Amphora Ch. 03

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Two things separated me from every kid on the planet. For one my blood. The color of my blood is a darker shade of red. Almost black because I have so much iron in my body. I was somewhat of a medical mystery sensation as a kid. Though my iron count was high I suffered none of the symptoms of iron poisoning.

I can't tell you how many times I've been poked and prodded (more than at my prom or after that I'll say) but the doctors came up with nothing. And every time they took blood... well that brings up to number two:

I can see monsters. Not every where I look or in the shadows. NOTHING like my mother. The monsters seem to be... INSIDE me.

Every time I bleed a drop a monster only I could see, a twisted, gnarled, snarling black thing with four red eyes no bigger than a cocker spaniel would emerge then disappear and something terrible would happen. Ever since then I've had a phobia of needles and the prospect of bleeding. Being taken hostage by a cult hasn't helped that fear.

So here I am sitting in my occult professor's office after witnessing our magic tattoos glowing and listening to him spout this evil manifesto to conquer the world. While plotting my escape I pretend to show interest though honestly it's not that hard. Another thing about me is I can be curious to the point of morbidity.

"So this tattoo," I ask. "What exactly does it do?"

Professor Martel gingerly places the steaming cup of chamomile tea in my shaking hands. It's ivory with cobalt blue pictures of Greek figures, satyrs and nymphs frolicking in the wild like those Greek vases. They had given me a change of clothes. They even let me shower. A nice sundress with a denim jacket. It was more comfortable than the revealing cocktail dress. If I wasn't a hostage I'd say they were a considerate cult.

"This tattoo isn't like the ones you see on Miss Avaline and young Joshua here," Professor Martel sits himself at his desk. His office here is fancier than the one at college. I've been to a professor's office before and it was cramped with white washed walls and sad house plants.

"The one we share isn't just plain ink," he continues. His voice is soothing. It must be the accent. British accents make someone sound smarter somehow. "It's made from blood."

"W-What?" I choke on my tea. The liquid burns my tongue and part of my esophagus.

"Human blood and powdered lapis lazuli gems," Martel is calm leaning back in his comfortable expensive chair. We were surrounded by books old and new. Many gilded with gold bound in old leather. They have that age old book smell that isn't unpleasant.

"Who's blood," I accuse. It all comes back to blood...

"The blood of a condemned man."

"Right because that explanation puts me at ease," I set the tea down. I'll stick with the nausea. The nausea is the only thing that seems real right now. In fact it seemed to intensify as I emotionally begin to spiral. The tattoo glows along with Martel's. He gives a shudder as if absorbing the excess energy.

"Maybe you should drink your wife's crappy tea," I suggest.

Martel barks out a laugh. "Avaline isn't my wife."

"Lover then? Not that I'm interested in you romantically but I'm sure a few dewy eyed girls in class will be disappointed."

The glow of our tattoos fade to a normal black. Martel settles back into his leather chair, sweat gleaming on his brow.

"What the hell does this tattoo do?" I repeat with more force.

"It suppresses as well as transfers the bad energy that's inside of you," he explained, his throat moving as he tried to swallow. "I seek only to share in your burden. You see as a reincarnation of Pandora—"

"Which I still don't believe by the way."

"As punishment Prometheus placed a curse on Pandora as well as her future incarnations that nothing but misfortune and death would follow her," Martel doesn't miss a step. "Haven't you ever wondered why horrible things have been happening to you your whole life? The bus crash when you were in school, your prom date's aneurism, your father dying in that car crash... your mother—"

I stand up abruptly.

"I've had enough of your fairytales, Professor," I turn to leave.

"You've been running from your mother's madness for years," he calls out. "You can run to the other side of the world and still the past will always catch up to you."

I stop. The screams of dying children and people suffering because of me are deafening. Sometimes I can get it to a low hum especially with self medication or even sex but always the sounds are there when I come back up for air.

"I'm not your enemy, Tessa," Martel speaks with all the gentleness of a concerned parent but there is something behind those words that still put me on edge. You know that gut feeling you get when you meet someone that tells you they're bad news? I'm getting that feeling like a police siren in my ear.

"I only want to help you, share your burden," he says.

"I don't need you to share in my so called burdens," I snap venomously.

"Not even if it means I can help you get rid of it?"

I slowly turn around to face my mysterious professor, my brown eyes meet his blue eyes. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, a smirk on his lips. A smirk of a spider that has caught the moth in it's silver web.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I can give you a chance for a normal life," he says confidently. "No more death or misery for you and yours."

I clench my fists. I feel a tightening in my chest with an unfamiliar emotion. Then I grow angry.

"I stopped believing in magic when my mother poisoned all those people at my birthday party."

"I only ask for you to think about it," Martel offers. I open the door to find Joshua and two big goons standing there waiting for me. Joshua reaches for his pocket cradling the bulge. I assume it's his inhaler in case I induced an asthma attack again.

"So can I think about it in my own apartment?"

"For your safety...," Martel turns grim. "It would be better for you to stay here. There are others who might be after you and try and kill you."

I hold my tongue. Just keep your head, I tell myself. Joshua adjusts his jacket when I see my cell phone tucked into his inside pocket.

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"So... Jonathan was it?" I try to start a conversation while formulating my escape plan.

"It's Joshua."

"Right. How long have been working for the Stick Brotherhood?"

"It's the Styx Brotherhood," Joshua corrects somewhat irritatingly.

"My bad," I shrug. "It's difficult to keep track of all these silly evil clubs."

"You have many 'evil clubs' vying for your attention," he puts the words evil clubs in air quotes trying to be funny and put me at ease I guess.

"You'd be surprised," I sigh. "When I was 13 some guy named Elijah Wilcomb tried to take me to his compound where he thought I was the Anti-Christ or something. I guess that's more or less true."

"You assume you're an evil being meant to destroy the world?" Joshua tilts his head to the side in curiosity, his eyes shining with humor while his voice is gentle.

"Isn't that what Martel just said? I'm suppose to kick off Armageddon?" I ask taking a quick glance at where I saw my phone hiding. Just need to get close enough.

Joshua disarms me with a laugh. Then he gets a bit mournful looking like a lost puppy and I'm overcome with this need to hug him. I'm a sucker for a lost puppy.

"The word 'Armageddon' isn't what people think," Joshua explains. "It really means 'a great reveal', a great reveal can be anything that destroys the old ideas of the old world to create a new world full of new ideas."

"Like if aliens suddenly appeared over Philadelphia?" I muse.

We turn a corner getting closer to "my room" I guess.

"Something like that," Joshua smiles. "When I was 13 I ran away from home."

"Shitty parents."

"I say run away but I really mean... thrown out..."

I stop. Joshua's shoulder drop a little.

"I knew I was different from other kids too," Joshua takes a deep breath, memories of the past come shivering back into his eyes. "I always liked the jocks more than I ever liked the cheerleaders. My best friend was on our school's soccer team. I got up the courage to tell him how I feel but he showed complete disgust and told his parents who told my parents and my family is ultra-evangelical and stuff so either I go to a camp to pray the gay away or leave. I choose life on the street."

For some reason I lay my hand on his shoulder. I can't help but feel sorry for this kid who was not really a kid but my age. Yet he's also led a life different from other kids with cruel parents. Fuck I was relating to him. That's how Stockholm Syndrome starts.

Drawing him into an embrace, Joshua goes rigid but after a few awkward seconds I feel his arms wrapping around me. The two goons let us have our moment. They don't even notice my hand move inside Joshua's jacket. Joshua barely feels a thing.

I release him and see that his eyes had gotten a little misty. He quickly wipes his eyes and smiles, "With you and that amphora of evils we can remake the world where no kid will ever feel alone like that again."

I only give a small nod. One of the goons opens the door then I'm left alone inside the room. I only hear Joshua tell them to give me whatever I needed. Listening to his footsteps fade away I look at my phone to see about 20 or so missed texts and voice messages from Sam and Elena.

Doing recon around my room I see that by my window is a tree. I try to open the window but it's locked. They say they want to help me but for all their reassuring smiles I'm basically a prisoner here.

I push a dresser in front of the door along with some other furniture to at least slow the guards down. Then after placing my phone in-between my breasts I take off my jacket. You can guess what I do next.

With my arm wrapped in the denim I punch through the window. As expected the crash attracts attention as well as sets off an alarm. The men-in-black goons outside try to open the door but find their way blocked by fine expensive furniture.

I barely think when I leap out the window onto the sturdy tree branch. But I feel a lightning shock of pain surge up my arm. I feel the hot sticky liquid ooze over my skin and with it... a creature of smoke and darkness with 4 evil red eyes and a wide devil's grin of white sharp teeth. With an evil squealing laughter the thing leaps into the air, moving like a flying jack rabbit into the room just as the guards manage to open the door a few inches.

My stomach clenches as I listen to the agonizing screams of the men as I carefully climb back down. I reach the grassy floor listening to the house alarm blare in my ears as I wrap my bleeding arm in my denim terrified that more monsters would escape.

"There you are."

I turn to see a security guard holding a taser gun aimed at my chest.

"Don't move," he spoke calmly yet there was a tremor in his voice and his face contorts into absolute terror. He's definitely afraid of me. I've seen that look a million times to recognize it. Something within me drops. I thought I stopped caring about what people thought of me but apparently after not seeing the fear in people's eyes for a few years I've forgotten what it felt like.

I held my hands up slowly until the guard was whacked over the head from behind by one of his comrades. A young man with dark eyes and the look of a gypsy from some erotica that would make a girl swoon and heat pool between her thighs (kind of like I was feeling now only after he looked back up at me with a devilish smile).

I forgot the desperation of the moment for a minute to take in the young man. He looked familiar. Then realization gripped my insides.

"YOU!"

"We have to go," he urged, taking my hand.

"Hold the fuck on!" I wrench my hand away. "You're the man from across the street... from my dreams!" And from somewhere else I was sure. That erotica reference has me thinking that maybe I saw him on a cover of one. A model perhaps? No something dirtier.

"Who are you?"

"Luken," he says. "Do you want to get out of here?"

I nod, wracking my brain trying to figure out where else I knew him from.

"Then come on." He held out his cinnamon hand to me. I was starting to hear dogs along with angry shouts. I'm stuck between the strangers who kidnapped me and the stranger who wants to help me.

I grab Luken's hand and we start sprinting. At least he hasn't taken out a needle... yet.

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TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4...