent kitchen and wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. He is deeply ashamed of the row that resulted from that little encounter; remembering how he had twisted Lucien's words back on himself, wounding him as only one who knew the elf's innermost vulnerabilities could. How could he have done that to him? To one he had called "brother"? He had reduced the elf to tears and a desperate reawakening of his cravings; but Eric feels no satisfaction in what he has done, only remorse.
And now the elf has cried himself to sleep in his room on a heap of blankets in front of the fire, not understanding why Eric has withdrawn from him and hurt him so. The boy walks slowly out into the garden and makes his way over to the tree. Staring up at it, he pulls himself easily up into the branches.
In two days, Visceral will be seeing in the New Year with a massive concert in New York. Five days after that, Eric himself will be saying goodbye to a year of his life and turning 17. He sighs, and presses his face against the bark of the tree. It should be a joyous time, but all he can think right now is how badly he's screwed up.
"I'm sorry, Luce," he whispers to the empty garden. "Sorry I had to do that to you. But I can't let you get close enough to me to know the truth...."
He pulls out a mobile phone; not his. This one is sleek, black, state-of-the-art. Lucien's. Scrolling through the address book, he comes to a number; he hits the "dial" button and waits.
"Dr Richards? It's Eric Asmodey. I have something of Lucien's, and I need you to take it back...."