Shining among Darkness
By
WingzemonX
Chapter 30.
I'll do it myself
After that failed encounter, Damien did not return to the convention center. Instead, he went straight to the hotel. He did not do it with a specific reason or plan but by pure reflex. It was still a couple of hours before the event officially ended, so he was not surprised when he arrived at the Presidential Suite they had reserved, to see that there was no trace of Ann or any of her aides. He sat down in one of the armchairs in the small room and waited, his back to the door. He did nothing else. He didn't turn on the TV, didn't check his phone (had actually turned it off), he didn't drink or eat anything. He just sat there, staring into absolute nothingness as he tried to process everything that had happened. He would hope that after time it would end up calming down a bit, but it did not. In fact, the longer he waited, the more anger he became. But his annoyance was not towards Abra; she was perhaps the person with whom he could least feel anger at the moment.
Thinking in Abra was the only thing that managed to distract his mind a little from the rest that bothers him. He was tempted to look further, to look for her and see if she was okay. However, he forced himself to put that idea aside. In his condition, it was highly likely that he could lose control and do more than just "look at her," and that idea didn't appeal to him at the moment.
He didn't know exactly how much time passed, but it had been less than two hours, he was sure of that. The door of the suite opened, and several different types of footsteps entered through it, which stopped a few seconds later, possibly when they distinguishing his black hair and white nape, protruding above the back of the sofa. He did not turn to see them, but he did not need to do so to know who they were.
"Damien," he heard his Aunt Ann's voice exclaim in surprise and annoyance. "Can you tell me where you got all this time?" The woman hurriedly walked to him. It didn't take long for her to get into his range of vision, right on the left corner. She was staring at him hard. "Did you forget that you should be with me at the conference? And we were going to have dinner with the other CEOs invited." Then she glanced quickly at her small wristwatch. "If we hurry, we could still catch them at the restaurant."
Damien did not reply; he didn't even deign to look at her at all.
At the door were members of her security and Ann's assistants, including Veronica. They were all standing there, staring at him with the latent doubt of even having permission to lift a finger. Having suddenly appeared there in the room had surely surprised, not to say frightened them. He could feel all their fear flowing from them and permeating him like it was slimy, sticky air.
He was sickened by that feeling.
An intense feeling of hatred for all of them was abruptly born. He wished everyone would jump off the balcony and crash their heads on the pavement. But that would end up attracting too much attention; even in his anger, he was cold enough to process it that way.
"Leave us alone," Damien snapped without looking at them yet. No one moved. Then he stood abruptly and turned to them, his eyes almost alight with fire. "Didn't you listen to me? All of you get out of here! Now!"
His voice echoed with great force, echoing off the walls of the suite; Even Ann, who was the only one there who had remained calm, couldn't help but startled at the sudden reaction.
The guards and assistants immediately rushed to obey, leaving one by one through the door. Veronica, on the other hand, stood motionless in her place, glancing at the others.
"You too, lapdog," Damien yelled scornfully. "Leave now!"
Veronica was overwhelmed. Out of instinct, she looked to Ann for guidance. Ann looked askance at her and nodded her head slightly, signaling her to obey. Veronica lowered her gaze, as if embarrassed, and followed the others out, the last one, so she closed the door behind her.
Now Damien and Ann were alone. Anyone would be terrified enough to be in her place, but Ann Thorn remained cool; at least, it seemed so on the outside.
"Now, what's the matter with you?" She questioned him calmly. "You run away from me without saying anything, you make a fool of me, and you're the anger one? Could I know what the reason is?"
Damien still didn't look directly at her.
Then he went without saying anything to the small bar of the suite, opening the showcase behind which were the bottles of alcohol. Without much thought, he took a bottle of whiskey.
"You can't drink that," Ann said scolding. "You are a minor."
Damien chuckled wryly, yet indifferent to such an absurd warning. He ignored it entirely and poured some of the liquid from the bottle into a low, wide glass. He actually served too much, so much so that it overflowed from the glass, beginning to create a puddle around it on the bar counter. Still, he kept serving and serving, making the puddle bigger, and even spilling down the banks to the ground. He didn't stop until the bottle was completely empty.
Ann witnessed such an act, silent.
"Do you have any idea how expensive that bottle is?"
"Do you have any idea how little I care?" The boy finally answered her in a curt tone, but at least it was an answer. He capped the bottle again, placed it hard against the bar with an annoying roar, and then took the glass that was full to bursting, and took a long drink of it. He didn't stain a bit and didn't even blink, like it was just water. Once he took that drink, he lowered the glass again, and at last, looked straight at her, with a defiant attitude in his blue eyes, which felt even threatening. "Does the expression 'The Shining' ring a bell in you?"
Ann shrugged her shoulders.
"Not a bit. Is it a movie or something like that?"
Damien laughed again. He stood behind the bar, staring intently at the glass in his hand. It wasn't so full anymore, but it still had enough of the expensive liquid.
"I met a girl this afternoon," he began to explain. "A girl who can do unusual and inexplicable things. Things like the ones I can do, and even others that I can't."
"What?" Ann exclaimed, stunned. "A girl? What a Girl?"
"That doesn't matter a damn." The threatening tone in Damien's voice increased considerably. He took another drink, similar to the previous one. "This girl could read minds, move things without touching them and, according to what she told me, see places and people even if they were far away. Isn't that weird, auntie? Because Adrian, Lyons, you, and all your damn Brotherhood, have spent all my life telling me how special and unique I am. That I was blessed with abilities beyond a human to fulfill my destiny. And that I am protected by my father, Satan himself in person, to do so." He stood to bolt upright. His face took on an almost uncontrollable fury, and he pointed angrily towards the windows, spilling some of the whiskey that remained in the glass. "And now it turns out that there are more people out there who can do the same as me?!"
Despite the outbursts, Ann tried to remain calm. When he raised his voice, she couldn't help but wince but managed to control herself. Even so, she needed a few moments to clarify herd ideas and be able to respond to something tangible.
"Things are not like that..." Ann whispered slowly.
"You knew it?" Damien asked demandingly, stepping out from behind the bar and heading straight for her. "Did you all already know and hide it from me all this time?"
Damien stood directly in front of her, and Ann had to hold her breath for a second.
"Yes," the woman replied, trying to sound confident, "we know there are people in this world who can do unusual things. But none of them is like you. They are simple rarities of nature, and you are an envoy from beyond this world; a chosen one of much higher forces..."
"Or maybe not," he snapped, pointing accusingly at her. "Maybe I'm just some other guy who can do some elaborate tricks, and I was the one that fit the image that the three of you had of their supposed 'Antichrist.' And so you decided to pull me into all this charade to keep your group of worshipers happy and faithful."
"No, nothing like that," Ann answered immediately and without question. "Don't say those things. Our faith is not a charade. Our faith in you has never been more real and stronger..."
By mere reflex, the woman raised her hands and placed them on the boy's arm, but he immediately rejected her.
"Don't touch me!" He yelled at her, shoving her with one hand, knocking her off balance, and tumbling onto the couch.
Ann began to breathe slowly, seized with fear and worry, which gradually broke her shell, always covered with coldness and strength.
"If I have hidden some things to you, it has been for your good. Everything is part of the bigger plan..."
"You got me sick of your fucking bigger plan!" Damien growled with great force and then threw the glass in his hand toward the wall with all his might. The glass was shattered by the blow, and the pieces, along with the whiskey residue left in it, were scattered everywhere. Ann winced at herself helplessly. "Every damn breath I've given since the age of five has been planned, calculated, and watched over. And for what? Tell me! For what?! My parents, my uncle Richard, Mark... What have all these sacrifices really been for? This is all just fake!"
"Not..." Ann whispered very slowly, unable to lift her face.
"Either you're a liar who cheats on all these guys, or you're another incredulous like them. I don't know which option seems less pathetic to me."
"No, no…"
Ann dropped abruptly from the chair and walked as close as she could, even crawling towards him, intending to place herself at his feet.
"Get those thoughts away from you. There can't be doubt in your actions, my Lord." She wanted to strike her forehead against the boy's feet, but he immediately took a step away. She just stayed on the floor, her long dark hair falling over her face. "You are here to open the door to a new world, to fulfill a destiny so great that we would not even be able to understand..."
"Shut up..." Damien muttered, growing increasingly angry.
"You are above everything and everyone, including those pathetic mundanes you speak of. They are stupid and ignorant of the real way. Don't look for your equals among them, there are none. You are our Crimson Prince, our guide and teacher..."
"Shut up, I told you!" He bent down suddenly, taking her by the neck and lifting her just a little, enough to force her to look up and see her in the eyes. "If you say one more word...!"
Anna's eyes were teary and fearful. Her makeup had smeared a little, even her lipstick, which was always red and perfect.
"My life is yours, my Lord," she began to sob slowly, running her hands over her torso and taking her clothes as if she wanted to rip them off. "I've always belonged to you. If what you want is my death, you only have to ask for it, and I'll gladly please you with it..."
The eyes of Ann Thorn, of her supposed aunt-in-law, suddenly overflowed with fervent and almost intoxicating excitement, which left Damien paralyzed. There was no such fear springing from her, but an almost insane devotion that brought Damien confused images to his mind. Images of wild beasts, of blood and fire, and her aunt at the center of everything being consumed, with that same expression of satisfaction.
Damien felt disgusted and suddenly dizzy. He released her, pushing her to the side and causing her to fall onto her left side. The boy advanced towards the bar again and leaned against the bar to avoid falling too. He looked attentively at the mirror of the bar in front of him, admiring his own reflection, which was difficult for him at the time. His hair was misaligned, his tie was gone along with Abra, and his eyes looked like those of a complete madman. How could that guy in the mirror be him? How could he have lost control of the situation so quickly?
He breathed slowly, inhaled through the nose, exhaled through the mouth. Little by little, the ideas were getting together again.
"How many more are there?" He snapped suddenly without taking his eyes off the mirror. "How many more are there who can do these things?"
Ann leaned on her hands, lifting her body slightly off the ground, but still staying most of it.
"I don't know," she replied as a small distant lament. "We've only come across a few over the years... but none is like you."
Damien took one last deep breath. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to accommodate it as best as possible.
"We'll see about that," he said dryly, and immediately walked to one of the suite's rooms. "I'll discover the truth myself, even if it has to pass over you."
He entered the room, slamming the door behind him, and disappearing from his aunt's sight.
Ann lay on the floor, looking agitatedly toward the closed door of the room. Instead of trying to get up, she sank down onto the soft mat completely. She was unable to move. Her whole body shuddered, as thousands of ants running through her skin. She needed a second, just a second, to try to regain her strength again. And then she could be the perfect, firm, and fierce woman who always kept control of everything. She just needed one more second...
They were both so engrossed in that heated conversation that neither of them realized that they were not entirely alone. Despite the potential threat, Veronica couldn't help but stay close enough to listen from behind the door. She couldn't hear everything, but she could listen to it enough to feel worried... and very disturbed...
Someone knocked on the door of the study, and Damien's fingers stopped moving on the computer keyboard. He stared thoughtfully at the screen for a moment, not recognizing for an instant the last three paragraphs of his essay, as if it were something someone else had written. It took only a moment longer to completely let go of his previous obsession, and thus return to that place and time.
"Come in," he exclaimed loud enough for the person on the other side to hear him.
One of the security men peered carefully into the study, showing only about half of his body from behind the white door.
"Mr. Thorn, your guest has arrived," the man informed him stoically and muffled.
Damien smiled. He nodded in agreement, and the man quickly opened the door wide, moving to one side as well, clearing the way for the person who had just arrived.
He was a tall man with a stocky build; dark skin, long black hair, held in several braids that fell back and protruded from behind the nape of his neck. Her face was adorned by two brown eyes, cold as ice. Around his mouth, he wore a trimmed circle beard. His clothes, however, were not as good-looking as the rest of him. On top of everything, he was wearing a heavy and thick beige-green jacket, with a wide hood that fell towards his back at those moments. Beneath this jacket, a white tank top peeked out, revealing part of his muscular pecs. At the bottom, he wore blue jeans, somewhat discolored, and old work boots.
His appearance, especially her face, was anything but friendly. His expression was harsh and aggressive, like someone looking for the right guy on the street to put up a fight, just for the pleasure of it. His posture was also very defensive and waiting; even his fists were kept tight and hanging at his sides.
As soon as he caught sight of him sitting behind that desk, it seemed as if all that biting he carried became even more intense. The boy, however, was not intimidated or also interested in such an attitude at all. In fact, he smirked and leaned back against his chair in a relaxed way.
"Oh, James," Damien exclaimed playfully, rocking a little in his chair from back to front. "I was waiting for you. Please, come in."
The man at the doorway arched his lips in annoyance but still entered the study with heavy steps. Two of the security men came behind him and perched in front of the door with their hands clasped in front.
"Leave us alone," Damien instructed them, however, making both men feel a bit confused. Surely they weren't comfortable leaving him alone with a stranger with that evident attitude. Still, Damien didn't care about their comfort. "Now, didn't you hear me?"
The two guards looked at each other, and soon after they left the study as they had been ordered. They closed the door behind them, and the whole room was covered at that moment with deep and absolute silence. The newcomer stood in the middle of the study, his shoulders stiff, and his intense gaze on the boy.
Damien kept smiling as if all this seemed somehow comical.
"Take a seat," he indicated, extending his hand to one of the chairs in front of the desk. The man stood perfectly still in his place. "I understand... How is Mabel, by the way? Has she felt better?"
That mention did not help to lessen the bad mood that his guest already brought with him as soon as he entered.
"What do you want?" The man exclaimed, in a low voice and a pounding tone. "Why did you call me to this... place?"
The man, possibly named James, looked around with disdain, and even some disgust.
"You say it so disparagingly," Damien said ironically. "And I was hoping that you would like to visit a nice place for a change. Compared to that trailer where you spend your time..."
"I'm not your dog, you stupid rube," James muttered immediately. "I'm not going to come to you every time you snap your fingers."
Damien laughed, small but loud. He then moved forward, causing the chair to straighten. He propped his elbows on the desk and leaned his body forward. His eyes regarded his visitor with the cordiality that one would look at an old friend who had not been there for a long time.
"Yes, you will," he whispered perfectly normally, with no apparent threat in his voice. With no apparent. "Because, in case you haven't noticed yet, you and your girl belong to me now. You are still alive only because I allow you to. So, if I tell you to come before me, you will, and preferably as soon as possible. Is it clear?"
Those words made something explode inside that man. His breath hitched heavily, and his fists clenched even more. But even so, he continued without moving from his place... as if he was afraid to take even one more step towards him.
"But relax," Damien exclaimed, his tone mischievous, and then he pulled his chair back a little, and bent down as if searching for something under the desk. "If you do, you'll soon learn that I can be a nice master..."
Then he picked up a thick gray briefcase and placed it on the flat surface of the table so that he could see it. He turned it so that the side on which it opened was facing his visitor. He opened the locks, and lifted the lid, revealing what it contained: three thermoses, or what appeared to be three thermoses. They were similar to those used to hold coffee, large and with a fully metallic and shiny body. They were placed on a black foam base, just in shape.
As soon as he saw them, James couldn't stop his anger from fading, even a little, and giving way to a huge surprise.
"That's…?" He murmured, almost stammering. His body trembled slightly, like that of an addict getting a free dose in front of his face. "How…?"
Damien shrugged impassively.
"When I know what to look for, it's easy for me to find it. Now, do you want to take a seat?"
Little by little, James recovered from his initial amazement and returned to the old aggressive posture of before.
"I could crush your head and take them away in a second," he threatened sharply.
Damien laughed a little again, now with even more irony. He leaned back against his chair, crossed his legs a little, and crossed his fingers in his lap, in an attitude so relaxed that it was even infuriating.
"Do you seriously want to try it?" He whispered defiantly, looking at him closely. James was looking at him too, straight in the eyes as if expecting him to bend with his single glance and duck with submission. Damien, however, did not do such a thing. He continued in the same position, with the same countenance, and with the same attitude; in fact, it was James who was gradually looking more... nervous. In the end, he was unable to hold his gaze and ended up turning away, as if embarrassed. Damien smirked. "Take... a seat…"
That last suggestion no longer sounded as kind as the previous ones; now, there did seem to be a bit of a threat in his tone. James held his breath for a second. He walked with a bit of haste towards one of the chairs and sat on it, all without looking directly at it. Even when he was already seated, he preferred to have his attention fixed on the briefcase and its very, very engaging content.
"Better," Damien exclaimed proudly. Then he took the briefcase and slid it aside so that it was not between them; James stared after it as it moved. "I need you to do a job for me. There is a woman I asked for another job. She is in charge of finding and bringing me two people. She's efficient, but somewhat emotional and tends to get into some trouble. I need you to watch her and give her a hand. But only if you see it necessary because it is important to me that she carries out her work herself."
"And why are you asking me that?" James questioned, almost as if an insult had been fired at his face. "Why don't you ask some of the guys out there? Or to one of the thousands of your followers?"
"They aren't my followers," said the boy with some disinterest. "They are just followers of an idea. But don't get me wrong, they are quite useful when required. But I want you to do this." Then he pointed directly at him with his index finger. "You aren't like them, and right now, I want to surround myself with more people like you. Also, I think you'll love to meet this woman I am talking about. I just hope your girl doesn't get jealous."
Damien laughed a little, but James didn't even blink.
"But, so you can see that my intentions are good and fair..." He stretched out his right hand towards the briefcase and took one of the thermoses inside. Then he held it out to James, placing it right in front of him. By mere apparent reflection, the dark-skinned man leaned back a little, almost as if the object frightened him, but at the same time looking at it with fervent admiration. "You can take one, and the others when you do your duty. Come on, you know you want it..."
James looked at the container in silence. Did he want it? Of course, he did. But he knew very well what it would mean to take it: he would be selling his soul to the Devil... Although, he possibly had already done it a long, long time ago.
He raised his trembling hand and firmly took hold of the metal thermos; the surface felt cold.
Part of his forearm peeked out from under the sleeve of his jacket, from which a few small light spots protruded slightly on his dark skin. James immediately pulled his arm back and covered his sleeve again, with remarkable apprehension.
"Good boy," Damien murmured in a mocking tone, which James was not really amused by. "Cheer up, from now on, we are going to have a lot of fun..."
James did not answer anything; it wasn't that he really had anything to say or object to.
He had said it: now they belonged to him.
Once again, Eleven found herself in that dark, silent, infinite space. Once again, she felt surrounded by that immense loneliness, which she had not managed to get used to despite the passing of the years. In that place, in that hidden corner of her mind, she was able to see and hear everything, if she knew in what direction to look. Almost always, she had a guide at her disposal to show the way. It could be a photograph, a place, a face, or an idea. On that occasion, however, her only guide was a name: Abra.
She spent too long prowling in those dark corners without encountering anything. For a moment, she thought that if she stayed longer than should, she would lose her mind, and perhaps would be unable to go out again. Even so, she kept walking, chasing any distant echoes that called to her, any figure that moved in the shadows, guided by any sensation that ran through her skin.
She felt exposed on more than one occasion. She had learned in a bad way that being there was also like opening a door or turning on a bright light that could end up attracting someone... or something. But this time, Eleven was not afraid of the monsters that roamed the corners of the world, waiting for a moment of carelessness to make their way towards her plane. She was not scared of human-eating creatures, of entities that possessed your body or consumed your soul, of demons, ghosts, or monsters. Her only fear was that boy who had appeared out of nowhere, and had shaken her head and moved everything inside like a bag of marbles.
Eleven feared the mysterious attacker who had made such an insufferable impression on her and Matilda. She feared an unknown enemy, strong enough to do them great harm.
She did not know if spending so much time on that plane left her equally exposed to him. Still, ignorance of it did not help provide security either, quite the opposite.
(Abra, Abra, where are you? Who are you? What relationship do you have with him?)
Total ignorance of who she was looking for was also a source of fear.
What if she was intentionally getting into the wolf's mouth? What if that person, whoever she was, was like that individual... or even worse?
(Abra, Abra, where are you? Who are you? Why do I feel like I need to meet you? Why do I feel we need you…?)
"Brownie!" Suddenly she heard a voice echo like a loud crash behind her, causing her to unbalance and almost fall. "Mom is going to kill you if she sees you again on the couches!"
It was the voice of a young woman, or so it seemed to her. Slowly, she began to turn on her feet, almost fearful and doubtful of what she would see as soon as she turned. However, she saw no monsters or threats: just a young woman, squatting with her back to her, talking to a cute little brown four-legged creature on a green tapestry chair. They both glowed as if they had their own light through all that blackness.
The small animal leaped from the armchair towards the young woman's spleens, and she received it with pleasure.
"Come, little one. You are a good boy," she murmured in a tone much more loving and soft than her initial scream. She stood with the animal restrained with one arm, while with her other hand, she subtly caressed its head. Then she turned a little in her direction.
The girl was a bit older than Eleven had thought, but she had an innocent face, with rosy cheeks and discreet blonde curls falling on it. She reminded for an instant of her own daughter, her Terry, the smallest and most innocent of the three, with her eyes lit like suns and all the wonders that the world can offer reflected in them. Eleven couldn't help but smile at her image and presence. It conveyed to her a singular sense of tranquility, one that she really needed to feel in those moments.
But that only lasted a short moment.
Abruptly, and without any prior warning of this, the girl turned her face directly and sharply towards her, nailing her blue eyes, which had now taken on a much more aggressive feeling. Eleven was a little startled; she wasn't looking at something else through or behind her, she was looking at her, there was no doubt about it.
(Who are you?)
The young woman murmured with demand, but also with a certain trace of fear.
(Get out of me!)
Before she could say anything or even think about it, Eleven felt her breath short, and a sensation similar to being pushed hardback. She had felt it before with other Shine ones, but not with that intensity. If she had wanted, perhaps she could have resisted, but in reality, she did not put up much resistance. She allowed her to push her away, and just let herself be carried away by the tide of thought.
The image of that young woman and her dog was moving away, or perhaps she was the one moving. In that space, the difference really didn't matter.
Her eyes widened suddenly, being back in her study; back home. She inhaled hard, then began to exhale slowly. She quickly withdrew her headphones, rested her hands against the desk, and gradually allowed her mind to relax.
Was she Abra? If it wasn't, it still had to be someone with a pretty impressive Shining; she took her completely off guard. But even so, it was not like that guy. But not so much for its power or capacity, but rather for the sensation conveyed to her. Yet among all that aggressiveness she felt at the end, she could feel a bright and warm light...
Then she felt a slight headache... and discomfort in her nose.
She reached out and lit the lamp on her desk. The first thing she saw left her practically paralyzed for a long time. On the desk was the paper on which she had written the name ABRA. However, in addition to the name, there was something else decorating the paper: two imperfect red circles.
She put her fingers to her nose, more as a requirement than anything else since she already knew what she would touch from before doing it. Indeed, her nose bled again.
While putting on a handkerchief to stop the bleeding, she tried not to really think about it, but it was practically impossible. It had happened again; it was already twice in two days, after not having happened in years. Had that girl caused it? She doubted it; the push she had given her hadn't really been that intense. Had her meeting the day before left her exhausted? Perhaps she should not have gone too far after such an unpleasant experience.
It must be that. She just needed a little rest, not using her powers for a couple of days, and everything would be fine.
It must be that because the other options... were unthinkable.
Eleven looked at the piece of paper again. One of the drops of blood had fallen right in the name, right between the "B" and the "R," like a horrible omen.
END OF CHAPTER 30
Author's Notes:
—The character of James is an original character of my creation but is based on the context of one of the works involved in this story. Some may have already guessed which one, but if not, it will be explained in more detail later.