Lord King (The King)

My mind began to puddle, thoughts losing their firmness, drifting away like wisps of steam I couldn’t catch.

“Jeni,” I heard Ansin’s deep, dark voice echoing in the background of my mind, “you’re going to dream of a beautiful house near the ocean. The walls that surround it are high. The air is fresh. You are safe and happy. You spend your days reading all the books you love. You spend your nights with me in bed. Making love. Being cherished. You will feel like you’re in heav-heaven…”

He wanted me to dream of him? Even in my state of limp-noodle-mindedness, I knew it was a dirty trick. But I would rather dream of him than my worst nightmare. Or King.

Ansin’s words seeped into me, through my skin, deep into my bones, and infused with my mind.

“I hope you dream of my constant rejection of you,” I muttered to Ansin before falling into a deep sleep.

I love it here. I dipped my toes in the warm salty waves while gazing out across miles of crystal-clear blue water. To my sides were endless stretches of powder white sand kissed by fresh clean air.

Crete three thousand years ago. No planes. No cell towers or motors. Just beach. Ocean. And Ansin. I sighed contentedly. Ansin…

I’d never felt so good. So fulfilled. Ansin was sleeping now, because he’d spent the night catering to my every whim. He’d read to me—my book of favorite quotes—before feeding me warm soft bread, figs, and savory cheeses.

Wine. The wine. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. Notes of chocolate, berries, plums, and smoke.

Afterward, he kissed my body head to toe and made love to me. Not fucked. But loved. Every movement had been purposeful and skilled. He worked me over slowly with every thrust, flexing his strong naked body over me.

The strangest part was that his skin wasn’t scarred anymore. It was smooth, like cream mixed with caramel. He was perfect. A dream.

After that, I drifted off—limp, glowing, and feeling the sort of happiness a person like me only dreamed of.

Now it was a new day, and my heart raced thinking about the chance to do it all over again tonight when he woke.

Drip, drip, drip.

I looked over my shoulders. What was that sound?

Drip, drip, drip.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Where was it coming from?

Drip, drip…

My shoulder felt cold and wet all of a sudden. I got to my feet and ran my hand over the spot. My skin was perfectly dry, and the air around me was warm. A perfect sunny day.

The cold sensation turned to heat. Then hotter, hotter.

“Ow!” I slapped my shoulder, trying to put out the invisible fire.

My eyes flew open. Ansin leaned into me, his back to the door and his body hunched. Above the door were shelves filled with glass jars and…

I jumped to my feet, sending Ansin falling sideways on the floor. Oh God! I covered my mouth. Eyeballs.

One of the jars had tipped over and—

I turned my head slowly and looked at my shoulder. A white goo covered it. It smelled like alcohol and some other chemical. Probably formaldehyde or something.

“Ew. Yuck!” I turned around, hoping to find something to wipe it off with, immediately regretting my choice. So many body parts in jars. Hands. Feet. Hearts. Squishy red blobs. Livers maybe? All organized—no pun intended—on shelves.

Why? Why? Why? Why would anyone want so many people parts? I closed my eyes tight, wishing I could erase what I’d just seen. Row after row, stretching the length of the room, were jars filled with Sage’s gruesome collection. A large window at the end had a desk below it. I assumed that was where Sage had conducted her business.

“Hey, wake up.” I gave Ansin a kick. Nothing.

Was he dead? I stared, watching his bare chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. His muscled abs were covered in fine lines. More of those scars. I guessed I hadn’t noticed last night because I was too messed up in the head after watching Sage die.

Well, at least we were still alive.

“Ansin?” He twitched but didn’t wake. At least he’d avoided being covered in eyeball goo. This place was horrible. Reminded me of King’s warehouse.

King! I forgot about King. I had to go find him, but I still felt woozy. What had been in that dream stuff?

I scrubbed my face with my hands. I needed air, but that window seemed so far away, and I’d have to walk past all those jars.

No choice, Jeni. I wasn’t about to go into that hallway without a clear head.

I stared down at the stone floor, refusing to look at the towering shelves to my sides. The odor was beyond putrid.

I got to the desk and leaned over it, careful not to touch any of the items on top—notebooks, a mortar and pestle, small glass test tubes. I popped the latch at the center of the panes, and both sides of the window swung in.