What Manner of Man: Chapter 29 🦇

Get a room, you two!

Did you have a sufficiently glamorous Halloween? For my own part, I will still be observing spooky season for at least the following week. Patrons, today, will get an extra special seasonally-appropriate vignette. 👻 (Thank you to those who have become patrons since the last chapter!)

JOURNAL ENTRY (CONTINUED)

Undated.

I unhooked the chain from around my neck, dropping the ring into my palm.

“Is this thing — this charm I’ve carried for half of my life — truly at the centre of all this? If you have it again, will that be enough to end this nightmare?” I murmured, speaking half to myself.

As I held it out to him, however, he recoiled violently, as if from some deadly serpent or live flame. Then, at the same moment, a slight tremor seemed to affect the room, shaking some dust from the stone ceiling. I only prayed the people who’d come from St Silvan’s Head weren’t bringing the whole edifice crashing down over our heads.

“Not now — put it away from me, please,” he said. “I must not take it yet, and I would prefer not to touch it by chance.”

Though confused, I could see he was in earnest. I withdrew my hand, therefore, putting the ring securely into an inner pocket.

“Why not?” I asked, “What will happen when you take it?”

“I don’t know, but I feel it would be wise to ensure any who are present get well away from the manor before I do so.”

“Will it end this thing — this curse?”

“I think so,” he nodded.

A sudden doubt occurred to me. A creeping despair began to steal over my heart, but I forced it back. I spoke with difficulty. “Will you die?” I whispered.

“Undoubtedly —” he said. “There can be no other possible end to this.”

Grief welled up within me with all the force of a flooding river. Master of self-deception that I am; I had simply refused to see the possibility.

Gingerly, I brushed a lock of white hair from his eyes. I would not accept it, I still refused — not while there remained any alternative yet untried.

Seeing my grief-stricken expression, he smiled and lay his hand gently over mine. “Dear boy, do not grieve for me. I am not worth so much as a frown from your lips. I deserve no more pity than the dust at your feet.”

“No!” I whispered, “no —” I grasped him to me and held him close. He felt so cold under my hands, and I longed to let him fold into me; to give him my warmth and let him take strength in me. A shudder ran through him and he drew back.

I could not tolerate the look of utter devastation I saw when he pulled away. Acting on a sudden impulse, I kissed him.

A bolt of panic shot through me; surprised by my own bold recklessness. Alistair went still against me as my heart thundered in my ears. Then, all at he once, he softened and responded in kind. His arms gathered me in, his lips turned gentle and yielding, and I found I could not regret my reckless act.

Then Alistair pressed further, his embrace growing forceful, desperate with need. I let him draw me down until I lay with my back against the stone floor. He was pinning me down, licking into my mouth with animal thirst. He kissed me with such passionate tenderness that it stung my lips and set me atremble. I felt every part of me set ablaze; the sensation unlike anything I had ever imagined — save, perhaps, the Light of God. Transcendent; I eagerly drank the low, quiet noises he made in his throat.

This was no spiritual presence; no imagined ghost by my languishing bedside. Alistair embraced me as if he could draw the secret of life from my lips. My desperation was equal to his. I passionately sought to impress the feeling of him on every fibre of my being; as if I could keep him here forever, if I only held him close enough.

When we parted, rising a little from the floor, I pressed my face to the where his shoulder met his neck. I breathed deeply to catch the fleeting scent of his musk. This too was vanishing beneath that smothering pall. He stroked my hair, murmuring, “I must apologize, Father; I seem to have very little control left.” Yet when I drew back there was a light of joy in his eyes; though weak and tempered with fear.

“Why must you? There’s nothing in this world that I desire more.” As I lightly traced a finger over his lips, his eyes fell shut. Then I kissed him again — and again, and again. I had a heady, almost euphoric sensation of freedom. He was so gentle and kind, even then — even in such a state.

Up above us, perhaps, the whole world was going to Hell, but nothing seemed of any consequence. All the events of the past day faded, ceasing to be in the least real or important. I was completely overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotions pouring through me. Many were the same feelings I had known before, long ago; they had only taken on a new and dazzling clarity. Many feelings I experienced for the first time. Alistair’s heart and mine were as one; we were united by a bond that was both beautiful and savage. What lies between us is a kind of madness, and with it comes both agony and ecstasy. What name dare I give it?

“Oh, Alistair — I understand so much more, now. Can you forgive me for being so blind?” I was miserable, thinking of it. How could he not despise me?

When Alistair spoke, however, he was near to laughter. “Victor, what a miracle you are. An hour ago, I hoped for nothing better than to rot in these chains; to suffer an eternity of insatiable hunger. Now you come to me with the means of my final liberation. Mine will be the sweetest imaginable death; I will pass with the taste of your lips still on mine.”

Humble apologies for the shortness of this week’s chapter. 🙇‍♂️ Had a bit of an unwinnable argument with this one where it was going to be far, far too long if I didn’t cut it somewhere, and this was the only possible point at which to cut it. I’ll make it up to you next week!

-St John

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