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Chimera Redux by J.T. Ellison I do not sleep anymore. I can't take the risk, not again. I won't survive it again. "I'll see you in hell." These words are rooted in my brain. They aren't even words, exactly. Not enunciated and pronounced, but hissed and lingering, seeping into my skin and settling into my bones, my heart, my mind. The room is dark, silent and reproachful. I forgot the nightlight again and the gloom is penetrating, the white walls lost in the abyss. There is no boundary to the room; it is infinite, black and salty. I can't smell the sulfur, even though I've been told I would. It is more the scent of the sea, slightly brackish, dead fish and seaweed making it offensive. The hissing begins again. "I'm here to take you. It is your time." I realize this has happened before. I've been in this bed, this room, this murky gloom when the demon came to me. How many times have I fought him off? I turn to face him. He has come through the shuttered window. The night air blows behind him, sweet jasmine and bougainvillea overpowered by his rankness. He doesn't resemble anything I'd seen before, any depiction drawn or imagined. He is taupe, nearly translucent, skinny ferret like body supported by long boned feet, hands ending in claws that drip a viscous liquid. I assume it is the remnants of bitter souls from the night's catch. I'm not sure how I know he is male, there are no external clues to his gender. "Tiimmmmeeeeeee." That sibilant voice again. I feel a drop of slime hit my forehead. His hands are past my shoulder now, reaching around to scoop me in his arms. His mouth, crowded with sharp teeth, spit trails stringing between upper and lower jaws, grows wider, bigger, and I feel the claws rake across my back. He is pulling me in, consuming, sucking. I feel my soul depart from my heart and begin to leave my body. No. I will not let him take me. I take a breath so deep that pieces of spittle fly into my mouth and scream. Louder, longer than I knew I could. My body convulses, tiny tears surface in my throat. And still I scream. I know, deep in my heart, that he will leave if I continue. They don't like screams. Flashing a look so full of hatred, of lust and regret, the demon is sucked back through the shutters. They bang close, startling me with their vehemence. My scream trails off. I am safe. I sit up and turn on the light. The chimera has come again. He sits in the chair, feet tucked under him like a pleasant cat. He raises an inky eyebrow, strokes two fingers through the obsidian silk of his goatee. He flashes a smile at me, teeth so pearly against the darkness that they're nearly blue. He doesn't say a word. Stroke, smile. Stroke, smile. "Bastard," I whisper. He laughs silently, deep in his chest, the sound reverberating around the room like thunder. We made a deal, he and I. It was a long time ago. I was too young to know any better; he was hunting the night for victims. A match better suited to novels and nightmares. He likes me. Enough that the deal we struck benefits us both. I murdered. I sinned. He took. Fetial declarations aside, he takes from everyone. Good, bad or indifferent. The indifferent, mostly. He signs for their souls without them ever knowing. It's that last glimpse, when they assume they'll see the light, that shocks the living hell right into them. And the chimera laughs as he greets them, down below. But the lost souls aren't my problem. The chimera is my problem. We're friends in a strange, make a deal with the devil kind of way. Like I said before, he likes me. He's a fallen angel like the rest of them, still wanton in his desires. I fit with his image of a partner. He's here to collect. Anytime, anywhere. That's our deal. I don't have to go straight to hell. He gets laid. Gives a whole new meaning to burning desire. I wish I could take back that night. The chimera was there; I didn't know that at the time. I thought it was just the two of us, alone in the alley. That no one heard my screams. That I was abandoned. That I wrestled the knife away at the last minute with my own strength. That my fingers grasped the hilt. That my muscles forced the tip of the knife into the man's gut. That the blood spilling onto my arm, my torn dress, my shoes was untainted. He could have let me die. It might have been easier. The yin and yang of his world is too complex for me to comprehend. Suffice it to say that while I was being raped and strangled, he stood and watched. Waited. Knew that he could give me the strength to overcome the man and stop the attack, which he did, just not until after the man finished grunting and scraping at me. When the knife appeared, the chimera stepped in, silent, transparent. He grasped my hand, grappled with the knife and stabbed the stranger in the stomach, driving the blade in so deep that the warm spill of his intestines gathered in my hand. As we were driving our deal, he had the audacity to point out I should thank him for saving my life. What a swell guy. That was ten years ago. He still comes to me at night, insatiable, unfulfilled. Driving me onward. Sending me on my reckless journeys, my wasted relationships, my never-ending string of dead end jobs. He is in the drugs, the alcohol, the cigarettes. The lush, provocative nights and the solitary days. He never leaves my side, but only appears when I sleep. He and his demons. I'm a lucky girl. I'll never be alone again. THE END J.T. Ellison © 2007 |
JT
Ellison is a thriller writer based in Nashville, Tennessee. A graduate of
Randolph-Macon Woman's College and The George Washington University, Ellison
had a career in politics before turning to crime fiction full time. Her
short stories have appeared in Demolition Magazine, Flashing in the Gutters,
and Spinetingler Magazine. She blogs at