Page 63 of Iblis' Affliction
Talha’s chest contracted, and unsettling emotions stormed through his core, seeking a way out.
“Whatever. Get up.” Talha got to his feet and tugged Slater upright. An arm wound around his torso, tugging him somewhere. Slater stumbled, swayed, and leaned forward with all his weight, resting his sweaty forehead in the crook of Talha’s neck.
“So many flies… Funny… Is that because Slater is rotting? Did they come to feast?” Talha frowned, unsure what Slater was talking about. A weak voice seared his neck, “Slater can’t feel his legs…”
“Put pressure on your wound! Where is your fucking car?”
“So many flies…”
TALHA BARELY REGISTERED DRAGGING SLATERdown the red stone corridor, pushing the metal door open, and stumbling outside. The rising sun perforated dense clouds, showering the Earth in pink light. But even this grayish morning was too much for eyes used to darkness. It took a minute before his vision adapted and he could look around. A net of mist hung in the air, clinging to his face. A red stone minaret pierced a pink cloud, casting a thick shadow over the overgrown, desolated backyard. Through the broken windows of the old, abandoned mosque, Talha saw a white ceiling and a tapered square column. The powerful form of the once magnificent building was painfully familiar to Talha’s exhausted mind.
Turning his back to the mosque, he spotted Slater’s black Honda CR-V hiding in the shadows of currant bushes. Slapping through the debris toward it, he didn’t pay attention to the wet ground, the sharp stones stabbing his soles, or the piece of old wire that caught his pants. All he could think about was the drenched shirt and hot liquid oozing from under his fingers. Slater’s pain threshold had always been high. Never before, even when seriously wounded, had Talha seen him this pale, this immobile. Slater’s legs barely moved. His eyes dimmed, and his heavy eyelids half-swallowed his unfocused pupils.
Pulling the rear passenger door open, Talha shoved Slater in the rear seat. He didn’t register how he got into the car and started the engine, but he remembered how his hands shook when he drove out of the desolate backyard. Racing through the morning city, he constantly checked the rearview mirror to see blood pooling on the beige leather seat. Every time he took a left turn, a small wave of blood ran over the cushion and dropped to the carpet.
Slamming the brake with his foot, he parked before the main entrance of the private hospital. Getting out of the car, he opened the rear door, and grabbing Slater’s icy hand, pulled the ripper outside and into his arms. Slater’s knees buckled, and his body started sinking to the black, dusty asphalt.
Talha grounded his teeth, riled with the lack of strength. The days spent in immobility did their job, and now he felt no stronger than a newly born kitten. Wrapping Slater’s arm around his neck, he hauled him toward the main entrance.
ONE NURSE RUSHED TOWARDTalha, checking Slater’s vitals as another one darted toward the doctors’ lounge. A moment later, Miraç emerged.
“Reis, are you okay?”
“Him first,” Talha said, lifting his chin toward Slater’s pale face.
Materializing by Talha’s side, Miraç checked Slater’s eyes then his pulse, before tugging up his wet shirt. “A gurney, now! Prepare the operating room.”
Head spinning, he watched Slater being taken from his arms and placed onto the wheeled stretcher. The world dimmed, and he had to lean against the wall for balance. His mind blanked as exhaustion took over. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Miraç touched his shoulder.
“Slater?” His heart sped up from the mere thought that Slater might not make it.
“The knife scratched his liver. The laceration is small, but I wish he came sooner. We sewed the cut and drained the blood from his stomach. The burn on his hand was terribly infected; he is lucky he doesn’t have sepsis. We cleaned it and put him on antibiotics. He is in intensive care now, but he isn’t conscious. He’ll live. At least until your brother gets his hands on him.”
Miraç’s voice sounded dull. Talha rubbed his temples with his fingers. The information bounced against his tired brain.
“Reis?” A hand invaded his personal space, waving in front of his face, then grabbed his shoulder. “Reis, come with me, it looks like you need medical attention yourself.”
“I’m okay…” Talha swallowed. “I’m not wounded, but I can’t hear with my left ear and my head is spinning.”
“Come-come.” With his hand wrapped around Talha’s torso, Miraç ushered him in the office.
THREE HOURS LATER,propping himself against the wall, opposite to Slater’s medical bed, Talha drowned himself in a disgusting multi-vitamin drink and contemplation. A pile of nootropic and sedative drugs stood untouched close to the salmon sandwich wrapped in plastic. Despite spending days in captivity, hunger was the least of his problems. A part of him wanted to follow Miraç’s advice and swallow the pills to ease the noise in his head the concussion and perforated eardrum caused, but he didn’t want the sedatives to shuffle his thoughts and affect his judgment.
A quick update from Miraç revealed a pitiful picture. Camilla’s death split the Hale Family. For now, Ejder managed to avoid the war, writing things off to the confusion and the inability to recreate the whole picture of the massacre. Since Talha had been missing as well, the Hale Family never declared war, but the relationship between two organizations was irrevocably embittered. To add to it, Ejder placed a price on Slater’s head.
Refusing to talk to anyone until he decided what to do with Slater, Talha told Miraç to inform Ejder about his whereabouts and physical state. He also passed a message to Dinçer, asking him to bring his clothes. Even after taking a shower and borrowing Miraç’s spare suit, Talha couldn’t shake off the suffocating stench of decay that haunted him. He hoped that his own clothes, his scent, would help him shake it off.
“What a mess…” Talha sank his fingers into his hair. His thoughts jumped all over, and the constant tiny noise in his damaged ear kept stirring his headache. He deliberately distanced himself from Slater, so he wouldn’t strangle the wounded reaper in his sleep. Still, his eyes kept searching Slater’s pale arms, covered with healed burns and the bandage, wrapped around his right hand, the net of bluish veins stretching beneath his transparent skin and the endotracheal tube sticking out from his mouth. A part of Talha needed to reach out and touch his skin to make sure it wasn’t deathly-cold, the other one itched to disconnect the machine so the reaper would pass silently.
It was irrational. He understood it, yet he couldn’t help glancing up at the heart monitor to verify that Slater’s pulse remained stable.
After what felt like an eternity, he glanced out of the window. Another sultry, dusty day stood in full bloom, burning color out of the asphalt. Just like the color, he couldn’t stay indecisive forever. A new spike of pain pierced his head making him avert his eyes from the painfully bright landscape. Soon, he would have to face his people and explain what had happened, yet he had no idea what to say.
The truth? That I couldn’t control my reaper? That Slater was jealous of Camilla and killed her for this stupid reason? That he kept me in a dungeon for days, fucking me, torturing me?
The thought made his vision throb with red. There was no way he would ever admit it. It would be suicide. No one would respect or fear him again. He could see the faces of his enemies, full of mockery, gossiping in juicy detail that Talha’s male lover slaughtered his bride out of jealousy.
Cold sweat beaded on his nape.
