The Dark Goddess - 10

I've lost control. Let the darkness take over. I want to be angry with myself, but it felt so good to let go. I figure I must have passed out, because when I come to, I'm tied to a chair in the back room, mostly alright and shaped like myself again. The inside of the bar is a bloodbath. Dead bikers litter the floor, their bodies torn apart and strewn everywhere. The walls are drenched with blood spatter, there are bullet holes everywhere, broken glass and shell casings. It smells like shit, biker sweat and death. 

I'm spotless. I lost count of how many guys I just shredded, but there's far less blood and guts all over than there should be. 'That's 'cause we pigged out, boss' says the dark little voice. 'That little octopus stunt we pulled burned a lot of calories, so we had to work a bit of overtime."

Jesus. The memory of my body uncoiling like that makes me want to throw up again. I remember the sound of the baby birds with their tiny squalls that mutated into shrieking, frenzied lampreys, desperate for flesh. Blood. Viscera. My gorge rises. 

Footsteps behind me. The sexy hollow 'click' of high heels on the tile floor. Her. The Goddess. I can hear her presence in my head like white noise. 'Like a swarm of bees,' the voice remarks. I don't respond.

She sits across from me in a sheer black dress, her expression calm, slightly amused. "You ate my hive."

"They got in my way. You should have warned them."

She laughs, and it's music. "I could have. Would it have done any good?"

"No." I don't look her in the eye. If I do, she'll have me. I want her to. I want nothing else. "I would have wasted them anyway. I hate bikers."

"You hate everybody." She leans forward, her face growing nearer to mine.

"Not everybody." Behind my back, my wrists strain against the ropes, loosening them a bit at a time. "Just the people I hate. Why am I tied up?"

"I know why you're here. You want to kill me." Her expression doesn't change. She feels nothing. Nothing at all. No fear, no anger. Just cold, calculated dialogue. "Why would you want to do that, Joe?"

"Gotta kill somethin'." My wrists shake off the ropes. "Darlin', I dunno what the hell you are, or what I am for that matter, but I came here to fix this before I end up taking the fall for your body count." God, she smells amazing. Like honeysuckle.

"You're not going to kill me, Joe. We both know that."

"Oh yeah?" That's it, Dumptruck. Stall for time. "Are you gonna kill me instead?"

She laughs more loudly this time. "Kill you? After your little performance out there tonight? Hardly. No, I have better plans for you. You'll be working with a partner. Someone I know you've worked with before."

She glances at a door at the back of the office, which opens to a darkened hall with a small man's silhouette standing in it. She beckons him forward, and when he finally comes into the light, my eyes widen in shock and revulsion.

It's Weasel, but... not weasel. He looks the same (same blue suit and everything), but there's a giant circular mouth where his entire face used to be. He's drooling everywhere, gnashing dozens of teeth. Slowly, he kneels facing his queen. "Good Christ, what have you done to him?"

"I've given him power, just like I did you. You and he will be my top soldiers, and the whole hive will listen to you."

"I don't think so, lady." Her face freezes in a look of surprise as I leap unbound from the wooden chair, and hurl myself at her, letting the inner demon take over. I can feel my body changing again -- the agony of my bones and flesh reknitting themselves into horrible shapes is unthinkable, but I welcome it all. 

Before I can reach her to tear her apart (or bend her over the chair, I can't decide, Demon-Weasel rams into my side, boring into my flesh with hundreds of tiny needle-teeth. "Get off me, you tacky bastard," I grumble as I use his inertia to hurl him across the floor. I can hear his back snap like a twig when it lands. Sorry, Weez.

Furious, she hisses at me, and her body starts to shift and bend like mine. From between her ribs sprout extra limbs, her eyes grow and erupt into segmented orbs on either side of her head, and as she screams, her mouth widens and reveals long, finger-like proboscis. She is talking to me in my head. 

'Come to your queen, my Joseph. Be with me, where you belong.'

I can't resist. It's too much. I want her so badly that I can't see reason anymore. I am hypnotized by her. Soothed, teased and owned. I have a lingering independent thought (something to do with pockets), but it passes as her will over me grows. Against all will, I take a step toward her. 

'Yes, darling. Come. Come home."

I can't fight the pull. She's too strong. Too dominant. I have to be with her.

"Yes, my Goddess." 

She lifts off the ground as large gossamer wings sprout from POCKETS between her shoulder blades, hovering in front of me. Out of the POCKET of my eye, I can see long, black stingers jutting from the palms of her hands, as if from hidden POCKETS under her skin. 'That's it, baby. She holds her arms out to me, beckoning. Welcoming. I can't remember my name. It's like there are POCKETS in my mind where I keep basic stuff, like my address and phone number, but they've been emptied. In their place is emptiness. 

Nearer now. The entire room smells like honey. It's delicious, but maddening. I can't keep from moving toward her. I don't ever want to be without her. I collapse into her arms, surrendering to the comfort and safety with a deep, relieved exhale. 

She puts her hands on my shoulders, and I feel the stingers burrow into my flesh as cold, black poison fills my bloodstream. I wince in pain, but my arms encircle her body and tighten their grip. In my mind I know that she is a giant, hideous queen bee floating in front of me, but all I see is my Goddess -- my perfect, breathtaking Mistress. I can't be close enough to her.

As I feel my body weaken, she whispers telepathically at me. 'It's nothing personal, you understand. I do care about you, Joe, but I'm afraid this is the end.

I remember about the pockets now. Wrapping my long coat around both of us, I bring her in close, kiss her on the mouth and whisper back as my hands grip the fishing line I've strung through the inner sleeves and yank as hard as I can. A half-dozen grenade pins tinkle and clang on the floor at my feet. The last thing she hears before we are both engulfed in hellfire and my head is filled with the screams of the lamprey-birds as we all go together.

"My life for you."

[fin]

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.