Other Voices, Other Rooms
Prologue.
He wasn't exactly the type of person you'd expect to be here. At a mere 19 years old, he was much too young for this. Tufts of mischievous hair hung haphazardly around his hollow eyes, and it looked like he'd hacked at it himself with a hatchet in the dead of the night. His knee-caps pressed harder into the wooden floor with each fleeting minute he knelt there. A cold chill shot through his spine. He was whispering a prayer. A few words, strung together in a quiet sentence, hands pressed together, nothing special. Just a prayer. The rusted rosary beads dug into his bony calloused fingers as he gripped suffocatingly tighter and tighter with each Our Father, with each tumble of meaningless words. He only came here because he made him, like some how repenting what se asked of him would make things better.
"Lord Forgive me for I have sinned..." was the first words he had uttered, as he bowed down in the solemn chapel, the colour’s from the faded stained glass windows danced on his graying skin. Churches weren't his thing. He wasn't the type. He wasn't the type to be submissive to something he held no faith in. He refused to acknowledge faith. Faith had left him the moment God had snatched his parents from Earth.
"Hurry up," the tense male voice hissed from the open folding-doors, "I'm freezing out here."
"Amen," he blinked twice, quickly, blocking out thoughts of what he was going to do. The man, Ryan, was tall. Dainty, with Angelic features, but he was tall. Almost menacingly tall. His looks were deceiving.
"She'll be ready when we get there," Ryan spoke fluent and crisp, his words surpassing the iciness of the air around them as the strode through the night. Tap. Tap. Click. Tap.
"But what if I don't want - " he began to protest meekly.
"For God's sake, William, stop acting so weak. You do want this. You told me you do. Start being a man for once."
He shut up, keeping his thoughts to himself. He didn't want to kill this girl. The poor, unknowing, barely matured fair maiden, whom he had no idea of. Death irked him. He was sick of it. But Ryan protected him. He kept him safe. He would kill a thousand girls if it meant he would still love him. A million girls. He’d damned himself to hell for him.
"I'll haunt your bones until you die miserably if you don't do as I say," he'd warned. He did whatever he asked obligingly. He loved him. Right?
Ryan’s shoes clicked on the cobbled on the stairs down into The Room. The thick red velvet of his overcoat dragged behind her. William tried with immense concentration not to step on it.
Before they entered beyond the heavy wooden door, he stopped for a minute. It was silent, except for the shaking sobs that filled the room beyond them. Ryan smiled, grimly.
"You know what to do," William nodded, of course he knew. How many times had he fulfilled her deeds and sick desires? William was used to this. He was still too young. He pressed his soft lips to his mouth, lingering for a moment. William felt sick. "I'll be in the next room, waiting," he nodded again, not really listening to his words that he'd heard too many times before.
---
The girl tonight was too young. Much too young. Her tears were being caught by the cloth of the blindfold binding her too young eyes.
"Who's there?" she shivered, his naked exposed body shriveling with the cold, cramping in every possible muscle. Ropes bound her innocence. She squirmed. William walked beside her, his index finger stroking her creamy cheek for a moment. He sighed. She cried.
It took shorter than usual. Her presence made him so uncomfortable he did it with such haste he surprised himself. Lifeless, the girls’ body was bloody and manipulated into distortion, crumpled into a messy heap on the stone floor. Blood formed in pools under her skin in purple and yellow bruises, her cuts and gashes reeked putridly stale, and eyes swelled from the river of salty tears that flowed as she pleaded for a second chance. William broke down, apologising to her corpse, whispering prayers to her soul. He was too young for this.
Ryan's ghostly gaunt face peered into the dim room.
"Is it done?" he asked.
"Yes," a shuddering sigh left William's throat.
"Do you have the glass?" A shimmering crystal goblet sat perched on the boarded window ledge. He reached for the glass, its thick red contents swirling around the rim, teasing to spill at any second.
"Here," he extended his arm awkwardly. Ryan sipped from the cup, trickles of blood escaped his mouth, running down his chin, sliding down his slender neck, before resting at the top of his chest, throat muscles flexing as the glossy liquid passed down his esophagus.
A groan rumbled his shoulders. He grinned. Blood bordered his ivory teeth, clinging to the pinks of his gums. His smile shone on the light from the candle.
“Thank you,” he hoarsely coughed, “Thank you, William.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispered, hanging his head in shame, tears prickling his cheeks. Ryan lifted up his chin and kissed him once again. He shook involuntarily, tasting the bitter flavor of the dead girls’ youth.
“Ryan?” he asked, daring to speak his name.
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
His thin arms encompassed his body, holding him so close that they could have shared a heartbeat. His face nestled in the crook of his neck, nose touching the dampened blood spots.
“Yes you do, William baby, yes you do.”
Ryan was right. He did. Crushing the life out of anonymous girls was thrilling. He felt alive, it was the most intoxicating and dangerous feeling his whole body had ever felt. He buzzed all over. He was good at this. He could do it well. He could kill with a smile for the sake of Ryan. Ryan would always protect him. He would always love him.
But he was still much too young for this.
"Lord Forgive me for I have sinned..." was the first words he had uttered, as he bowed down in the solemn chapel, the colour’s from the faded stained glass windows danced on his graying skin. Churches weren't his thing. He wasn't the type. He wasn't the type to be submissive to something he held no faith in. He refused to acknowledge faith. Faith had left him the moment God had snatched his parents from Earth.
"Hurry up," the tense male voice hissed from the open folding-doors, "I'm freezing out here."
"Amen," he blinked twice, quickly, blocking out thoughts of what he was going to do. The man, Ryan, was tall. Dainty, with Angelic features, but he was tall. Almost menacingly tall. His looks were deceiving.
"She'll be ready when we get there," Ryan spoke fluent and crisp, his words surpassing the iciness of the air around them as the strode through the night. Tap. Tap. Click. Tap.
"But what if I don't want - " he began to protest meekly.
"For God's sake, William, stop acting so weak. You do want this. You told me you do. Start being a man for once."
He shut up, keeping his thoughts to himself. He didn't want to kill this girl. The poor, unknowing, barely matured fair maiden, whom he had no idea of. Death irked him. He was sick of it. But Ryan protected him. He kept him safe. He would kill a thousand girls if it meant he would still love him. A million girls. He’d damned himself to hell for him.
"I'll haunt your bones until you die miserably if you don't do as I say," he'd warned. He did whatever he asked obligingly. He loved him. Right?
Ryan’s shoes clicked on the cobbled on the stairs down into The Room. The thick red velvet of his overcoat dragged behind her. William tried with immense concentration not to step on it.
Before they entered beyond the heavy wooden door, he stopped for a minute. It was silent, except for the shaking sobs that filled the room beyond them. Ryan smiled, grimly.
"You know what to do," William nodded, of course he knew. How many times had he fulfilled her deeds and sick desires? William was used to this. He was still too young. He pressed his soft lips to his mouth, lingering for a moment. William felt sick. "I'll be in the next room, waiting," he nodded again, not really listening to his words that he'd heard too many times before.
---
The girl tonight was too young. Much too young. Her tears were being caught by the cloth of the blindfold binding her too young eyes.
"Who's there?" she shivered, his naked exposed body shriveling with the cold, cramping in every possible muscle. Ropes bound her innocence. She squirmed. William walked beside her, his index finger stroking her creamy cheek for a moment. He sighed. She cried.
It took shorter than usual. Her presence made him so uncomfortable he did it with such haste he surprised himself. Lifeless, the girls’ body was bloody and manipulated into distortion, crumpled into a messy heap on the stone floor. Blood formed in pools under her skin in purple and yellow bruises, her cuts and gashes reeked putridly stale, and eyes swelled from the river of salty tears that flowed as she pleaded for a second chance. William broke down, apologising to her corpse, whispering prayers to her soul. He was too young for this.
Ryan's ghostly gaunt face peered into the dim room.
"Is it done?" he asked.
"Yes," a shuddering sigh left William's throat.
"Do you have the glass?" A shimmering crystal goblet sat perched on the boarded window ledge. He reached for the glass, its thick red contents swirling around the rim, teasing to spill at any second.
"Here," he extended his arm awkwardly. Ryan sipped from the cup, trickles of blood escaped his mouth, running down his chin, sliding down his slender neck, before resting at the top of his chest, throat muscles flexing as the glossy liquid passed down his esophagus.
A groan rumbled his shoulders. He grinned. Blood bordered his ivory teeth, clinging to the pinks of his gums. His smile shone on the light from the candle.
“Thank you,” he hoarsely coughed, “Thank you, William.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispered, hanging his head in shame, tears prickling his cheeks. Ryan lifted up his chin and kissed him once again. He shook involuntarily, tasting the bitter flavor of the dead girls’ youth.
“Ryan?” he asked, daring to speak his name.
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
His thin arms encompassed his body, holding him so close that they could have shared a heartbeat. His face nestled in the crook of his neck, nose touching the dampened blood spots.
“Yes you do, William baby, yes you do.”
Ryan was right. He did. Crushing the life out of anonymous girls was thrilling. He felt alive, it was the most intoxicating and dangerous feeling his whole body had ever felt. He buzzed all over. He was good at this. He could do it well. He could kill with a smile for the sake of Ryan. Ryan would always protect him. He would always love him.
But he was still much too young for this.