A Taste of Home Ch. 06

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Danae72
Danae72
240 Followers

Something was wrong. He never had sore muscles before. Lifting his hand to rub at his eyes, he noticed something else: a tracing of blue veins at his wrist. That was new. His mouth grew dry and he propelled himself awkwardly across the small space to where a mirror hung on the wall.

The reflection was what ripped the scream from his already sore throat.

Instead of Micah Taylor, a stranger looked back at him. A stranger with dull brown hair that hung limp and straight. A stranger whose blue eyes were much too dark. A stranger who, when he opened his mouth, had perfectly even teeth. Again he screamed, this time he accompanied the scream with lashing out at the mirror with his fists. No! This couldn't be happening to him. Blood dripped from his torn flesh and he didn't care.

This was his grandfather's plan? How could turning Micah into a full human have anything to do with extending Johan's life? Well, they'd already established that Johan was insane, and this was just further proof. Enraged, Micah grabbed hold of everything within reach to throw at the wall.

Panting from the exertion, something else he'd never experienced when not associated with sex, he dropped down to the floor. As much as he had nothing against full humans, he didn't particularly want to be one. He knew how to be a nightwalker. He knew how to move, how to use his superior strength and speed. He could do almost anything he wanted and not succumb to fatigue. Micah realized some might think he was better than humans, but it wasn't that. It was simply that he only knew how to be a nightwalker.

Not only did he not look like himself, but he didn't feel like himself. Things were different inside and they made him uncomfortable and...and squirmy. Dropping his head on his upraised knees, he sobbed and cried. Micah was dreadfully afraid and didn't know how to deal with it alone.

"You're going to hurt yourself sitting there. Oh, your hands. Come on, I'll clean you up and then you can eat."

Micah turned to see who had come into his room. He hadn't heard the door or the footsteps. All of his senses were gone and he hated it. It was the man, Blake, who looked like his father. "Leave me alone. I don't need your help and I don't need your food."

"You are human now and you need human food to stay strong and healthy."

"I was human before," he hissed. "I was just as human as my mother, except I was also a nightwalker. Everyone is so stupid, thinking that nightwalkers are more or less than other humans. We are human, just different."

"Eat and let me see to your injuries. Your friends will come to get you soon and you must be ready."

The blood drained from Micah's face, a sensation he found a little disconcerting. "Never! I will kill myself before I let Simon, or anyone, see me like this." As quickly as he lunged towards one of the shards of broken glass, the nightwalker was faster, of course. Micah struggled in vain against the firm hold until he was on his cot again. Curse this weakness!

"So your appearance has changed. Do you think your Simon will care? He loves you, not your appearance." Micah could see that Blake didn't understand.

"The change in my appearance is part of it. I am different inside, too. My heart is different; my thoughts are different, too. The things I touch don't feel the same, and the things I see don't look the same. My body, my ears, my mouth, and my mind! None of them are the same. They've been stolen by a man who had no right to them!"

"You're still alive!"

"But it's not my life!" Micah screamed, yanking at his hair in frustration. He knew what his uncle was saying, he understood the rationale, but he didn't feel it. His voice dropped to a defeated whisper. "Go away and leave me alone. I promise you this: I will do everything I can to destroy the life Johan Taylor has tried to steal for himself."

"Father plans on turning you back into a nightwalker. He believes that by turning you over and over again, drinking your blood which is younger than his, it will give him immortal life."

Blake didn't say anything else, but he cast several worried glances in the direction of the bed as he cleaned up the broken glass. His task complete, he removed anything else that Micah might use as a weapon.

By the fourth day of his captivity, very few people would recognize the young man. In addition to the change in hair color, he was now almost skeletal in appearance. When he was human, the doctor administered liquids and nutrients by IV. This meant Micah needed to be restrained at all times, or he simply ripped out the line. He spent his time staring at the ceiling, singing childhood songs and remembering things best forgotten.

He remembered dancing to popular music. He remembered running through the park, seeing how long he could stand up to the threat of the sun before running home. Most of all, he remembered Simon. The touch of Simon's strong fingers stroking along his skin filled his dreams. Across the ceiling, images of Simon's naked body danced and teased. Each of the man's expressions of desire and passion taunted Micah, telling him of the things he would never see or know again.

The hours when Micah was a nightwalker, when the thirst for blood was strong, he couldn't resist the blood Blake brought, but he took only enough to take the edge off. The blood didn't taste good at all. It was flat and sour in his mouth. Even though he wanted the blood, needed it, the smallest taste revolted him and he couldn't take any more than the bare minimum. He missed the sweet explosion of Simon's blood on his tongue. He craved that incredible taste that was uniquely Simon: the taste of being home, of being safe.

His days in the room had a pattern. In the mornings, his grandfather came in and turned him into a nightwalker. It was as painful a process as turning human was, mostly because Johan did nothing to make the feeding pleasant. The older man simply jumped on him, sinking his fangs in at various points to drink and drain Micah. Throat first, then wrists, inner thighs and ankles. Sometimes, for variety probably, he took bites from Micah's chest and stomach, too. Micah was, of course, barely conscious and didn't remember anything about feeding from his grandfather to complete the process.

In the evenings, Johan came with the doctor to inject him with the formula that would take him back from nightwalker to human. He came to dread the sight of that needle so much. Every day it seemed to get longer and thicker. Micah didn't understand why they didn't leave the IV in, forgetting for longer periods that it wouldn't remain in place while he was a nightwalker. Tonight, the doctor had a pained expression in his eyes.

"I would suggest you eat something after you've changed to human. I'm a little surprised to find you trying to kill yourself in this way."

"I'm not trying to kill myself. The two of you are doing that for me. The blood tastes rancid in my mouth. The scent of food makes me want to puke. Even water, which I always thought smelled like nothing, makes my throat close. Just get it over with, doc."

Micah truly wasn't trying to kill himself. Not since about ten minutes after his first confrontation with Blake. That whole episode was just because he was feeling sorry for himself. Unfortunately, what he told the doctor was the truth. The few times he tried to eat the food Blake brought him, he couldn't do it. Just having it in the same room with him was enough to make him ill. The problem was, transforming from nightwalker to human consumed a whole lot of calories, and he grew weaker and weaker each day. Micah actually blessed the nutrients he got from the IV.

Not that he would ever tell his captors that.

Unfortunately, he didn't stay unconscious for very long after the transformation was complete anymore. When he opened his eyes again, human and frail, there were still residual twitches in his muscles, stinging him with echoes of pain. He whimpered and turned his head to the side. Blake was sitting in a chair, watching him closely with an unreadable expression on his face. Micah might have called it fear, except he couldn't think of anything Blake had to be afraid of.

"Come to gloat over the success of your experimentation? Is my grandfather assured of his eternal life yet? I hope so, because I don't think I'm going to last much longer."

"I think you and I are of the same as to the sanity of Johan Taylor." The words were spoken so quietly, barely more than a breath, that if Blake hadn't spoken directly against his ear, Micah might have missed them completely. "Your friends are getting ready to come back for you. Don't give up now."

Tears welled up and spilled over at the words. Micah wanted to hope -- did hope deep down -- but he didn't think he would see his friends again. The thought of Simon coming here, filled him with terror and elation. Terror in case Simon arrived too late and found nothing but the corpse of a stranger in the place of the man he'd left behind. Terror in case Simon didn't arrive too late and found nothing but a stranger in the place of the man he'd left behind. Elation in case Simon arrived in time to rescue Micah, and didn't care that Micah became a stranger during their time apart.

In truth, he couldn't complain too much about his life. Some parts he would change in a heartbeat, such as the death of his father and the estrangement between his and Pen's family. The rest, even the bad parts, weren't so bad and he could live with them in his past.

One by one, he examined the memories he held of the people in his life. His mother always had easy smile and twinkling brown eyes. He thought about how, when he was little, she always saved cooking the last batch of cookies for after he woke up. Once, she had stayed up all night, even though she had to work the next day, simply because he said he missed her.

His sister Jenny. Micah smiled as he remembered all the fun times they had together, even if they only had a few hours at a time. She always came to him when she was sad or needed someone to talk to about her friends at school. He was the one to hold her while she cried over her first failed relationship. They used to sit together and watch old movies whenever they could. Sometimes, he would wake her up late at night if one of their favorites was playing.

One of the hardest people to think about was his father. As much as Micah loved his mother and sister, he was inevitably closest to his father, since both of them were up all night. Ghislain taught his son the types of people he could safely approach and those he should avoid. They had laughed together, raced against the sun together, and come home to the rest of the family together.

He only had brief flashes of Pen and Ryan. All of his time with them was pleasant and fun, at least after that initial meeting when they were all shocked by how alike Micah and Pen were. He knew they were close friends, quite possibly the closest friends of his life, and they always had a good time together, whether having a meal or going out together for an evening of fun.

There was no need for him to think about Simon now, because he always thought about Simon. Every moment of every day, whether he was human or nightwalker, awake or asleep, Simon was a part of him.

All of his musings took only a moment. He was finished by the time the second teardrop fell from his lashes onto the pillow beneath his head. His limbs began to shake and his heart fluttered painfully in his chest. A low moan preceded the convulsions that sent Blake out of the room to fetch the doctor.

Micah came back to himself and saw that his grandfather was pacing around the room, muttering angrily. Somehow, Micah didn't believe he'd been unconscious for very long. He blinked as he realized that someone spoke to him, the doctor he believed, but didn't have the strength to answer or do more than blink again.

He felt someone lift him, a strong arm curving around his back, until he rested in a semi-reclined position. The doctor walked into his field of vision, moving towards the counter, so Micah figured Blake was behind him. When the doctor came back, he was holding a paper cup and tipped it to Micah's mouth.

"I know you probably can't drink, but let the water touch your lips. If you can stand it, it would be good to allow a drop or two into your mouth. I'm sure it's very dry and could use some lubrication."

Micah tried, but even the tiny bit he ingested closed up his throat and he gagged and choked. Johan's growl of displeasure was unmistakable. "Damned kid, he's doing this on purpose! I need him and he's doing this to try and thwart me. Get me his mother and sister here, right away. He'll fall into line with them being tortured in the next room, where he can hear their screaming." Micah started to pant in fear and despair. The breath wheezed in his lungs and spots danced in front of his eyes as he fought to draw oxygen into his lungs.

"Mr. Taylor, this is not an act. You wouldn't allow us to test multiple doses during the trial. Even if we had, this kind of reaction might not have shown up in our animal test subjects."

"Then what are we supposed to do?"

"My only suggestion is to give him a break. Turn him back into a nightwalker and give him time to fully adjust and heal. I have no clue how long, or if it will even help, but it is all I can suggest at this time. I will take another blood sample and run tests and comparisons to see what is happening in his system. From that, I might be able to form a better hypothesis and come up with something to counteract the effect."

This played well to Micah's quickly thought up plan. His little trip down memory lane hadn't been a dying man's last goodbye to those he knew. Rather, it had been a trip to gather his strength and fill him with rage and purpose. Unfortunately, gaining his strength wasn't as easy as fueling his anger. Thankfully, his plan didn't need him to be strong of body, only of mind. When pitted against his grandfather, crazy as he was, strength of mind wasn't too much of a stretch.

He absently listened to the exchange between the men. Behind him, Blake gave his arms a squeeze, probably in reassurance. Micah didn't need it. If all he accomplished was to give Simon and the others time to get there and take down his grandfather, then that would be enough. It had to be enough. At his grandfather's approach, his eyes glittered with determination and the ghost of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

"You must be starting to feel the effects of drinking all my blood, aren't you Grandfather?" One could interpret his question in many ways, and his grandfather gloated as Blake left the bed and lowered Micah to the pillow.

"Absolutely. I feel the youth and longevity coursing through me, just as I knew I would."

"Yes, well, that wasn't what I was referring to, but that actually makes it even better. To tell you the truth, that makes it almost worthwhile." Good thing he didn't need to speak loudly nightwalker ears to hear him.

Johan frowned, completely lost. "What are you talking about? What else could you be referring to?"

"You've turned me three times, going on four, so you must be feeling something by now. I'm referring to that slight tingle down low in your belly when you think of, or look at, another man. I mean, just look at the doctor. He's old but he's not bad looking. The curve of his ass when he bends over is quite tempting when there's no other option around."

"That's preposterous," Johan roared, infuriated at the suggestion. "A person doesn't become gay like...like that." The words were right, but the tone behind them was a bit uncertain.

"Generally speaking, no it doesn't. In this case, however, it's very likely. I mean, being gay is sometimes hereditary, so it's definitely in the family, which makes you predisposed. How else do you think both Pen and I could be gay? And I'm sure you already know that Uncle Blake tends to prefer the male gender, although he does hide it quite well." He was layering the shit on nice and thick, but damn it was a whole lot of fun.

"Blake is married to a lovely young woman and doing his very best to get her pregnant. You are mistaken."

"So he's married." Micah managed a shrug, even though it cost him a lot to do so. "I think we all know that that doesn't mean anything. Maybe he's hidden it from himself. Maybe he's hidden it only from you, to escape your wrath and censure. I don't know and I don't care. We're talking about you. Imagine a nice muscular chest, just a smattering of hair to tease and entice the eye. No, even better, imagine a pair of strong thighs, sleek and long, with soft skin on the inside that begs you to explore with your mouth and hands. Mmm, that skin is very delicious and always leads you up where you'll find the softest, silkiest, tastiest skin of all. It..."

"Shut up! Shut that foul mouth or I'll gut your mother and sister, your friends, everyone you've ever met right in front of your eyes! You and your kind disgust me!" Spit flew from Johan's mouth as he screamed his threats. Strong fingers clamped around Micah's forearm, snapping the bones like brittle twigs. He laughed at Micah's scream of pain, delighting in the agony he inflicted so easily.

It took several minutes before Micah rose above the pain, and when he did, he uttered a short, humorless laugh. "I understand now. I can read your eyes, Grandfather. I can see the truth you hide from yourself and from the world around you. You've always been attracted to men and it frightened you. Of course, you were born in a time where such feelings were forbidden and misunderstood. There is no shame in loving men. The shame is in denying where your desires lie."

A loud, mechanical sound filled the room and caused everyone to flinch in surprise. Before Micah could try and determine what it was or where it came from, Johan attacked him. Sharp fangs sank into his throat, not to drink but to make him bleed. He'd misjudged how far to push his grandfather, or perhaps the interruption did that. Micah thought his grandfather would consult with the doctor, to see if, in truth, Micah's gayness could contaminate him.

The last conscious image he had before feeling the drip of blood pass his lips was very clear. It consisted of him, sitting on a couch beside Simon, with two, no three, shadowed children around them. It was beautiful and made his heart ache.

******

Anger and frustration kept Simon quiet as he, Ryan and Pen drove the borrowed car towards Johan Taylor's estate. He kept quiet because he didn't want to snap and snarl at his companions. It wasn't their fault they couldn't leave until two days past the agreed upon deadline. In fact, he would say they were just as angry and upset about it as he was.

The other agents guessed that Simon wanted to run back right away, he had been vocal in his demands that there be as short a delay as possible, and kept the three of them under tight watch. They were being overly cautious about this whole operation. The whole problem, so far as Simon understood from the little information they received, was that both the NCB and the FDPA wanted to take the lead and each had their own ideas on what to do. He wanted to scream that while they had their disagreements, anything could be happening to Micah.

Finally, Carlie managed to distract their guards and they slipped out to the car she prepared and had waiting for them. At best, they had an hour before the rest of the agents got off their asses and followed. He only hoped they didn't interfere.

"Wait, what is that?" They were approaching the turn for the driveway when Pen leaned forward and pointed to the side of the road. "Is that...is that a body?"

With his heart thudding painfully in his chest, Simon barely waited for the car to stop before he was out of the car and running to the figure lying halfway out of the ditch. There was a lot of blood, but it was apparent that whoever it was, it wasn't Micah. This was an older man, with silver hair.

Danae72
Danae72
240 Followers