Chapter IV: Absorption
The darkness in the bedroom is no obstacle to the burgeoning senses of the shade as he watches her sleeping. Warmth and life radiate from her form and deep within memories arise to meet the shapes he sees. Memories that bring back a hint of touch and taste, gossamer names and sounds. Faces and scents. Both enlivening and terrifying. For as the echoes of his former self return so does the terror. The terror of absolute oblivion. Of death. Of the ultimate sleep.
Suddenly, the darkness is overwhelming and he moves closer to the light and warmth and the darkness recedes. Without knowing how, his essence reaches out towards her as her light seems drawn to him. Within his form, the light dissolves into the inky darkness as she shivers in her sleep and she instinctively pulls the bed covers tight around her. Mesmerized by the light trickling towards him, he edges closer and is greeted by a sense of her. A tiny taste of her.
And within him more memories arise. Of pain and humiliation. But they are not his, they are hers and yet they resonate. Deep inside a spark ignites within him, a desire to absorb the essence of those memories and more. Like some elixir of life, they sing to him as more of her light passes to him. Within words begin to echo, other voices and other times. “Monster”,” Life sentence”, “Evil and sadistic” …. Words thrown at him with venom and hatred.
As light leaves her, so does his darkness enter her. Tendrils of darkness web the glow on her skin through the covers and she moans in her sleep. Her head tosses side to side as she mutters and moans, and ripples and waves of light pulse across her. Tremors start to shake her body as more and more tendrils of darkness grip her. Unable to wake, her movements become bigger and quicker, twitching and jerking to escape the bonds that pull the light from her.
Thrilled he reaches out longing to touch her quivering flesh as she thrashes helplessly in his presence. Wave after wave of light pulse over him and fill him with the scent of her fear and loathing. Her victimization at the hands of her former lover magnified in her nightmare as it is overwhelming him with desire and he reaches too far. There is a flash of electricity and static sparks and arcs flash over the bedding and bed frame as he is pushed back and she screams awake.
Terrified and confused, her eyes filled with the afterglow of the static flash that jolted her awake, she fumbles for the bedside light with shaking hands. Objects clatter and her breathing is a ragged panting as she imagines he has found her, that all her desperate measures have failed. Finally, as she is about to climb out of bed and try to find her way to the bathroom, her finger finds a switch and the room is flooded with light.
From the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees a figure moving in the corner in the shadows and her heart skips a beat as she yells out involuntarily. As she turns her head to look at the shape it seems to dissolve into the shadows and she watches warily even as she tells herself there is nothing there. Heart racing, Michaela shivers as her bare chest heaves, covered in a sheen of sweat, and she feels almost ill with a sudden sense of weakness. She grabs the still damp towel from the pillow and wrap’s it round her shoulder like a shawl.
As she calms down, she tells herself it was just a nightmare, that the phantoms she glimpsed was just a residue of her reliving some of the most awful times of her life. Yet still she can’t shake either the weakness or the chill. She picks up her phone and checks the time, it’s 3am. Thinking her weakness might be lack of food, she toys with getting some of her provisions from the car but decides against it as she’d have to get dressed and go outside in the dark. So still feeling very wobbly she grabs her clothes and gets half-dressed before sliding back into bed with a glass of water to drink.
Propping herself up in bed, with the light still on, she slowly drifts back off to sleep as exhaustion overtakes her. Long after her eyes have closed and her breathing has fallen into a deep even rhythm, the shadow in the corner drifts across the floor and down the stairs into the darkness below. In his own state of shock, the spirit tries to absorb all of the new ideas and sensations coursing through its form. Two words in particular echo round and round in orbit about him. “Eric Danzig”. Then like a whisper that cuts through him like a knife “The Belgian Ripper”.