Tainted by Darkness

Inked

As the needle makes its last stroke on the creamy flesh of her hip, I wipe the remains of my lifeblood from skin that is forever stained with the darkness of my soul. Our pact is complete; she is mine for the price of fame. I watch her leave, the tinkle from the bell over the door a final farewell to the last of my living customers for the day.

New Orleans is panning out to be more lucrative than I first thought when I moved here a century or so ago. Not only do I have a reliable yeild for the foreseeable future, but the vessels serve for entertainment while I wait to collect on our bargain.

Tonight's harvest is perhaps the most enjoyable of them all. I’ve waited many years to collect on the bargain Christophe made with me. He was so easily corrupted. A good boy, by today's definition, tempted by lust and bought for the price of a lover's kiss. He should have asked for more, but who am I to argue over the cost one man places on his soul? Too bad that kiss cost the girl her life.

Drugs, alcohol abuse, theft, assault are all on his long list of misdemeanours. Tonight will see him commit his best crime yet and is the one that secures both his fate and the fate of his soon-to-be victim. However, his death will be by my hand and mine alone.

I walk quickly, the chill of the November air doesn't affect me as it does the homeless bum who sleeps in the alleyway beside my shop. I hear him coughing from the shadows as I pass by.

"Please," he begs the café owner. "You're tossing it out anyway. What difference does it make if I eat it?"

His tone stops me; the sound of his pleading implying a perfect opportunity has presented itself. The café door slams in his face and I see his silhouette slump back against the wall dejectedly.

"Hungry?" I ask as I approach, producing a wallet from my breast pocket.

He nods, eyes widening with interest when I pull a twenty from the depths of the black leather. "I haven't eaten in three days. Please, Sir."

Waving the bill in front of his face, he follows the movement with his eyes. I can see him salivate. "What's it worth to you?"

He blinks. "Anything, I'll do anything for a decent meal. Please!"

"Will you sell your soul old man?" Christophe may have to wait. If the gleam of greed I see shimmering in the homeless bum’s aura is anything to go by, he may prove to be useful. “Do we have a deal?”

He reaches for the money, snatching it from my grasp to hold it tight against his chest.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” I reply to his anguished grunt when he realises the note is still in my hand. “Follow me, there’s a little matter of a contract to sign.”

Call me sentimental if you must, but I can’t in good conscience let a man, suffering as a consequence of a society that predominantly serves me, sell me his soul for so little. “Do you ever play the lottery, John?” I ask, withdrawing a vial of my lifeblood from the fridge.

His eyes are transfixed on the mists swirling violently inside the vial. He makes no comment.

After I wipe the remnants from his weathered skin, which is now stained with the darkness of my soul, I pass him his price, adding, “Buy yourself a lottery ticket this week. I have a feeling your luck is about to change.”

Glancing at my watch, I realise I still have time to catch Christophe tonight if I take the Harley. I’m still a street away when I hear it again; a song so compelling I can’t help but seek its owner. Excitement mounts as I approach the garage and someone inside is waving a gun in the attendants face.

She’s there too, the girl from the mall, I can feel her presence.

I laugh when I spot her huddled in a corner with her fist in her mouth, trying to stifle the melody that sends shivers of delight throughout my being.

I’m relieved when the deed is done and the victim’s soul is secure within the orb. I need to leave before I give in to her temptation. It’s as I leave, that I see the mark upon her flesh; the mark of those sent back to the mortal realm.

It’s been eighteen years since I made the bargain with the Ban Sidhe to take her soul in exchange for the baby’s, upsetting Fate as a consequence. Would Fate be so cruel as to bind her to me, not just as my protégée? A companion sent to torment me after so long in solitude?

A more beautiful creature I have never seen in my long existence. She captivates me. Tempts me. Makes me want what I can never have. I am Reaper, otherwise known as Death. One glance at my true features will banish both of us to the void that is Akasha.

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Author’s Note: (I’ve not used one of these in a really long time)

I have a bit of a conundrum going on inside my head after rewriting this short with more detail. I figured I could do with some reader input. Who better to ask than my readers, right?

What are your thoughts about combining this short story, ‘Inked’ with ‘A Song For The Ferryman’ and making an independent longer story from them?

Do you think they’d work together?

Does the précis have merit to make something more from it?

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Whatever your thoughts on the matter, they would be very much appreciated.

Xx Jules xX