Chapter I: The Same Place
What does it matter, a dream of love
Or a dream of lies
We're all gonna be in the same place
When we die
Your spirit don't leave knowing
Your face or your name
And the wind through your bones
Is all that remains
- Tom Waits, "Dirt in the Ground"
Friday, November 13, 1981
Oskar Ericsson sat in the compartment of the train that was heading west, away from the dismal suburb of Blackeberg. Away with you! Be gone forever! He's fidgeting with jubilance and apprehension, contemplating his recent reversal of fortune. Just a month prior to this moment he was a lonely, friendless kid, full of dread and anxiety, with an overprotective mother who didn't know him or listen to him, an indifferent father who lived half a country away and was a pathetic drunk, and a school full of vile jerks who always wanted to beat and humiliate him. They hated him. He hated himself. Hated the world, hated everyone and everything in it. He had no interests, other than murder. He kept a scrapbook of newspaper articles about murders and imagined that he was the killer in the stories. He played games by himself (always by himself), pretending that he was a serial killer by stabbing trees in the woods along Canaan path behind his apartment complex.
The trees had names: Micke, Tomas...
...Jonny... What are you looking at, you fucking idiot? Do you want to die?
He wanted to see public executions, eyes melting, skin crackling and hair burning when the electricity was switched on, or swollen tongues protruding from purple lips as the noose tightens around the necks of the condemned, their eyes popping loose, their hanging bodies twitching in their last gasp spasmodic attempts to live. Oskar has been gasping for breath for as long as he can remember, struggling to survive in a world in which he never belonged. Living wasn't a choice. Survival was optional.
As Oskar looked out of the compartment window, watching the trees go by (what could their names be?) he thought to himself, No more of that. That's all meaningless. Leave it behind. As far as he was concerned, the old Oskar is dead, along with his empty life and cold world. School and it's lunatic inmates, the Lover's kiosk, Tommy, Johan, Maria-Louise, Herr Ávila, even his mother, none of it mattered. It's all empty, dead. Leave it all behind. The train sped further and further away from Blackeberg.
They can rot in Hell.
He had a new life to look forward to, far away from Blackeberg, and the further the train travelled from the miserable Stockholm suburb, the happier he felt. He had a new purpose in his life, a reason to go on. He was ready to die in that pool. He was dead anyway. But a few weeks prior he did something unimaginable. He made a friend. A real friend. Not a phony backstabber like Johan, but a true, honest to goodness comrade, an equal, his other self. A friend whom he passionately loves beyond reason. But that friend left, was forced to flee due to bizarre circumstances that will soon be in all the newspapers in Sweden, in articles that Oskar would have clipped and pasted into his album if he weren't directly involved, if his meaningless life didn't change, if he still had the Pissball in his pants.
Fucking pathetic.
The day that Oskar's friend ran off is the day that he died. Nothing had any meaning. But then a miracle occurred. His friend returned! Rescued him from the pool, completing his ablution. He doesn't know all of the details since he was only semi-conscious and blue, but apparently Jonny and his brother Jimmy nearly drowned Oskar in the pool before pulling him out to stab his eye with a stiletto. That's when his friend swooped in and butchered them both, ripping their heads off, leaving blood everywhere, even on the ceiling. Then Oskar was whisked away, leaving behind two headless corpses and a few shocked (or entertained) onlookers, including Jonny's flunky, Micke Siskov. Oskar's only regret was that he couldn't kill them himself. No, his friend did it. His everything, his great love. And where is this great love now?
"Is that yours?"
He turned to see a man in uniform by the now open door of the compartment. The man was pointing at an old fashioned trunk on the floor between the seats. For a moment, he thought the man was a policeman until he recognized the train conductor uniform, a gold nameplate on his left breast coat pocket saying "Larsson." Oskar nodded to the conductor's question and handed over his ticket. The conductor punched the ticket and handed it back.
"Is someone meeting you at the other end?"
Oskar shook his head, saying "it's not as heavy as it looks."
"No, of course. What have you got in there, if you don't mind my asking?"
My life. My love. "A little bit of everything."
The conductor checked his watch before opining, "It will be evening when we arrive, you know."
"Mmm."
"The boxes, are they also yours?" He pointed at two fairly large cardboard boxes on the luggage rack.
"Yes." Will you mind your own goddamned business?!
"Look, I don't mean to…"
Bullshit!
"But how are you going to manage?"
For Christ sake! "I'll get help. Later."
"I see. Right. Have a good trip, then."
"Thanks." Oskar flashed a beaming smile. He couldn't help it. The absurdity of this whole scenario made him giddy. That some schlemiel would barge in and get nosy about his luggage. And you know damn well that he wouldn't say Jack shit if I was anyone else. It somehow struck Oskar as humorous. The conductor had every right to be suspicious, considering that he was a child travelling alone, considering what was in the trunk, or who.
"My Eli. I'll never let anything happen to you," he whispered as he laid his hand on the trunk, trying to feel her presence through the wood. He leaned down and kissed the lid, then placed his forehead against it and whispered, "we'll never separate again."
His Eli, his friend, his great love, his girl. She's not a girl. He didn't care. She's not even human. So what. Gender and Species are meaningless labels. Oskar turned his head and pressed his cheek to the trunk, hugging it with both arms, as he remembered back to when Eli first hinted that she isn't a girl. It was when he hugged her for the first time. A hug that was all too brief as Eli pushed herself away, shaking her head. She must have been too overwhelmed at the time. He remembered vividly:
'Oskar, do you like me?'
'Yes. A lot'
'If I turned out not to be a girl… would you still like me?'
She became so serious just after being goofy at the Lover's kiosk, poking fun at the baboon behind the window.
'No banaaaanas?'
Oskar burst out laughing. It's their inside joke. But the way she changed her mood so swiftly was a bit unsettling. It was one of Eli's eccentricities that Oskar has learned to accept. He had to restrain himself from laughing too hard. Didn't want to wake Eli.
And then the following night, she came into his bed, smelling of gasoline.
Naked.
Another one of her eccentricities, not caring what she wore or if she wore anything at all. Somehow this quirk didn't bother him as much. But on that night, she brought it up again.
'I'm not a girl.'
'What do you mean? You're a guy?'
'No, no.'
'Then what are you?'
'Nothing.'
'What do you mean, nothing?'
'I'm nothing. Not a child. Not old. Not a boy. Not a girl. Nothing.'
"You couldn't be further from the truth if you tried," he said as he sat back and reclined against the wall. That was an evening that he wished never ended. Eli in his bed, naked, vulnerable, holding him tight and pressing her face on his back. Sure, she kind of smelled, but hygiene was never very high on her list of priorities. He doesn't mind that anymore either.
Oskar still had the note that Eli wrote that night.
THEN WINDOW. LET DAY IN AND LET LIFE OUT. SEE YOU TONIGHT, ELI
He was about to reach into his wallet where he kept Eli's notes when he realized that he was still holding onto the train ticket. He looked at it intently. Stockholm to Karlstad, one way. He glared at it with profound longing as he grinned unconsciously. He just couldn't believe that it was actually happening. My new life, with my love. It'll just be the two of us. He briefly gazed out the window, but what he saw didn't register. That's not my world anymore. Then he looked at the trunk with an even bigger smile. thinking that it looked like a pirate treasure chest, with all the treasure in the world locked in it. He put his head back against the wall, his eyelids getting heavy as he peeked at the trunk.
All the treasure in the world.
Oskar turned his head and looked at the wall nearest him as his eyelids became weighted and everything dimmed. The wall looked like a forest meadow, just like his old bedroom in Blackeberg, very green, with hidden creatures peering through the leaves. Very briefly, hardly noticeable. He could have sworn he saw a beautiful wood sprite, melding with the bark of a tree, abruptly materialize from the bark and flitter to a shrub of lingonberries. But he lost sight of it when a long bearded gnome arose from a hole in the ground. The gnome stared straight at Oskar as its twisted face grew and came closer to his. It snarled, opened its drooling mouth wide, revealing two rows of jagged broken teeth. The mouth howled and widened, and Oskar felt himself falling into the gaping maw, an enormous, spiraling wormhole, until he emerged on the other side, still seated, facing the same wall of forest wallpaper. He could still hear the howling, more distant, coming from the other side of the wall. The howls were yells of an angry man, and Oskar knew immediately that it was Håkan, the old guy that he thought was Eli's father. Håkan kept yelling while Eli tried to speak softly in response to whatever was being said. It was all gibberish. There was a BANG! and Oskar knew then to look out the window. He expected to see Håkan storm out of the yard of the apartment complex, but what he saw was Håkan violently raping a small, naked, blood soaked child, and Oskar knew that the child was his Eli.
Oh God, NO!
Håkan's ugly face twisted with glee as he pounded his hips hard against Eli's buttocks, fatally choking her with large, calloused hands and twisting her head over her back in an impossible contortion. Eli gasped for breath so she could scream, but she was being choked so hard that her eyes were bulging out of her sockets, her tongue distending from her cambered mouth, her pelvis and spine fracturing with each vicious thrust. Oskar couldn't take it. He screamed, "STOP!" as he shook his head violently to wake up, and fell onto the floor of the train car compartment, next to the trunk.
He laid on the floor, convulsing, hyperventilating, snot and saliva pouring out of his mouth and nose as he moaned, "no… no… no…" until he managed to lift his head off the floor and touch the trunk with his two hands, gasping for air.
"Eli… Eli… I wish I could… be in there… with you…"
He desperately wanted to open the lid and see if she was OK. He wanted to take her out and hold her tight, but there was still daylight coming in the window, and he was shaken to the core, fighting the urge to vomit. Oskar panted for a few more minutes before he regained his strength. When he stood up, he noticed that the train wasn't moving. He needed air, so he opened the window and breathed in the cold air deeply. He felt the oxygen seep into his cells, like a dry sponge immersed in water, and felt much better. But that dream.
My God! What brought that on?
He reasoned that he must be more anxious about this whole endeavor than he realized. After all, he's never lived away from his mother before, except when he visited his father. He put his face in his hands, but saw that horrible vision again. "Shit!" he blurted out as he ripped his hands away. He stuck his head out of the window, inhaled again deeply and looked. The Enköping station with its gabled tan station house was outside his window.
Enköping. Over two hundred kilometers to go.
Another deep breath as Oskar observed a drunk slumped on a bench, yelling at no one in particular. Then a couple arguing to each other a little too vigorously about house cleaning chores or some other triviality. Just more reminders of what he was getting away from. Oskar slowly shook his head as he observed, when he heard the door open behind him.
"Oh… uh, yes. OK…" A middle aged man in business attire stood at the door holding a good sized luggage case, looking a little befuddled. Oskar stayed at the window and looked over his shoulder at the man, who was looking at the trunk on the floor. The trunk was placed in a way so that it would be difficult for someone to sit down without stepping over it.
GET. OUT.
Oskar glowered at the man, unblinking, with a psychotic scowl that gave the man chills. The man looked at Oskar, then the trunk and muttered softly, "sorry," as he left to find another compartment.
Prick.
Oskar sat down, a little too hard on his coccyx, when the train started moving again. OUCH! As he rubbed his backside he noticed his ticket on the floor next to his spittle stain and picked it up. He put the ticket in his inside coat pocket when he felt his knife, long forgotten. He smiled when he remembered playing in the corridors of his apartment basement with Eli. She proclaimed him the Knight of Ängby Maybe, Jonny Slayer. She was a monster fighting the brave knight, running around the corridors, Oskar with his knife, Eli with a plastic sword found in a garbage bin. Good times, before Oskar knew the truth. She looked really sickly that night. Frail and scrawny. Grey hair. He was always worried that she didn't have enough to eat, that her "father" neglected her. Little did he know what she ate.
'GO! OR YOU'LL DIE!'
She could have killed me. The thing in her could have killed me. But she fought it off. That was the first time that she saved my life. I was a dumb kid playing a dumb kid game with the blood pact, but for Eli, it was real.
'Come on. Don't you want to?'
'Oskar… we can't. You would be infected…'
Oskar shook his platinum blonde head slowly when he thought, If that never happened, would I be on this train now? He sighed deeply. It doesn't matter now. There are no more lies between us. He felt himself dozing off again, so he shook his head hard to stay awake. Damn! He didn't want to risk dreaming again. I need something to do.
He got up and rummaged through the box of puzzles, being careful not to disturb the fine shards of the egg. Let her fix that. There's no way I could. He looked for his old Rubik's Cube, but it wasn't there. What the hell! I thought she took it when she left. It occurred to him that she didn't pack it. Instead, she took it when she fled. He didn't understand how the other puzzles worked, with their intricate knots, bends and whatnot, so he sighed and closed the box, empty handed. She must have lost the cube when she rescued me from the pool. That was a hectic evening after all. They had no time to pack anything else. They just took Oskar's clothes from the gym and the two boxes in the apartment basement. Then they took off, never to come back.
They were just friends that hung out and played (and sometimes shared a bed) when Eli warned Oskar about being infected. They were very close since neither one of them had any friends, ostracized and desperately lonely, and they saw in each other a hope for happiness. Eli didn't want to spoil that, didn't want to contaminate Oskar, in fear of losing her first friend in nearly two hundred years. Two hundred years of numb indifference to herself and to the world, a world full of live, involuntary blood donors and the occasional mentally ill individual willing to help her, and victimize her. Did she feel that it was God's justice to be prey for serial killers, pedophiles and monsters?
The Monster…
The Lord, with chalk white skin and sky blue eyes, painted black nails and a huge blonde wig... and needle sharp teeth. The beginning of the end of things. The monster who took away the manhood from an innocent boy named Elias, who took away his joy, his freedom, and his life. Emasculated, for no other reason than for fun. Stripped and chained, a bleeding, beaten, wretched whelp. Chained in a pitch black stone cell, damp, windowless and airless, to be left, barely alive, for the pleasure of the Monster. To be bitten and drained of blood. Tortured and beaten, and bled again and again for an indeterminate length of time. To be force-fed bowls of human blood for the sole purpose of having that same consumed blood poured out of fresh rips in his throat, or the reopened gaping wound in his crotch, and into the gullet of the Monster. Elias died in that cell, his mind erased by the countless years of perdition, detached, letting the infection consume him, swallow his soul, his only way to cope with this vile punishment. Punishment for what? For being a lazy, mischievous, good for nothing child? For reading poetry and running in the wheat fields, climbing trees and swimming in the creek, catching fish with his bare hands, then napping on the shore, basking in the sun? Or was it for being pretty, looking like a girl? Maybe Elias was a boy that God meant to be a girl, and the Lord was simply correcting God's mistake. Elias was a mistake, and had to be punished for being a mistake, he had to be corrected. His genitals had to be removed, as well as his will, his identity, and his blood. He was a naughty, disobedient child who had to be broken, tortured into submission. He was never meant to be, so he had to die.
Squeal like a pig…
Before a pig is to be slaughtered it must be knocked unconscious. The most common method is to stun it with a captive bolt pistol just above the nasal bone, being careful not to fracture the skull and spray bone shards into the brain, dislodging the brain tissues, which could pollute the meat, and the precious blood. When stunned, the throat should be cut from ear to ear all the way down to the spinal column. Both the jugular vein and carotid artery must be completely severed. Then the unfortunate swine should be hung from its legs to help facilitate the draining of blood, which should take no more than five minutes. The blood can be saved to make such Swedish delicacies as Blodpudding, Blodkorv, Blodplätter…
I think Piggy needs a whipping…
Yes, at one time it was desirable to witness an execution. Not so much anymore. After all, it's much too sanitized these days, too painless. The electric chair is no longer in vogue, losing out to lethal injections. How dull. Everyone is so gung ho about making the death penalty as quick and painless as possible, that the reasons for making them gruesome are now forgotten. Even hangings, if you're lucky to witness one, isn't what it used to be. A quick snap of the neck and it's over. The moment needs to be savored, like a fine English ale, or a handful of stolen Jams. Raise the noose slowly, let the breath and life trickle away. See the death struggle. See the body spasm, the eyes bulge, the tongue swell. Listen to the gagging. What a spectacle!
Piggy's going to take a bath…
Now, as for the English, there was a time, from approximately the 13th to the early 19th centuries, when they really knew how to put on a show! They weren't just satisfied with a hanging. Oh, no no no. They would first hang the condemned properly, gently, until he was nearly dead. Then he would be released and strapped to a wooden stretcher, when the poor soul would have his genitals cut off. After a little screaming and spurting of blood the executioner would then cut open the victim's belly and pull out his intestines. If the condemned somehow managed to survive all of this, he was then forced to watch his bowels be set on fire, or fed to dogs, before the executioner would finally behead him, and then dismember the corpse. What a glorious sight that must have been!
You're going to die now, you understand?
To die, slowly, painfully, in a humiliating spectacle. To be hung from a tree, but not by the neck. Death by asphyxiation can take much longer, sometimes days, if the victim's arms are splayed out and bound to the wood. Breathing becomes more labored as the muscles weaken and the lungs lose support. Crucifixion has been in various use for hundreds of years by the Greeks, Phoenicians and Carthaginians before the Romans perfected its savage potential. It was the Romans who used crucifixion as a deterrent to treason, often displaying thousands of crucified rebels at a time along roads or city walls. It was the Romans who made the use of nails to attach the victims to the cross a common practice, and they knew exactly where to pound those nails in to produce the most pain, for it was long, agonizing pain that they were trying to achieve, not just humiliating public displays. It was the Romans who flogged the condemned before nailing them up, and sometimes after. Thanks to Roman ingenuity, there were many causes of death by crucifixion. Besides asphyxiation (not a problem if you don't need to breathe) there was also simple exhaustion, especially when the arms lost all of their strength and popped out of their shoulder sockets. Hypovolemia was also common due to the excessive whippings, as well as sepsis and dehydration. Death from system shock due to the endless hours of pain wasn't an unreasonable conclusion, as well as simple exposure to the elements. The Sun…
We'll have to start training him again…
To be, or not to be, that is not the question. The very premise is specious. Peoples from Western cultures have an unfounded belief that death is the end of everything, that death is equivalent to oblivion, non-existence. Limbo is taboo, something to be feared and avoided at all costs. So the peoples of Western cultures invented false religions and afterlife fantasies to help alleviate their terror of the dark. But oblivion is not to be feared since it is impossible to achieve. There is no death after life, but rather a fundamental change of being. Life, as we think of it, is not a natural state of being, so it must be temporary, brief. The stuff that makes a human being, or a dog or a snail or the dirt in the ground is the same stuff that is boiling in the cores of the stars in the heavens, and it's the same stuff that is floating in what appears to be empty space, as elementary particles. It is these basic free floating particles that comprise the majority of the universe's mass, and it is these particles that is the most natural state of matter and existence. These particles are what made the galaxies, planets and life on those planets, and Entropy commands that all life, planets and galaxies eventually return to that most basic state of being, as elementary particles, to the same place from which they originated. It may take hundreds of billions of years, but it will happen. Nothing lasts forever. Everything changes. Impermanence is the one true constant. Whether you are one of the Pharaohs of old Egypt mummified in your sarcophagus, or Lenin, Mao or Kim Il Sung encased in glass, or a mythical immortal being who stalks the night and thirsts for blood, you will eventually return to the Cosmos as infinitesimally small bits of matter, floating freely in space, possibly coalescing into clouds that could in future eons condense into stars and planets, and start the cycle all over again. Subatomic particles may be everlasting, but consciousness is not, and aye, there truly is the rub! For when you are dead and the matter that you are comprised of is dust in the wind, where will your consciousness be? Will you have any awareness that you ever lived at all, and if not, is that desirable? Is it just for a rich Capitalist plutocrat to die and have his memories of a luxurious life and crimes against humanity stripped away? Is it a comfort for a poor wretch to die and be oblivious to his former horrible existence? But the most pressing question: is it worthwhile to go through the trouble of living a meaningful life if you will have no recollection of it after death? What's the point? To live, to love…
Eli…
It IS worth it!
OSKAR!
His eyes snap open with a start when the scream explodes in his head, like a gunshot in church. He's disoriented, doesn't know where he is. He's lying on a seat in a train.
Karlstad. Our new life together.
It came back to him with a thrill. The compartment is cold. He forgot to close the window. As he raised himself to close the window he noticed that it was dark outside, and the train is now stopped. He stuck his head out of the window, but didn't recognize anything, just darkness, a platform with a few benches, some leafless trees and shrubs, lined with powdery snow, and a distant sound of a struggle of some sort.
What is that?
Oskar turned to investigate about the train's whereabouts, when his heart suddenly leapt to his throat. The trunk is missing! "Oh my God!" Oskar gasped as he aimlessly looked around the compartment, thinking that he was mistaken. He heard more commotion outside, louder this time.
"I got you now, you fucking bitch!"
"NO! Let me go! OSKAR!"
There was no hesitation. Oskar sprinted out of the compartment, down the hall and out of the train. On the opposite side of the platform, about fifty meters away, he saw two kids, about Oskar's age, holding the arms of a screaming, thrashing child, no bigger than a nine year old, with wild black hair that was flailing about frantically, concealing her face.
My Eli!
The two punks were dragging her to the edge of the platform. Oskar unsheathed his knife and ran at breakneck speed toward the struggle. He recognized the boys as Micke Siskov and Tomas Ahlstedt. They must have been on another car all this time, waiting for an opportunity. "Let her go!" he yelled at the punks as they held Eli over the track. An oncoming train was approaching.
"Do you really mean it?" said Tomas with a devilish grin.
"I'll fucking KILL YOU!" As Oskar lunged ahead, he was caught from behind and held back. The inbound train was approaching fast.
"No, Oskar. Let them do it. It's what she deserves." He couldn't turn around to see who was speaking, but knew it was his mother.
"No, Mamma! NO!"
"You're coming home with me. We're going to forget about all of this."
"Mamma, they'll kill her! Let me GO!" Oskar was helpless, struggling in his Mother's iron grip, as Micke and Tomas pushed Eli on the track just as the train arrived.
"NEJ! NEJ! NEJ!" Oskar was hysterical, flirting with insanity, when he wildly shook off his Mother and turned to swing his blade at her neck, but the blade just swished through the neck without causing any harm, and he saw with horror that his Mother was actually Jonny, his left ear a black festering mound. Micke and Tomas pushed Oskar down on his back, and Jonny straddled him and snarled in Oskar's face:
"Just so you get it. How things are going to be around here. Understand?"
"FUCK YOU!" Oskar tried to roll away as Jonny and his two stooges shook him violently. He clenched his teeth and eyes as he foamed at the mouth and raged like a mad man, head shaking, until he opened his eyes and saw a gold nameplate saying "Larsson" on it, dangling over his face.
"Hey kid! Wake up. Snap out if it."
Oskar heaved and thrashed as he woke up. His face was drenched in sweat and drool, his mouth bleeding from biting his tongue. He stared at the conductor with tears streaming down his face, wet sweaty hair plastered to his scalp. His disorientation was brief, and he whimpered, "I'm sorry…"
"You were making quite a ruckus, lad. Are you OK? Let me help you up."
"I… I…"
"No need to say anything. I know how these long trips can affect some people, especially kids. And you being alone and all…"
Oskar saw that it was nearly dusk outside and asked with wispy breaths, "how much longer… to Karlstad?"
"About twenty minutes. You sure you're OK? Do you need anything? Some water or…" he was patting Oskar's forehead with a handkerchief.
"I'm OK. Thanks."
"You sure you can handle all your luggage? I'd be happy to help."
Oskar sighed deeply. There is some kindness left in the world. "Thanks. I could use the help, if it's not too much trouble."
The conductor smiled and nodded, slapped Oskar's knee, and got up to leave. "I'll see you in twenty."
"Thanks."
When Larsson left, Oskar just sat, staring at nothing, when the tears slowly welled up, and he wept, first softly, then gradually escalating to lamenting wails. I couldn't go on without her. Nothing can ever happen to her. If she would ever die, I would… I would… "OOHH!"
When Oskar moaned, he heard a sound emanating from the trunk.
..- - (Ut). Out.
Oskar wiped his tears away with his sleeve and smiled bitterly as he tapped back.
... -. .- .-. - (Snart). Soon.
Yes, he will cry when he feels the need. Male machismo, bah! Just more false posturing. He's done with phony, man made personalities and trying to impress, not that that was ever his style. It's just him and Eli. Nothing else matters. Yes, at one time they were just friends who pretended to do adult things like going steady and sharing a bed, but on that last night, the night she fled, they became soulmates, lovers, two halves of one whole. And when her half fled, his half withered. His life alone is irrelevant.
Oskar couldn't take it anymore. He had to be whole again. He went down on his knees and turned the trunk so it faced opposite the window. Then he took off his coat, rolled up his right sleeve, cracked open the lid slightly and slid his arm in the trunk. Eli took his arm, held it gently with lithe hands and rubbed her face and cheeks in Oskar's hand, like a cat. Oskar caressed her silky hair as she gradually slinked up his bare arm with soft kisses from her beautiful lips, then down again to kiss and lick his hand and fingers. Oskar sighed in delight as Eli lightly massaged the palm of his hand with the tip of her tongue and her soft lips, as her hands petted his arm. Her breath was growing heavier, her kisses a little harder, when Oskar looked at the palm of his left hand and shook his head, disappointed in himself.
'Would you want to… become like me?'
'…no, I would like to be with you, but…'
'No, of course you don't. I understand.'
How could you do that? Turn her down? She invited you in. What's the matter with you? He vowed never to disappoint Eli again. He decided right then and there that they will mix. He will be infected. Oskar wants to share everything with Eli, and that includes her illness. If he is going to love her, he is going to love every part of her, including the parasite in her heart.
Then why did I say no?
He did come close to having a mental breakdown when Eli slaughtered Lacke in her bathroom. That sight was just too awful. Eli, naked and severely wounded, huge gashes on her back and legs, covered in the blood that filled the tub before Lacke emptied it. Eli slipping out of the tub, falling on the stunned bum, and draining him dry.
You think you can do that? If you're going to be infected, then you'll have to kill. You'll have to drink blood. Can you handle that, or will you need your Pissball again?
That thought, combined with Eli's tongue tickling his arm, made him giggle a little. He always was a fearful child, until he was encouraged by Eli to defend himself. His fear made him an easy target for bullies. But Eli's love and friendship changed that, gave him confidence, made him a man.
Well then, it's time to man up.
She again went up and down his arm while holding his hand in both of hers, rubbing his arm with her cheeks, neck and mouth. Oskar was hoping that Eli would take a bite. I love her so much. She can drain me dry. My blood is hers. My life is hers. Take me. Infect me. We'll be together forever.
He lost track of time as Eli continued to make love to his bare arm. Her breath was faster and much heavier as she rapidly stroked his forearm, up, down, up, down, with the full length of her tongue, hard and fast. Oskar was getting aroused, breathing heavily, but didn't dare to make a sound, in case there were other passengers in the adjacent compartments.
Drink my blood. Infect me NOW!
His arousal was intensifying as he pet Eli's soft cheeks and hair, and then found her luscious lips with his thumb. His thumb forced itself in her mouth, and pressed hard on her teeth, willing them to sharpen.
Bite me. My blood is yours.
But Eli didn't bite. Instead she started sucking Oskar's thumb, at first gently, then more vigorously and fast, in and out, in and out, as her breath grew heavy and hot again. Oskar's penis was throbbing. He shoved his free hand in his pants and started rubbing the head of his stiff cock to the rhythm of Eli's sucking, hissing through his clenched teeth, until a terrible thought popped in his mind.
Is this what she did with Håkan? Did she do… sex stuff to him? Did he force her? Was that his price for helping her?
Nagging questions, and the horrific nightmare of Håkan raping her, rolled in his brain and destroyed the moment. His ecstasy turned into anger. I'll be damned if we have any grown up helpers. No more of that. I won't let anyone touch her, not even look at her. Never again! Who knows how many there were before Håkan. She didn't say. She probably didn't want to upset me. How many forced her to do… things? That's it! If she gets any new grown up helpers, I'll fucking kill them!
The mood now ruined, Oskar gently stroked Eli's cheek and ear, briefly ran his hungry fingers through her mink soft hair, and pulled out his right arm from the box and his left hand from his pants, then he peered inside the trunk and saw two sad, glowing eyes peer into his soul, afflicted and longing. He whispered to the eyes, "almost there. We have to get ready," then reluctantly closed the lid with loving gentleness before sitting down, too hard again, hurting his coccyx even more, and without realizing it, Oskar stuck the thumb that was in Eli's mouth into his, savoring her saliva while thinking, just the two of us against the world, together for all time, forever…
...or until they were both dirt in the ground.
