Subject 91 - Chapter 2

[Tict]

He knew what was right and what was wrong. Wrong was a tightness in his abdomen, a flutter of fear. It was an overwhelming sense of discomfort. Right was warmth in that same place, in his core. Right felt like a warm blanket around his shoulders as he sat before a campfire.

Right was the bright smile that looked at him from across that fire. A name... K..

The gas station was behind him and old Will left to his own devices. He thought about what he'd done and didn't feel the pang of wrong or the warmth of right. What happened simply was. What happened was a fact. And it was pleasure.

Nine sat atop a small hill. The smell of fresh earth from an overturned tree nearby filled his nostrils. He'd leaned against it, the need to stretch and flex his body overwhelming. The tree, its trunk three feet in diameter, was not equal to the task of his body.

In the moonlight, mottled by the shadows of the foilage, his muscles had flexed, bulging explosively. His bare feet sank into the soft earth and the bark of the tree shattered beneath his palms and a split second later the tree was on its side.

There was something wrong with what had happened. Everything that had come <i>before</i> -- that place in his mind beyond the gulf of darkness that separated his past from his present -- said that he shouldn't be able to do such a thing. Trees were a constant. Men did not simply knock them over with tools.

Something else from <i>before</i>: sleep cured confusion, drunkeness, displeasure. If he slept, perhaps then his past would return. <i>Before</i> would return to him.

He stood and set off down the hill and across the large, flat plains.

---

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Elliot Erickson rubbed furiously at his face as his laptop flickered again and settled on a solid, steady, and infuriating blue. Such a thing wasn't nearly as frustrating as it had been only ten years ago. Ten years ago, he could have lost an entire article either from not saving or having a hard drive corrupt. Today, though, he knew that his document synced with the cloud and that most he could expect to have lost was maybe a few minutes of work.

But still, having his work interrupted, especially when he was on a roll, was still just as frustrating. Elliot pushed back from the dining table he'd converted into a work area, pulled up his flannel pajama bottoms, and padded into the kitchen while his computer restarted.

The kitchen was enormous. In fact, the entire house was enormous. Three floors plus basement. Fifteen foot ceilings and crown mouldings that looked original or at least as good as a couple things out of HGTV. The house was his now, left to him by his grandparent whom he'd only met once. They'd passed a few weeks ago and when the lawyer showed up at his office at the Washington Bugle, he'd been certain he was going to be served. Instead, he'd gotten a house and a small fortune out of the deal.

He'd come out as soon as the ink was dry and the accountant that came with the estate - <i>estate!</i> - made sure that Uncle Sam wouldn't screw him over too hard. For twenty-five and in the first year of his actual job with an actual 401K and the actual responsibility of paying off the student loans he'd had to get as an orphan to get through school he'd done pretty well. Not that he could congratulate himself on killing his grandparents.

Elliot filled up a glass from the tap, and drank, trying to get his mind back in order from the screeching halt of just a moment ago and considered quitting for the fiftieth time that week. He'd done the Tom Cruise thing, sliding across the hardwood floors in briefs and socks. He'd done the porn thing, jerking off everywhere from the kitchen to the living room and, just last night, on the porch. But now, he just felt as if he was in an aimless spin. This morning had been the first time he'd found himself able to fall into the groove of writing since moving into the house.

The sun's morning rays shining through the kitchen windows caught his attention for a time before a doorbell sprung him from his thoughts. He set the glass down and answered the door. The woman who stood there blinked in surprise. "Ah," she said, hesitating,

Elliot's reflexive smile froze when he saw that she was wearing a police uniform and another uniformed man leaned against the police patrol car in his driveway. "Can I help you?"

"We had a bit of a disturbance last night and was wondering if you saw anything out of the ordinary?" She asked, glancing past Elliot briefly before she looked back at his face. Well, almost. Her eyes briefly raked across his bare chest, at the definition there.

"Can't say I have," Elliot replied, his smile thawing at seeing her eyes.

She pursed her lips, "You're Mr. Erickson's grandson."

He nodded, seeing no reason to deny the fact, "I am. Just inherited the house."

"And you're new to the neighborhood."

"In so much as this is a neighborhood," he leaned out of the door and looked both ways. All that was visible was greenery and he knew, because he'd run it, that the nearest house to either side was nearly a mile away. The 'city' proper was fifteen.

"Welcome to the neighborhood," she said turning to leave, "If you see anything strange, give the sheriff's office a call."

He turned to re-enter the house, "Mr. Erickson?" a male voice called. Elliot turned to see the male officer wave, "We generally answer the door fully clothed in Madison." He gave Elliot a sly smile as he slid into the car.

Elliot watched the two go and, once they'd turned off his private drive onto the road, he closed the door. He didn't recall anything strange last night. In fact, he slept like a baby. He climbed the stairs, intending to get clean and dressed for the day -- the officer was right, if he stayed in his pajamas all day, he might spontaneously turn into a pumpkin -- when a breeze caught his attention. It wasn't the feel of it, but the sound of it, whistling beneath a nearby door.

The officers didn't say what kind of strangeness that had them asking door-to-door, but he was still wary. A rabid bat had once attacked a classmate of his and he'd gone with her to get the shots needed to combat the foaming mouth disease. He did not relish the thought of going through that.

He pushed the door open and froze. Past the broken glass from the window and the tracks of dirt on the hardwood floor, was a man, lying in the bed asleep. Each breath caused his chest and abdomen to rise and fall, accenting his musculature. Across his left pectoral was a number, tattooed in gothic lettering: 91

"What the fuck?"

Chapter 3

[Reeza]

I can already tell you that I will read and love every word of this story until it is finished, but seven and a half years between chapters is unacceptable. Please try to finish this within the next thirty years.

Your writing, the style, the pacing, the perspective, the set up, etc. are all fantastic. (All you need to fix is that little problem with the italics.)

So, where's the next chapter? Is it done yet? Is it? Is it? Huh?

[Kit Werecat]

Originally Posted by Reeza

I can already tell you that I will read and love every word of this story until it is finished, but seven and a half years between chapters is unacceptable. Please try to finish this within the next thirty years.

Your writing, the style, the pacing, the perspective, the set up, etc. are all fantastic. (All you need to fix is that little problem with the italics.)

So, where's the next chapter? Is it done yet? Is it? Is it? Huh?

I don't have to say much, when Reeza's around. I swear he channels my mind (I'll have to start wearing tin foil hats).

The story telling is wonderfully calm, unhurried, and foreboding. The narrative is stated matter-of-factly, but there's a chilling edge to it.. Kinda' the way a narrator would have described the opening scenes in "The Terminator" - You know something's SERIOUSLY up, and you're wary for it, but you just don't know what it is, or where it's going to come from.

That is, until S91 slowly walks into your life.

I understand that this is a piece begun several years ago, then picked back up recently again.

If it was the lack of enthusiasm in responding posts to your original debut of this story that made you lose interest in continuing, I think I'm up to the challenge in keeping you interested and encouraged.

But frankly, from what I see here, I am in very good company. We are Legion.

Please continue this story. It is hauntingly fascinating.

[Reeza]

Originally Posted by Kit Werecat

I don't have to say much, when Reeza's around. I swear he channels my mind (I'll have to start wearing tin foil hats).

Bah! Your tin foil hats provide no protection against me!

[nnnrg]

Silly Werekit. Reeza wears tinfoil skullcap. You wearing a tinfoil hat merely means you are wearing the antenna to his receiver.

[Mdlftr]

Subject 91 - Chapter 2

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He knew what was right and what was wrong. Wrong was a tightness in his abdomen, a flutter of fear. It was an overwhelming sense of discomfort. Right was warmth in that same place, in his core. Right felt like a warm blanket around his shoulders as he sat before a campfire.

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Can't wait to see where this goes.........