Page 44 of Obsession

“That’s not all of it, though,” he says. “You should work on being honest toward yourself, Mary. The truth does wonders.”

“Does it now?” I reply flatly.

Aris’ smile grows. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, before disappearing into the shadows of the room.

I toss my fork at the place he just inhabited.

Chapter eleven

The next day, he takes me to Rome. The day after, Sydney. And then Las Vegas. Moscow. Istanbul. And on we go, on a tour of the end of the world.

Often, Ryan joins us, or Aris brings his gifted followers—to their utter delight—but mostly, it’s the two of us, where I have a front seat to utter destruction. He enjoys utilizing what I call his lethal touch, where he simply taps a building and it disintegrates. He likes zapping, where he points at things and they either explode or implode.

Aris likes transforming, too. His favorite form is one of a large, black dragon. When I stand next to it, I don’t even reach the top of his talons. His scales are as twice as wide as I am tall, his roar so loud it shakes the ground and shatters every piece of glass within a mile radius. In this form, he gives in to his true nature, where he is more beast than civilized man.

I feel a duality watching him spray fire from his mouth, transfixed by the majestic beauty and horrified by what he uses the powerful body for.

Sometimes, even Aris grows tired; slaughter is monotonous when there is no one to oppose him. He has minions who do most of the work for him—mindless, disgusting, indestructible beasts, insatiable in their need to kill and appease their master. During these times, Aris takes me to the tallest building in each city, where he has a good view of his monsters. Like piranhas, they are quick to devour; buildings fall in minutes—a tristate area decimated in days.

Where he chooses to attack next is random. Sometimes he will throw pins at a map, and other times he lets his followers choose during mass. Because his attacks are so unpredictable, there are usually people in the cities when we arrive.

Some escape; most don’t.

A month of this passes. Just standing and watching the world end. Listening to him laugh while it does.

I keep hoping that he will tire of me, that I'll begin to bore him, that something, anything, will change, but he is unwavering.

Sometimes, I can sleep, but mostly I just lay. I wonder where we will go the next day and how many will die. I wonder how much longer the spell will take to work. He had a moment of fogginess weeks ago, but that’s been the only sign.

I stick to his side like a bur; I witness every atrocity. But it doesn’t do any good.

At what point does hope become disillusionment?

One day, we are standing on a bell tower in Florence, watching the city decay and burn. A place of art, the center of the Renaissance and Western culture, in ruins. Two streets over, a creature made of thorns is destroying a piazza, laying dents in statutes and mosaics, and turning buildings to dust.

I feel lost watching, almost angry. Does Aris really not remember the history books we read in our cell? How can he not care at all?

I consider toppling off the side of the tower. The fall would kill me. Would it be quick? How long would I lay there on the ground, head caved in? Would I be so demented from the fall that, as red blotted my vision, I’d think the blood was stars?

Aris says, “You are being quiet.”

I turn to him. “I think I might be depressed.”

He sighs; he had suspected this. “It’s all of the murder, isn’t it?”

“Maybe, yes.”

“It won’t be much longer.”

Until it’s over. And then what? Will I live in that house with him, forever? Will he kill me and go to the next planet? Take me with him?

Will I stay with him, always?

Aris clicks his tongue, and I look back at him. “It isn’t entertaining, seeing you defeated like this.”

“So you’ll stop trying to kill everyone?”

He gives me a look. “No.”

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