Page 1 of Obsession

Prologue

Aris used to think of it as a menagerie. Look at the birds squawk and sing; this one has rainbow feathers and a different cry. Here is a tiger, a monkey, a horse; how will they react to this versus that? Take a fish out of water, force a zebra to the bottom of the sea.

Now, though it could still be called a zoo, Aris dubs it his theater. This classification feels more proper, because coming here is something like watching a play. Like humans, Aris goes to the theater to get his entertainment. Unlike humans, he is able to create his own, narrowly tailored amusement.

Aris walks down a hall with a thousand doors, each connected to a different room. They aren’t rooms in the human sense of the word, more like… ecosystems. Each has its own construct of time and torture. No two are alike.

He opens a door and stares into the scene he constructed. In front of him are trees and foliage, a detailed rendition of a deciduous forest that no lay person would recognize as an illusion. Aris doesn’t walk forward, just closes his eyes as he goes searching for the mind of the girl he placed here.

How long has it been? He started his zoo during the duller moments at the Institute, but Aris can’t place the exact moment this particular woman’s nightmare began. He can’t remember her name either, but, then again, it doesn’t matter. He probably never knew it.

Ah, there.

Aris slips inside her head neatly, with a smile.

She doesn’t remember her name either. She also doesn’t know how long she’s been here.

She’s given up on ever leaving. There is no escape: no running, no hiding. Even death, which used to scare her so greatly, has been taken from her.

She crouches now at a shallow creek, shrouded by large Evergreens with needles that paint the forest green. Shakily, desperately, she cups water in her mouth and gulps it down. Stopping is a risk, but her throat has been burning for days now. So dry, so parched, she doubts she could form words even if she wanted to.

Suddenly, something rustles in the brush behind her, and she jerks upright.

It’s back.

Sometimes, during the endless hikes, the scorching days and frozen nights, she wonders what it is. Who it is… Was. Someone like her, forced to play this game—a once-human turned mad, made beast? Did it have a family and motivations and dreams, or was it something created from the dark itself? Was it never anything but bloodlust and hatred?

Now, she doesn’t have time to wonder.

She runs.

She runs until she chokes on air, the sweat dripping down her neck and mingling with the dried blood on her chest. She runs until her lungs burn and her feet catch. The ground runs up to meet her, the skin on her knees and palms opening against the jagged earth.

A glance over her shoulder tells her what she already knew: she hasn’t made it more than two feet from the creek.

As she sobs, the beast emerges from the trees with a roar. On its hind legs, it’s about nine feet tall and twice as wide as a door. Its upper body is a bulbous mass of bone, gut, and sinew, held together by shadows that human hands jut out of. Its arms, half darkness, half bone, are connected to fleshy knobs with long, sharp knives that function like claws.

It has a head but lacks a face, blind and guided by two violently sniffing nostrils. There is another slit below these holes that conceals rows of jagged teeth—crooked and mismatched as if from different species.

The creature smells like rotting flesh, mildew, and blood. Before this, whatever this place is, she was not around enough blood to actually smell it, but it permeates from this creature, pouring off like a running faucet. It never dries or runs out. Maybe blood is like its sweat.

Even after all of this time, after all of their encounters and her many deaths, she isn’t used to the sight of it. So pungently repulsive and grotesque, it takes effort not to scream at the sight—not to gag at the smell.

And it hasn’t even killed her yet.

As if it hears her thoughts, the actor acts: he plays his part, swiping a massive claw at her back. And she plays her own: she screams, choking on blood and spit and panic.

The pain is blinding; it always is, no matter how many times it catches her. Kills her.

With another swipe, her throat opens, and she begins to die with dirt in her mouth.

After, the world around her changes. Night bleeds to day. From her fallen position, she now stands—breathing, mended and alive, in the middle of a clearing. She hasn’t been in this area of the forest before, but she knows it’s the same place from the eerie stillness of the Evergreens and the sticky, hot air.

She is alone here, the creature nowhere in sight, but it has already begun to track. Raising a hand to her unblemished throat, still feeling the way the skin had been sliced open, she shuts her eyes for a single moment.

The hunt is on. Again. She must be moving.

With a shaky breath, her hand drops to her side. She walks out of the clearing, and Aris cocks his head from the hallway, exiting the girl’s mind.

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