~ Chapter Eleven ~
Broken Angel
Say Goodbye, As We Dance with the Devil Tonight.
Don't You Dare Look At Him In the Eye,
As We Dance with the Devil Tonight.
Trembling, Crawling Across My Skin,
Feeling Your Cold, Dead Eyes, Stealing the Life of Mine.
Here I Stand, Helpless and Left for Dead.
Hold On, Hold On…
~Dance With the Devil, by Breaking Benjamin
Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.
Fifteen innocent men were seduced and lured to that ranch, that house, and their sanctuary of love and affection. Blue eyes were wide with the realization that none were who he wanted them to be. Furious, Eric tortured each of these trespassers, slitting their delicate throats, gutting them and brutally removing a section of their genitals. He severed their left index fingers from their bodies, secretly treasuring the dirty golden rings left in the wake of their traitorous betrayal. Fifteen golden rings glittered against the bare skin of the monster with blue eyes. Fifteen.
Spencer Reid.
Sixteen…
Night crawled through the broken glass window and covered his lanky form beneath layers of white snow and black silence. Spencer smiled softly at the familiar darkness, waiting patiently for the pressure against his (bruised, broken, shattered) bones to lessen with the falling of ice and snowflakes. Sharp icicles ripped into his tender skin, yet he could not feel the pain of the blood rushing through the wounds. Numb, Spencer remained within the clutches of the blizzard, his broken body slowly becoming cold and stiff and frozen. He was a corpse. Dead to the world.
"Come, I have you now, my sweet Angel." Fingers crooked, Death beckoned to him with sweet and bitter sour words. He smirked darkly and crooned, whispering of hollow promises, white lies, and Shakespearean tragedies to the angelic brunette. "Join me in the fiery pits of Hell!"
Sluggishly, Spencer blinked his eyes open, the motion seeming quite foreign to him at this one moment, and he worked – no, struggled – to stare into the heart of the clouds of darkness. His breath rattled within his throat, awakening the beast before him. Crimson eyes cut through the onslaught of icy darkness, coloring the world around them orange, red, yellow, black, and blue with fire and brimstone. The brunette genius groaned softly due to his pain – and his irritation, as well. But Spencer still forced himself to stare pointblank into the eyes of the monstrous beast, Eric Black.
A breathy laugh whispered through his parted lips, and Spencer smiled at the realization that this creature was silently holding him captive, grasping at the reigns with nimble fingers. His blood, his life, and his very soul had been steadily slipping through his hands for years – now, all had been stolen by this beautiful creature: Death.
Spencer groaned again, albeit quietly, while also listening as each of his heartbeats began fading faster than the last. "Fuck…."
Eric cackled darkly at the whispered expletive and patted each of his bloodied cheeks with the handle of the whip, one after the other. He stroked nimble fingers down his bare chest and purred, "Did she warm your sheets like I did, dearest?"
"No," Spencer bravely whispered into the roar of painful darkness, which rushed into his ears and through his veins. His tawny eyes were shining with dark mirth and glee with each word that he spit at the vengeful Demon. It was a vicious lie, true, but so much the better. "She burned right through them."
Black leather whistled through the air, the sound of which he had not heard before and truly never wished to hear again. Stunned, Spencer inhaled sharply at the raw, primal feeling of being branded by the whip, and bit into his lower lip to keep from screaming. The young man released that breath and swallowed the mouthful of blood that had trickled down his cheeks, over swollen lips, and into his open mouth. And Spencer did not scream. He smiled.
"Whore!" Eric shrieked, and the sound of his raspy voice echoed wall to wall, ceiling to floor, room to room with the force of its vehemence. The word, though singular when spoken, vibrated in his ears a thousand times over. "You are a stupid, filthy, disgusting whore!"
Fire burned in his shrinking lungs with each strike of the relentless whip, and Spencer could not breathe through the waves of horrifying pain. Countless tears trickled down the side of his face, so the genius quickly busied himself with the impossible task of counting them all – one, two, three, four hundred. The whip smacked against his bare hip this time, and he screamed of his pain to the heavens. His throat, though raw with the effort of doing so, released scream after desperate scream into the oppressive silence. Pained howls slowly morphed into disturbed, deranged shrieks of laughter, the sounds of which fueled the anger of this eternal creature.
Demon. Lucifer. Beelzebub. Prince of Darkness.
The Devil.
He growled, though, and the anger within that one sound had him recoiling in confusion. "You will burn for this betrayal, filthy streetwalker," Eric continued ranting, even as rigid fingers lifted Spencer into the air by the scruff of his neck and tightened the whip around the base, just above his collar bones.
…bones…
This, it seemed, was to be his end: Spencer would succumb to the cold death delivered by the evil hidden beneath handsome blonde hair and blue eyes. Wings of black shadows and sharp horns, bloodied from his rampage, were almost forgotten in the wake of such terrible beauty – almost, but not quite. The deranged serial killer, Eric Black, had been born of cold betrayal, heartbreak, and necessity. He was incredibly dangerous, pure and simple. Most people, then, would therefore back away and quietly cower in the safety of the corner while awaiting rescue.
Spencer, however, was not "most people." He laughed openly in the face of Death – and loudly, at that. His disdain was audible, palpable even, and it tasted amazingly of blood and candy sweet surrender. Forgiveness, though, tainted the victory, making it bittersweet at best.
He, Spencer John Reid, gasped his horror and regret into the silence, but the only intelligible words amongst the string of garbled sentences were –
"I…forgive…you…"
Fifteen.The Angel of Death screamed at him, truly outraged, and snarled viciously at this cruel and horrible injustice. Fifteen memories of mutilated albeit beautiful young men were now so very marred by the holy laughter and forgiveness of yet another victim. Fifteen!He roared, beyond angry with this sudden change of events, and then withered beneath the regret of his actions, controlled by the heartbroken subconscious singing inside of him. Fifteen…
He, Eric Benjamin Black, had killed fifteen innocent young men.
Eric slowly, almost hesitantly, reached for his slender neck, which was still bared submissively before the dominant creature hovering above him with whips and chains. He stroked the pulse, following the gentle thrumming beneath the ghostly white skin with thick claws – or rather, the thick fingernails. One fingernail ripped into his throat, spilling ruby red blood and coloring his white shirt crimson with life.
The brunette did not flinch or startle at the sudden pain and the unexpected intrusion. In fact, Spencer welcomed the familiar feeling of those demonic hands digging into his skin and firmly wrapping themselves around his neck, slowly squeezing every ounce of his life from his broken body. He reveled in this sensation of his soul drifting from within his heart, into his ghostly skin, through his pores, and into the night. Spencer smiled down at his corpse.
Sixteen.
Eric sighed, his regret winning now, and bowed his head in prayer above the broken form before him. He stroked his hands through the soft brown locks of his lover. "I am… so very sorry…my darling…" His grip slackened then, as anticipated, and he clutched his chest, falling forward.
Black feathers exploded into crimson stardust, burning through his blonde hair, worn, clothes, and tanned skin like an inferno. Spencer, still numb and all alone, so alone, drifted to the floor in a cloud of dusty feathers and blood. He smiled at his saviors, two tall males battling the darkness with shining halos and white wings of light. Four eyes – two, forest green; the others, coal black – stared into his tawny gaze with the same emotions screaming in their depths. Pain, concern, and fear.
Love…
Glaring halfheartedly into the darkness, Aaron lowered the handgun and, through the faint shimmer of tears, his green eyes were soft with regret. And Aaron, sweet Aaron, hesitantly stepped forward, slipping through puddles of blood due to the lack of traction created by his black leather shoes, and barely maintaining his balance. The eldest alpha swallowed the thick lump in his throat and marveled over the beauty of their (Fallen) Angel, even while he was in the determined clutches of Death.
His mouth parted, hanging open with horror, and Aaron brokenly whispered the name of his second lover, his breath catching on a small whimper. "Spencer…" Aaron mumbled, the name just trickling into the nothingness around them like acid rain.
That softly whispered word, the name of his lover, provided Derek with all the adrenaline that he needed at that moment. Derek burst forth from behind the older male, with his attention focused only upon a small bundle of naked skin, broken bones, and bloodied brown hair. He dropped to his knees beside the tabletop, stained dark red with the blood of his youngest lover. Calloused brown hands, both shaking with terror, hovered uselessly above his broken form. Spencer mumbled his discontent and moved backwards, farther away, away, go away.
Derek stopped in his tracks, fluttering his hands uselessly at his sides, uncertain of whether or not he should touch the broken Angel. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…" A keening sob escaped his parted lips, ending the frenzied litany.
Oddly enough, Spencer, the atheist without a care or prayer, smiled briefly in relief. He slowly opened his eyes and, though hooded, bloodshot, swollen, and glassy, his Bambi eyes were still beautifully soft in color. Intelligence glittered deep in their depths and their innocence was not overshadowed by the memories of the past, as might be expected of another in this position.
Silence reigned, crashing through the darkness with an empty shrieking in ringing ears. Frozen by the tragic scene now unfolding before them, Aaron and Derek could only stare down at their youngest lover, waiting for him to move, speak, perhaps to smile and tell them one of his corny science jokes. ("You all heard the one about Albert Einstein?") But Spencer only smiled at his sweet, handsome, protective alpha males.
"I'm sorry…"
He died.
***Author's Note***
THE END!
...ha, ha, ha?
Yeah, yeah, yeah; I know. That was not the best joke in the world, but... *Shrugs* ...I thought it was pretty funny! :D
With that said, I have a question, and it might be kind of morbid, but I like to give you all choices, so please pick one of the following options:
1) Do you want this to be the end? (You sick weirdoes... ;P)
OR
2) Do you want the other chapters that I have planned? Keep in mind that there are only four! (Happy ending, anyone?) )
Please respond with a review, as each review will feed the hungry mind and starving heart of one socially deprived author. Hint, hint: I would also loooove to see about ninety reviews, should the audience be sweet enough to leave a response - good, bad, it sucks, whatever is clever! *Two Thumbs Up*
Thanks for reading/favoriting/alerting/reviewing, peeps! ^_^