Darkness Surrounding - Ch.4
Title: Darkness Surrounding
Author: pimprevster
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A plague has befallen the city. One jagged scar torn across Arin's back marks him for death. Ten attacks, ten lines, and he will never be seen again. The strange part is that the assaulting darkness seems all too human.
Disclaimer: Not real. Never happened, I don't know or own anything here.
Notes: Constructive criticism makes me very happy.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
The survivor’s home was exorbitant. Multiple stories high, with elaborate stone walls and towering white pillars on either side of the doors. The driveway stretched out in three directions from where he walked gingerly up the patio steps, with a circular fountain centerpiece dividing the paths.
Standing in front of those exquisite double doors in a plain gray T-shirt and a pair of jeans, Arin fancied himself the rugged interloper of a royal meeting. He pushed in the polished ivory doorbell for a fearful second before jamming his hands back in his pockets as if he would infect the household with penury if he touched anything else.
A man in butler’s clothing opened the door, recognized him as the rare arranged visitor, and stepped back, bowing. Arin regarded the black marble flooring inside the house as if it were hot lava and trained his eyes straight ahead as he entered, in case he became dizzy from overwhelming luxuriance and a slight case of agoraphobia. He had never been in a place like this before, and whoever owned it was making a special exception for him to visit.
“This way, sir,” the butler instructed, in a kind accent that Arin couldn’t place. He had closed the door and strode up one of two grandiose tapering staircases on either side of the room.
He was directed down several hallways and into a large bedroom, where the door was closed behind him. Only a dim bulb in the center of the ceiling and the widescreen television mounted on the wall in front of him offered any light. The red satin curtains were drawn, blocking out any lingering rays of the sunset.
For a moment Arin thought he was alone, and then he discerned movement on the couch in front of the TV and a faint groan of annoyance. He stepped forward. “...Hello?”
“Get over here,” demanded a gruff, relatively high-pitched masculine voice. “Stop your gawking ‘n lemme see what Jim’s newest saint looks like.”
Arin could not comprehend the man’s second statement, but he moved into view anyhow. The television was muted as he stepped in front of it. The two occupants of the room carried out long, silent inspections of each other before doing anything else.
The man sprawled across the elegant couch, both legs hanging off different sides and a hand beneath his shirt scratching lackadaisically, had a face that indicated similar age to Arin’s but the height and disposition of a thirteen-year-old boy. His short hair was dyed multiple colors in unprofessional patches and he had a metal ring stuck in the side of his nose. Upon seeing Arin, his apathetic expression contorted into a smirk, and then he burst into laughter. “Oh man, just a kid...just a skinny little kid with long legs and a fancy hairdo..”
Arin thought it was funny how he was the one being called a kid in this situation.
He waited for the man to calm down before saying anything. “So you...survived it?”
“Yup. Seven damn scars, won’t go away no matter what I slap on ‘em. Asshole gave me the lucky seven before letting me go, probably thought he was being clever. It’s been a year since the last one.”
Arin appeared skeptical, so the man heaved an exasperated sigh and sat up where he could lift his shirt to demonstrate the proof. There were seven lines, as he said; completely similar to Arin’s two except they were crisscrossed, patched over, and discolored by various scars of his own doing.
“I shouldn’ta ever touched them, but I wanted gone of his memory. Medications, ointments, experimental scalpel operations...” He dropped his shirt and turned back to face Arin, shaking his head. “They won’t go away. Not a single thing will alter those jags. It was stupid in the first place, thinking I could forget ‘im. He’s ruined my damn life.”
“Who is he, exactly?”
“You haven’t seen him yet? How many scars are you?”
Arin held up two fingers. “I’ve seen...bits of him. His eyes.”
“Don’t remind me,” the man said quickly, making himself plenty comfortable again. “Why don’t you sit down? You obviously want some things explained to you, and it’s not exactly a simple subject.” He gestured at the posh living chair to the side of the silent television with a cock of his head, and Arin sat.
“I’ll start with the basics. My name’s Johnathan. Johnny Christ if you ask anyone else who lives around here; they seem to ‘ave appointed me the town hero ever since I survived. And you?”
“Arin. The plague extends to Christoval, then? I thought you might have moved here to get away from it.”
“It’s all over the county. Just originates where you come from. Not statewide yet; no doubt the crazy bastard could handle terrorizing that many people at once, but I don’t see why he’d want to. He’s fuckin’ selective.”
“And he selected me and you,” Arin responded, with a hint of irony. He couldn’t detect a single resemblance between the two of them, except their gender and age. If he was right in his estimation.
“I wasn’t always like this, y’know,” Johnny asserted proudly, but not defensively. He was smarter than he appeared; he’d caught on to the sarcasm in a second. “This place, sure, I inherited it from my father, who’s dead now by the same disease. I’d gotten over it; thought the plague wouldn’t take a second in the same family, so I was carefree. Straight A college graduate, runnin’ the family business like nobody’s business.” He chuckled. “M’ sis has taken over since. After I was attacked, I became unstable. Locked myself in my room for hours on end; wouldn’t let anyone in the mansion, even maids. I met the ever-so-famous Erebus on the third attack. For real that time; no bitty glances, no games as he seems so fond of. Realized then that he’d chosen me because I was such a damn goody-two-shoes bastard. Never cussed, never blamed anyone but myself when things went wrong, always lookin’ out for others and donating my fortune to charity. He’s a sicko, he likes that type of thing.”
The third attack. That meant Arin was going to meet him very soon, if he kept the same schedule for each victim. It sent a shiver down his spine.
“So I assume you’re a goody-two-shoes, as well? Not that you’ll admit it. I sure wouldn’t.”
“I’m a priest. Is that pretty self-explanatory?”
“Yeah, it is. Didn’t take you as one, to be honest.” He looked over his visitor again before returning his gaze to the empty air past Arin’s shoulder. “Anyway, since the attacks I became selfish for the first time in my life. Wanted to live; would do anything for the sweet life I’d so far taken for granted. So I got drunk as soon as I was out of the hospital, pierced my nose, dyed my own hair even though I hadn’t done anything in the way of hairstyling except brush it all my life. Next time I saw the asshole, I started spitting curse words out every other sentence. Once I got more practiced, it became every other word. Lemme tell you, he didn’t like it. An’ he knew I was doing it on purpose; punished me for it. You don’t wanna know how.”
Arin swallowed. “Is that what it’ll take for me to survive? To do what you did?”
“Well, look at the statistics. I’m the only known survivor.” There was a smirk on the corner of his lips, as if he was amused by the prospect of a priest transforming into someone like him. “Honestly, I dunno if it’ll work twice. Maybe he’ll just get pissed and carry out the full curse anyhow. Especially if he knows we spoke, and I wouldn’t doubt it if he did. You can feel free to try your luck or experiment with other options. It’s your life and your death, you figure it out. You’ll probably have to meet him before you’re able to come up with any other ideas. If you do survive though, come visit me again. It’ll be interesting to hear how ya did it.”
“You still haven’t explained who he is.”
“Oh, right. Erebus,” he continued, speaking the name in an almost wistful tone of voice. “That’s just the legend they’ve pinned on ‘im. His real name’s Jimmy.”
“So he is..” Arin muttered under his breath, not intending to be heard, but apparently Johnny also had sharp ears.
“Is what?” he barked.
“Human.”
“No siree. He’s somethin’ supernatural, that’s for sure. Maybe a god, maybe a demon, maybe not. I didn’t spend too much time thinking about it; he’s just Jimmy to me. I hate ‘im an’ I love him. But thank God I’ll never see him again.”
“Didn’t you say he ruined your life?”
“Ruined the fuck outta it, yeah, for sure. But I’d be even more ruined if I was stuck with him for the rest of eternity, you get me?” Johnny pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, stuck one in his mouth, and lit it up. Spirals of smoke billowed into the air that were sucked effectively upward into a ceiling vent, making sure the smell didn’t stick around. “If I die now I wouldn’t care. My life’s already ruined, but I’m glad my death ain’t ruined too.”
- - -
Arin slank into the covers and wrapped his arms around Brian’s side. He didn’t wake.
It was late in the evening; perhaps much later than Arin had ever stayed out of the house before. When the storm clouds began to roll in for the second time that week, Johnny had offered him to stay the night in a guest room so he wouldn’t get himself killed on the slippery highway, but he’d decided to try his luck. He came out successful, obviously, and now he was trying to figure out if that meant something.
Then he stood for a long time by the side of Brian’s bed, willing himself to do it. Just to lie down beside another male he cared for; the literal translation of the verse. Not the figurative, which most people took it for. People shared a bed with their father or brother all the time and it was no big deal.
He rested his forehead against the top of Brian’s back - just below his neck, not touching skin - and closed his eyes. There was a warm feeling in his stomach, as well as apprehension. What would happen when they woke up? Brian would probably wake first, seeing as he had been in bed sooner. What would he say when he walked into the kitchen and saw the questioning look on his friend’s face?
It didn’t matter. It disturbed him sometimes to think about the fact that he was caring less and less about things as time went on, as he came closer to his death. Then he realized he didn’t care about that either. When he woke up, he would tell Brian whatever words came to him naturally. Or nothing at all.
He gripped tighter and willed himself to sleep. His last thought was of how nice Brian smelled, how he could definitely get used to this feeling of comfort. Comfort was hard to come by these days.
Author: pimprevster
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A plague has befallen the city. One jagged scar torn across Arin's back marks him for death. Ten attacks, ten lines, and he will never be seen again. The strange part is that the assaulting darkness seems all too human.
Disclaimer: Not real. Never happened, I don't know or own anything here.
Notes: Constructive criticism makes me very happy.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
The survivor’s home was exorbitant. Multiple stories high, with elaborate stone walls and towering white pillars on either side of the doors. The driveway stretched out in three directions from where he walked gingerly up the patio steps, with a circular fountain centerpiece dividing the paths.
Standing in front of those exquisite double doors in a plain gray T-shirt and a pair of jeans, Arin fancied himself the rugged interloper of a royal meeting. He pushed in the polished ivory doorbell for a fearful second before jamming his hands back in his pockets as if he would infect the household with penury if he touched anything else.
A man in butler’s clothing opened the door, recognized him as the rare arranged visitor, and stepped back, bowing. Arin regarded the black marble flooring inside the house as if it were hot lava and trained his eyes straight ahead as he entered, in case he became dizzy from overwhelming luxuriance and a slight case of agoraphobia. He had never been in a place like this before, and whoever owned it was making a special exception for him to visit.
“This way, sir,” the butler instructed, in a kind accent that Arin couldn’t place. He had closed the door and strode up one of two grandiose tapering staircases on either side of the room.
He was directed down several hallways and into a large bedroom, where the door was closed behind him. Only a dim bulb in the center of the ceiling and the widescreen television mounted on the wall in front of him offered any light. The red satin curtains were drawn, blocking out any lingering rays of the sunset.
For a moment Arin thought he was alone, and then he discerned movement on the couch in front of the TV and a faint groan of annoyance. He stepped forward. “...Hello?”
“Get over here,” demanded a gruff, relatively high-pitched masculine voice. “Stop your gawking ‘n lemme see what Jim’s newest saint looks like.”
Arin could not comprehend the man’s second statement, but he moved into view anyhow. The television was muted as he stepped in front of it. The two occupants of the room carried out long, silent inspections of each other before doing anything else.
The man sprawled across the elegant couch, both legs hanging off different sides and a hand beneath his shirt scratching lackadaisically, had a face that indicated similar age to Arin’s but the height and disposition of a thirteen-year-old boy. His short hair was dyed multiple colors in unprofessional patches and he had a metal ring stuck in the side of his nose. Upon seeing Arin, his apathetic expression contorted into a smirk, and then he burst into laughter. “Oh man, just a kid...just a skinny little kid with long legs and a fancy hairdo..”
Arin thought it was funny how he was the one being called a kid in this situation.
He waited for the man to calm down before saying anything. “So you...survived it?”
“Yup. Seven damn scars, won’t go away no matter what I slap on ‘em. Asshole gave me the lucky seven before letting me go, probably thought he was being clever. It’s been a year since the last one.”
Arin appeared skeptical, so the man heaved an exasperated sigh and sat up where he could lift his shirt to demonstrate the proof. There were seven lines, as he said; completely similar to Arin’s two except they were crisscrossed, patched over, and discolored by various scars of his own doing.
“I shouldn’ta ever touched them, but I wanted gone of his memory. Medications, ointments, experimental scalpel operations...” He dropped his shirt and turned back to face Arin, shaking his head. “They won’t go away. Not a single thing will alter those jags. It was stupid in the first place, thinking I could forget ‘im. He’s ruined my damn life.”
“Who is he, exactly?”
“You haven’t seen him yet? How many scars are you?”
Arin held up two fingers. “I’ve seen...bits of him. His eyes.”
“Don’t remind me,” the man said quickly, making himself plenty comfortable again. “Why don’t you sit down? You obviously want some things explained to you, and it’s not exactly a simple subject.” He gestured at the posh living chair to the side of the silent television with a cock of his head, and Arin sat.
“I’ll start with the basics. My name’s Johnathan. Johnny Christ if you ask anyone else who lives around here; they seem to ‘ave appointed me the town hero ever since I survived. And you?”
“Arin. The plague extends to Christoval, then? I thought you might have moved here to get away from it.”
“It’s all over the county. Just originates where you come from. Not statewide yet; no doubt the crazy bastard could handle terrorizing that many people at once, but I don’t see why he’d want to. He’s fuckin’ selective.”
“And he selected me and you,” Arin responded, with a hint of irony. He couldn’t detect a single resemblance between the two of them, except their gender and age. If he was right in his estimation.
“I wasn’t always like this, y’know,” Johnny asserted proudly, but not defensively. He was smarter than he appeared; he’d caught on to the sarcasm in a second. “This place, sure, I inherited it from my father, who’s dead now by the same disease. I’d gotten over it; thought the plague wouldn’t take a second in the same family, so I was carefree. Straight A college graduate, runnin’ the family business like nobody’s business.” He chuckled. “M’ sis has taken over since. After I was attacked, I became unstable. Locked myself in my room for hours on end; wouldn’t let anyone in the mansion, even maids. I met the ever-so-famous Erebus on the third attack. For real that time; no bitty glances, no games as he seems so fond of. Realized then that he’d chosen me because I was such a damn goody-two-shoes bastard. Never cussed, never blamed anyone but myself when things went wrong, always lookin’ out for others and donating my fortune to charity. He’s a sicko, he likes that type of thing.”
The third attack. That meant Arin was going to meet him very soon, if he kept the same schedule for each victim. It sent a shiver down his spine.
“So I assume you’re a goody-two-shoes, as well? Not that you’ll admit it. I sure wouldn’t.”
“I’m a priest. Is that pretty self-explanatory?”
“Yeah, it is. Didn’t take you as one, to be honest.” He looked over his visitor again before returning his gaze to the empty air past Arin’s shoulder. “Anyway, since the attacks I became selfish for the first time in my life. Wanted to live; would do anything for the sweet life I’d so far taken for granted. So I got drunk as soon as I was out of the hospital, pierced my nose, dyed my own hair even though I hadn’t done anything in the way of hairstyling except brush it all my life. Next time I saw the asshole, I started spitting curse words out every other sentence. Once I got more practiced, it became every other word. Lemme tell you, he didn’t like it. An’ he knew I was doing it on purpose; punished me for it. You don’t wanna know how.”
Arin swallowed. “Is that what it’ll take for me to survive? To do what you did?”
“Well, look at the statistics. I’m the only known survivor.” There was a smirk on the corner of his lips, as if he was amused by the prospect of a priest transforming into someone like him. “Honestly, I dunno if it’ll work twice. Maybe he’ll just get pissed and carry out the full curse anyhow. Especially if he knows we spoke, and I wouldn’t doubt it if he did. You can feel free to try your luck or experiment with other options. It’s your life and your death, you figure it out. You’ll probably have to meet him before you’re able to come up with any other ideas. If you do survive though, come visit me again. It’ll be interesting to hear how ya did it.”
“You still haven’t explained who he is.”
“Oh, right. Erebus,” he continued, speaking the name in an almost wistful tone of voice. “That’s just the legend they’ve pinned on ‘im. His real name’s Jimmy.”
“So he is..” Arin muttered under his breath, not intending to be heard, but apparently Johnny also had sharp ears.
“Is what?” he barked.
“Human.”
“No siree. He’s somethin’ supernatural, that’s for sure. Maybe a god, maybe a demon, maybe not. I didn’t spend too much time thinking about it; he’s just Jimmy to me. I hate ‘im an’ I love him. But thank God I’ll never see him again.”
“Didn’t you say he ruined your life?”
“Ruined the fuck outta it, yeah, for sure. But I’d be even more ruined if I was stuck with him for the rest of eternity, you get me?” Johnny pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, stuck one in his mouth, and lit it up. Spirals of smoke billowed into the air that were sucked effectively upward into a ceiling vent, making sure the smell didn’t stick around. “If I die now I wouldn’t care. My life’s already ruined, but I’m glad my death ain’t ruined too.”
- - -
Arin slank into the covers and wrapped his arms around Brian’s side. He didn’t wake.
It was late in the evening; perhaps much later than Arin had ever stayed out of the house before. When the storm clouds began to roll in for the second time that week, Johnny had offered him to stay the night in a guest room so he wouldn’t get himself killed on the slippery highway, but he’d decided to try his luck. He came out successful, obviously, and now he was trying to figure out if that meant something.
Then he stood for a long time by the side of Brian’s bed, willing himself to do it. Just to lie down beside another male he cared for; the literal translation of the verse. Not the figurative, which most people took it for. People shared a bed with their father or brother all the time and it was no big deal.
He rested his forehead against the top of Brian’s back - just below his neck, not touching skin - and closed his eyes. There was a warm feeling in his stomach, as well as apprehension. What would happen when they woke up? Brian would probably wake first, seeing as he had been in bed sooner. What would he say when he walked into the kitchen and saw the questioning look on his friend’s face?
It didn’t matter. It disturbed him sometimes to think about the fact that he was caring less and less about things as time went on, as he came closer to his death. Then he realized he didn’t care about that either. When he woke up, he would tell Brian whatever words came to him naturally. Or nothing at all.
He gripped tighter and willed himself to sleep. His last thought was of how nice Brian smelled, how he could definitely get used to this feeling of comfort. Comfort was hard to come by these days.