Two More Dead

Persia had seen its share of oppressive Shahs from Nadir Shah to the present ruler. There had been a time of peace and progress under the rule of Fath Ali Shah, but the tides changed once the Shah's son and grandson were assassinated at the hands of coup leaders and their minions. As a result, the ruling Shah looked at all Persian citizens with a distrusting eye. The Shah found it necessary to rule with a hand that allowed for no quarter for those suspected of treason to the crown. The Peacock Throne would not come under the rule of an insurgent who had no claim to the throne through either bloodline or position in the court. The Shah's cynicism had led to the forfeiting of hundreds of lives of suspected conspirators, their families, including the Shah's own family members, from sisters to brothers to uncles.

Only a few years into his reign, the Shah of Persia was nearly killed at the hands of a political dissenter. This dissenter was a part of the royal court and privy to classified information regarding the Shah and the Kingdom. When the murder attempt was foiled, the assassin was caught and given over to the Shah's executioner.

"Do you know the crimes you are being charged with?"

Mahmood knew the question posed was nothing more than a rhetorical statement.

Mahmood had been caught in the act of the crime and was given neither the time nor the opportunity to escape. The imperial guards were by his side moments after he had unsheathed his dagger, ready to strike the Shah between the shoulder blades, effectively slicing his spinal column. The death, had it been carried out correctly, would have ended the Shah's life in a painful manner with death enshrouding the Shah ever so slowly.

Mahmood looked up into the darkness of the room and starred in the general direction of the cool voice. His vision had yet to adjust to the blackness, but he was able to distinguish two eyes that shone like bright yellow stars that disclosed Erik's position in the room.

Although the identity of the person who spoke was unknown, Mahmood knew the owner of the voice.

Any answer Mahmood could give would not make a difference in his fate. He knew Erik from the "masterpieces" of death that the Shah looked so favorably upon. As a member of the court, Mahmood had been invited to the spectacles exhibiting Erik's skill at dispatching lives. Some of the executions had been for sport; others had been in retaliation for a Persian's misstep.

All of them had been gruesome.

Erik stepped closer to Mahmood when no answer came from his lips. The treatment Mahmood had received from the guards before being turned over to Erik insured that he would not talk freely to Erik. And why should he? Both knew that Erik would eventually kill him for his audacity and furthermore, they did not know each other well.

Erik took several steps closer, bending to stare into the man's eyes. Instead of quailing under Erik's gaze, Mahmood displayed a sense of fortitude Erik had not witnessed in his former victims. Erik continued on with his one-sided discussion choosing to carry on the conversation with the man.

"I am told your name is Mahmood. Is that correct?"

Still unwilling to strike up a conversation with the masked man, Mahmood slightly nodded, affirming Erik's question.

"Well then, Mahmood, as we have not been formally introduced until this very moment, I shall initiate the introductions. My name is Erik. I know I have seen you at the Shah's side on occasion." Erik continued to stare into the man's face as he continued. "I have also, from time to time, seen your face during my exhibitions. I must say, however, that I have never received any sort of communication from you regarding your opinion on my work which leads me to believe that you find what I do abhorrent or that you do not care. Which is it?"

Once again, Mahmood only gaped at Erik with incredulity, uncertain of how he was to respond to this type of questioning. Erik maintained a benign tone despite his imposing posture that reflected nothing of the aloofness that tinged his voice.

Having gotten no response, Erik was quickly losing his patience with Mahmood. Other prisoners were quick to respond to questioning under duress, fearing that they would further enrage Erik and his sepulchral mood. Erik then crouched and brought his face close to Mahmood's, searching for some sort of response, challenging Mahmood to not answer. Erik's growing agitation was evident through his rapid increasing breathing. Hot air pummeled Mahmood's face as Erik nearly pressed his head to Mahmood, waiting for an answer.

"Sir, the triviality of my questions is not up to you to decide. I expect some sort of response from you," Erik snapped at Mahmood. "I expect some sort of response from you. I had assumed that you would answer my queries as a man of respectable upbringing. It was my understanding that well-raised Persians did not allow conversations to be left hanging. Apparently I was wrong. If you so wish I shall continue on with the job bequeathed to me and we can discontinue this banter. I shall leave the option to you."

Erik stood and began to walk the length of the room as he waited for an answer.

"And tell me, Erik, what good will it do to speak freely with you?" Mahmood struggled to turn in the direction of the voice, but Mahmood's badly beaten body would not yield to his exertions. "My death warrant has already been signed, and I know what awaits me. Yes, I have observed what ills you have brought to my country. I have seen that you have done nothing more than further taint the mind of a mad man."

Mahmood turned away his head. The bindings around his arms and legs were cutting into his skin, and he was beginning to lose the feeling in his right leg. He knew not whether it was from the binding or the severe beating he received prior to meeting Erik.

Erik turned to face Mahmood, keeping his tone level, "Ah, so you do wish to speak. I was correct about you. A man such as yourself has a need to speak his mind even if it puts him in further peril. I must say, I did not misjudge you. You are exactly as I suspected."

Mahmood struggled to see in the dark for the man he knew was pacing about him. The yellow eyes disappeared suddenly when Mahmood heard rustling in the dark. Unexpectedly a flicker of a flame appeared to illuminate the room. Erik's back was turned away from Mahmood as he began to light various other candles in the small room. Mahmood struggled to turn his body to face Erik, though his bound arms and legs made the act difficult.

"You know nothing of me. Do not speak to me as if we are confidants."

"This is where you are mistaken. You underestimate my powers. Have you not heard of the moniker I have been bestowed? I am the Trap Door Lover. A specter that may appear and disappear without notice or cause. I hear all and know all. I am a demon of the Earth, owed tribute and awe. I know more of your comings and goings than you dare to think! I could tell you things about yourself that would cause the hairs on your body to stand at attention. Why, I am the reason you are being held within these quarters."

As if to better make his point, Erik passed his hand over the flames of the candles, clearly unfazed by the heat of the flame.

"If that is the case, then why did you not capture me and dispose of my body before I attempted to kill the Shah? For someone who thinks so highly of himself, you have not shown your prowess for your profession." Mahmood turned his head away from Erik and began to survey his surroundings.

There was no clear exit to the room, and any hint of hinges were not distinguishable. Mahmood concluded that this must have been one of the rooms Erik had designed for the torture and interrogation of his victims. These rooms were never shown to the members of the court nor were their locations made available. Much secrecy had gone into their construction. There had been a reason for this, and Mahmood was a perfect example as to why this was done. Mahmood could not decipher his location from studying the room; he only assumed that he was still within the bowels of the palace. Had Mahmood been shown the room on a prior occasion, he would have noticed the exits.

Erik was still throughout this outburst, then he slowly turned on his heel to address the man for his impertinence.

"I did know of your plans. Why else do you think you failed in your little coup?" Erik stoically stood in front of Mahmood, arms across his chest. "I merely wished to see what lengths you would go to achieve your end. At the very outset I almost gave up any hope of your accomplishing your goal, but you seemed to be resolved. I must say, you have not disappointed me. It has been a good sport following you, observing the plans you made to rid Persia of its king. Unfortunately you have chosen a kingdom that has employed me and I am never derelict in my duties."

Mahmood turned his head toward Erik so that he could feel the full impact of his words. "You are nothing more than a puppet of the Shah. Your marionette strings may be invisible to your eyes, but I see them clearly from where I am sitting."

This statement only served to infuriate Erik.

In an instant, Erik was by Mahmood's side, his hand on the man's throat. "I cower to no one, you great fool! I bow down to no entity and I go and do as I please. And today I shall be the deity that you will cower before when you beg for mercy!" And with that Erik relinquished his death's grip upon Mahmood's throat. Upon his release, Mahmood once again was able to breathe, for he had not taken a breath during Erik's eruption.

Finding his voice, Mahmood once again began to speak. "You are an animal. You have no feeling or remorse for those around you. You kill on a whim with no thought to how it will affect others. You are no better than the Shah and perhaps worse." Mahmood continued on, spitting out his words. "A person in your condition should have feeling towards others, but you are a shell of a man, a beast that begs to be caged. Your bloodlust pollutes all that you touch, and no one will ever have any sort of empathy for you. Perhaps Satan will have some kind words for you when he drags you back to your rightful place."

Erik languidly crouched against a wall across from Mahmood. His long fingers drummed against his knees. "I owe no allegiance to the human race. They have shown me no comfort, no kindness. I have been treated as though I am not of their species. If that is the case, then I feel no remorse for the actions I take upon them. For they have only brought it upon themselves. And I can assure you that attention will not be neglected upon you."

The bitterness that seeped from Erik struck Mahmood as cold and calculating. Erik's eyes behind the black mask told him of the disdain he had for humanity. As a member of the group Erik hated so much, Mahmood began to expect the worst.

"And what have I done to draw your ire so? My quarrel is not with you, but with the Shah and yet you seem to be content to do his handiwork. Perhaps you should ask me why I attempted to stomp out the light within his eyes. Or perhaps you are too afraid to ask." Mahmood challenged the look in Erik's eyes with a blazing stare of his own, daring Erik to rebuke him. "Maybe if you asked me you will find that there are others who deserve pity and understanding in this world, and that, Erik, would throw your view of the world upon its head."

"I care not one bit for what you have to say. I should have disposed of you long ago ….."

"Oh but you will listen, just as I have listened to your ravings, you will listen to mine. You did not kill me, which means you have taken some sort of interest in what I may have to say. I have seen you kill others with not so much as a second glance. Your expatiated process of death does not allow for others to so much as cast a second breath, and yet you have conversed with me. I will tell you of my plight whether you care to listen to me or not. But I daresay that your curiosity will keep your silence until I am done. You will extend me the same curiosity I have extended to you."

Intrigued by the man's daring, Erik allowed him to continue. However Erik was ready to strike out with his Punjab lasso should the moment require it.

And so Mahmood began his tale. "When I was a young man, a boy of fifteen years, I grew restless and left my village for the Persian palace, hoping to find a direction or meaning in my life. I believed myself to be destined for more than yak herding or cultivating poppies. I was determined to better my rank in society.

"Have you heard of the Babi faith? Since you claim to think you know all there is to know about this country perhaps there is no need for me to go into detail. My family is of the Babi faith. We are a sect that has its differences from Islam. We still hold to the same truths regarding Allah and Mohammed the Prophet. The Babis make their home in the furthest southeast corner of the kingdom. We are secluded from the rest of Persia due to mountain rangers and rivers. Our isolation allowed us to grow accustomed to our own brand of rules and laws. It was for this reason that we began to seek our own autonomy. A land all of its own, ruled by the Babi faith rather than a Shah hundreds of miles away. Plans were set in motion to separate ourselves from Persia and rule our own country. The Shah learned our plans and ordered the multiple executions of my people, along with many of my kin. When I heard of this news, I ……"

Erik rose to his feet.

"I am not sure what you are expecting out of this endless nattering. However I can tell you that, despite appearances, I do have other obligations that I must attend to. If it is some sort of forgiveness for your past misdeeds that you require, then I can tell you that you are confessing to the wrong person. You should be praying to a non-existent higher power. Only deities of flesh and blood rule this world. Nothing awaits us after death except for maggots if we are lucky, or feral dogs."

Mahmood was aghast. Never in his life had he met someone so set in his convictions and denial of God. Mahmood's service in the Persian court taught him there were those that were ungodly and committed unspeakable crimes, but these atrocities were executed under the guise of following Mohammed's preachings.

"I tell you this, Erik, because you seem to have no connection to humanity even when it is clearly before your face. You kill those who have never wronged you and you perpetrate these crimes with such efficiency that even the Devil winces at your aloofness. I tell you of my plight to attach some sort of human association to the faces you smite. The sick, the innocent, the young, the poor; you have no reason to judge their worthiness of life. Redemption shall be your only saving grace. A life of good deeds and the sacrificing of all that you find tempting will release you into Allah's hands. The morally corrupt shall never feel Allah's embrace. Faith shall be your sanctuary."

A sardonic chuckle escaped Erik's lips. With each breath the repulsive laugh grew louder and louder as it reverberated around the room. The sound of Erik's voice filled every corner of the space, surrounding Mahmood, stinging his ears.

"It is not sanctuary that I seek! Boredom and a need to satiate my curiosity of man's inner workings spurs my macabre interest in death. You know not the things I have done or seen. Your platitudes regarding religion are insulting to my intelligence. Worry not for my soul but that of your own." Erik seemed to grow in size as he continued on with his tirade. "Your folly has been your shortsightedness. For all of your plans you had not considered what this may do to your family. As I understand it now, the Shah has sent for your wife, and she will meet the same end as you. And I will have the honor of ending your life. Your neighbors will notice that there is no movement within your home. Your house will fall into ruins from disuse, and no on will know what became of your and your spouse. Your family name will be associated with humiliation and shame and you will quickly fade into oblivion."

Mahmood refused to surrender to Erik. "As will you. No one will remember you for your acts. Only the hideousness of your face shall live on forever. I've heard your works of art, but even those will not bring you any solace or a legacy. They too will be forgotten soon after you pass. Your infamy shall be your face and at least I shall go on to the afterlife knowing that I attempted to right wrongs. My voice shall not be stifled by your deviancy. Others will follow in my stead and this country shall one day belong to its people. Allah shall grant me peace in death and punish you for your wickedness."

Erik's booming voice resounded throughout the room. "My face is not open for discussion. I have already been judged by the world because of my appearance. And I, in turn, judge everyone else. Including you. I am the judge and the executioner in this plane of consciousness. This shall be my sole purpose for the existence on this planet, and I will relish in my role as a malevolent arbiter of life and death!"

At that, Erik grabbed Mahmood by his bindings, causing his face to hit the hard ground with an ugly thud. Mahmood's nose had broken, and he was drowning in the blood that was now pooling in his throat. Although Mahmood was of a sizable stature, he was unable to fight the strength of the beast that was now dragging him across the floor. Light suddenly streamed into the room as Erik hastily opened the door Mahmood previously could not find. Erik heaved the bound man up a flight of stairs and into the scorching sunlight of the Shah's personal horse stables. The sun's brilliance blinded Mahmood so that he could not see Erik picking through instruments. Erik at once found the flaying apparatus he was searching for. This particular device had become Erik's most preferred tool because of the sharp claws at the end of the whip and the damage it caused the bodies of others.

Erik barked an order to undress Mahmood to someone nearby. When the man's clothes were stripped, Mahmood began to hear the sharp crack of a whip flying through the air. Erik was loosening his muscles in order to begin his work.

Finally Erik began to speak. "This shall teach you that I do not need to be redeemed, and I have no need to beg forgiveness to those I have sinned against. In order to ask for forgiveness, one must believe in sin, which I do not. May you and your spouse have a better existence in the deluded afterlife you so dearly cling on to."

Mahmood arched his body as the metal claws found the skin of his back and retracted with oozing chunks of flesh. The pain was such that he could not find his breath for several long, lugubrious seconds. When he was able to once again breathe another blow found its mark near his waist. Once again he fought for the air his lungs screamed for. He could no longer breathe through his now swollen nose. His breath and scream fought for supremacy. What emitted from his lips was instead a type of raspy wheezing that resembled neither.

On and on this went until Erik's arms became fatigued and Mahmood no longer moved. Coming closer to the bloody body, Erik saw that Mahmood was still alive but his breathing was labored. Erik crouched down when he saw Mahmood's eyes shift towards him. Mahmood's lips were slowly moving but Erik could not make out what the dying man was attempting to say. Ever so faintly, Erik heard Mahmood's plea.

"I exhort you. Please spare my wife, she is good and chaste. She had no part in my plot to kill the Shah. Please. Spare my wife. She is good and forgiving."

"Mahmood, only virgins are chaste and unless you are telling me that you have never consummated your marriage with your wife, I am unwilling to believe you. In my life, I have only known of one such person and that idea was thrust upon me by my over bearing, pious mother. However, I am willing to test your wife."

Erik stood up and walked towards the stables, grabbing a sickle-shaped knife as he passed stable after stable. Finally Erik emerged with a sickly, emaciated horse. He positioned the horse over Mahmood's body which had a coating of dirt and blood. Erik raised the knife and slit the belly of the horse, eviscerating the animal, allowing for all of the horse's contents to spill onto Mahmood. The horse, now fully dead, fell over with a thud, its exposed cavity facing Erik.

With little effort, Erik lifted Mahmood and stuffed the entirety of his body into the horse's cadaver, only allowing the head to remain outside of the opening. From his pockets, Erik produced a large needle and sturdy thread that he began to sew with. Erik had only seen this method used once before by the Hungarians and its results were horrific. The decaying body of the horse would infect the now bloody wounds on Mahmood causing shock and eventual death. The death would be long and torturous, taking up to a week for the Reaper to finally lay claim of his victim.

Erik lay in the shadows of the receding sun as he watched the next prisoner exit the building.

Sariah looked about nervously, unable to determine what lay beyond. Sniffling with hands bound in front of her body, the woman was trembling. The path her tears had taken down her face were clearly visible from the steaks cut into the dust that had settled upon her face. She could not see Erik from where the guards placed her in the courtyard. Sariah shook as she waited for the executioner to finally arrive.

She already knew her husband had been taken away. Mahmood had been in an agitated stupor for the past few days but he had not confessed to her what was vexing his thoughts. The guards that had suddenly taken her from her home were not forthcoming with information; however the chatter she heard as she was lead toward the palace alerted her to what had transpired.

It was almost certain that her husband was now dead, and she knew she was well on her way to joining him. The heavy languor that filled the air assured her of what was to come.

Thoughts of her beloved husband called forth more tears, tears that were prohibiting from breathing correctly. She was now choking.

From his corner, Erik took in what was occurring before him. Slowly Erik peeled himself away from the wall, silently approaching the woman.

"Lady Sangabi, how good of you to meet me. I trust you know why you are here."

The woman's head quickly snapped up upon hearing the voice. A man swathed in dark clothes from head to toe was approaching her. She held her breath as she noted he had a mask covering his face. She had never seen him before, nor heard his voice. The man was not Persian, this much was certain. While his pronunciation was correct, his intonation labeled him a foreigner.

"Where is my husband? What have you done with his body. I know he is dead, but our customs state that a body must be returned to earth before the close of the next day."

"He is indisposed at the moment. There is a good certainty that he may never be free to converse with you. I shall, however, send him your regards."

Sariah's head dropped upon hearing these words. Based on this stranger's demeanor, pleading for her husband was a fruitless venture. She was almost positive that the man that stood before her was the same monster her husband had warned her of. If this were the case, her husband, in all probability, was already fed to animals.

Quietly she whispered. "I do not know what you have planned for me, but please do it now and end the chasm that separates my husband and I."

"How presumptuous to think that I have any interest in you. I may have only wanted to look upon the face of the wife of the Shah's attempted assassin. Do you not think it was selfish of your husband to put you in this position? He seemed to have no thought of leaving you alone should he be caught. For that matter, he did not seem to consider what might occur to you at all."

Sariah remained quiet during this oration.

Erik continued on. "Well then, I will tell you of your husband's last words. He said you held the ability to pardon me for my crimes. He holds you in the same esteem as your God. Well, since I am neither of this plane or the next, we shall put this theory to the test. Tell me, have you heard how the man Christians call Jesus was born and killed?"

Sariah was confused by this line of questioning. What did this have to do with her husband?

"No? Well then I shall leave it as a surprise. You see, his mother was considered chaste, same word your husband used to describe you. Imagine that. All my life I have lived by my own rules. One could say that I have nihilistic views and am perhaps blasphemous, but what difference does it make when one doesn't believe in the purpose of life other than to continue a never-ending cycle of suffering and waste? Yet I am willing to consider what your husband last told me regarding religion and you will help me in my quest."

Sariah closed her eyes, expecting the worst from this thing that stood before her. She would rather die than be taken forcefully.

"Don't close your eyes. The hood of your eyelids will do nothing to shadow you from what is to transpire."

Sariah began to shudder violently as bile began to make its way up her throat. She doubled over as she heaved the bitter matter onto the ground.

With a quick deftness, Erik captured Sariah's face with his cold hands. "You will follow me or I will be forced to carry you."

All energy had escaped Sariah. She was no longer able to stand of her own volition. Suddenly she felt the strong arms of the man gather her about her waist, she was being half-carried, half-dragged to the side of the building where a ladder stood. Up Erik went with his captive who was making no attempt to escape. With precision, Erik gathered a hammer and nail, stretching Sariah's arms in a manner that mimicked his mother's crucifixes.

Once the deed was done, Erik climbed down the ladder and stared at the face of the woman. She was no longer conscious from the violent thrusting of the nails into her wrists.

As Erik stared at her pale visage, he finally realized what he had done. He had burdened the woman with his hate of humanity and religion. She had come to symbolize his demons, his hatred, his ossified heart.

From that moment on, Erik did not sleep because of exhaustion or for the refuge of dreams. No, that was no longer possible. Sleep would not be a welcome sanctuary, the woman's face that was illuminated by the moonlight would haunt him in his dreams until the day he died or was killed.

The End.