Quicksand Pt. 04

Evan trembled. His fingertips hooked my chin and raised my gaze to his. "Make me feel beautiful."

With a moist tongue, he wet his lips and urged me to my feet. We met in a soft kiss. His mouth skated atop mine, light and smooth and lingering. With a slow exhalation, my tongue softly pressed his lips apart and crept past. Our tongues began a slow, lush dance. Finally, at his insistence, we parted.

"Come," he said.

Evan turned and started toward his bed. I was frozen, disbelieving, and uncertain. He reached back, taking my hand in his.

"Come," he quietly urged. I followed.

His room smelled florid and sweet, scented by candles that glowed in the curtained light of the waning afternoon. We paused as he rid me of my shirt and pants, pausing to fondle my hardness, taking me briefly into his juicy mouth. Then he rose and he kissed me deeply. My misgivings melted away as Evan pulled me onto the mattress.

Our intimacy traveled slowly over a barren emotional landscape—his of tortured abuse, mine of unfathomable regret, each moment another mile behind us toward some promised place. Evan's caresses were tender. His kisses imploring. He wasn't kidding. He was a masterful lover and he made me feel like a king. I relished the succor of his flesh. And when he took me inside himself, it was as if two universes were melding, erasing all time and space that went before. Once joined, our passions flared and rode an urgent wave that crashed over us and culminated in an explosive release.

Time tarried as we shared a single pillow, sated and staring into each other's eyes. Troubles and doubts settled into the long ago past of previous lives. His hand contained my manhood as I stroked his cheek and hair. It encompassed all my heart when I spoke that one word—

"Surcease."

"Surcease" he repeated. Then finally asked, "Hungry?"

I realized I was famished. "As a matter of fact, I am." He crawled from the rumpled sheets, reached into a drawer, and found some yoga pants and a T-shirt. As he pulled them on, he cast a sheet over me. "Rest awhile. I'll see what I can throw together." With a lingering kiss, he started for the door.

A huge shadow abruptly blocked his passage. The glint of a blade slashed the air. Evan shrieked as he fell back upon the bed. Scarlet blood erupted and coursed down his stomach. The Psycho entered, leering, startled at the sight of Evan and lusting for revenge. I was jolted from my reverie. Naked and exposed, I groped for whatever was available. My hand found an alarm clock on the nightstand. I wrenched the cord loose from the wall and hurled it. Cheap plastic shattered against the Psycho's forehead.

"Run, Evan. Run!"

Evan bolted past the Psycho, his shoulder driving the Hulk against the wall. I heard his panicked footfalls down the carpeted stairs. The Psycho and I locked eyes for an instant. His giant form seemed dwarfed by the bowie knife in his hand. With an enflamed grunt, he turned and chased his escaping prey.

I leaped from the bed and followed fast. He was turning on the stairway landing when I vaulted over the railing. Crashing onto his back, I drove him headlong onto the descending stairs and rode him like a luge to the bottom. There, my head smashed into the hardwood floor. The world spun and momentarily became blank.

Dazed and moaning, I was roused by a terrible pain shooting through my left shoulder. Rolling onto my back, I blinked to focus my eyes. At my feet. the Psycho struggled to his hands and knees. Blood poured from his nose and shattered mouth. Lunatic eyes flashed with rage. He gasped for air...then pounced. His monstrous weight crashed atop me. Pain drove the wind from my lungs and I pushed against his bulk with my right arm. Leviathan hands circled my neck. Gargantuan thumbs crushed my throat. The brute's eyes bore into mine as his blood and spittle splattered my face. My left arm was useless and aflame with pain. I beat at him with my right hand, trying to wrench his grip from my throat. He glowered at my futility.

Desperately, my hand pressed against his chin, futilely trying to pry his plundering thumbs from my airway. My lungs battled for breath and my throat strained and gagged. A deathly din began to roar in my ears. My muscles burned through the last oxygen in my veins and faltered. My vision blurred and tinted red. I pushed with all my might but the Psycho just grimaced more murderously as he sensed my waning. He became enlivened by my looming death.

As my world swirled toward darkness, my crippled left arm desperately rose and the fingers clutched his hair. My right hand slipped from his chin, pressing into his shattered nose, seeking the soft tissue of his eyes. There, my fingers dug deep. The giant roared and tried to shake free of my piercing digits but, despite the agony, my left hand held fast and kept his head within my reach.

I forced my fingers into the sockets, plunging them deep until I felt the pop. Blood and viscous fluid flowed. The Psycho tore free and wailed in pain and panic as the black veil of sightless despair engulfed him. He fell away.

Like a blacksmith's bellows, my chest heaved. Wheezing gales of oxygen cleared my head and stoked my rage. On the steps lay the blade. I scrambled for it, clutched its hilt, then rose above the flailing beast and fell upon him once more with all my might, plunging the knife deep into his chest, severing flesh and bone. I braced myself on my knees, one arm hanging useless and paralyzed with pain. I wrenched the knife free, lifted it high, and buried it again. Furious howls echoed in the hollow of my skull as the blade pierced the assassin again, and again, and again. I kept plunging it into the monster's heart until he lay inert, beyond lifeless, no longer even bleeding, only yielding shreds of flesh and viscera that were flung in an arc by the blade and splattered my face, the floor, the walls.

One last plunge and I hovered over the slain Psycho. My wracking breaths turned into gasps. I slumped naked onto the blood-washed floor and collapsed into darkness.