Author's Note:
Once again we have a sex free chapter. I didn't want to try and shoe horn in a sex scene and instead focused on Key.
In Chapter 6 Key got a taste of what Collodi can do and rather than make him some kind of sexual deviant he was made into a violent madman.
At any rate we're heading towards the climax soon that should be chock full of both sex and violence.
Read and Enjoy
Chapter 8
Key's mind went black as he ripped the men apart. He had some vague notion that bones were broken from the sounds the men were making. It was almost a squeal followed by wailing as they flailed at his feet. There was blood on his hands. Always had been, but this was different and was definitely no accident. Sirens shook him from his fugue state and he wondered idly what the blonde man did for a living. His hands were testimony to his fears. They were bruised and bleeding from use. His jaw was sore and he felt the sting of blood in his left eye. Collodi's influence was still on him like an earworm needling at his brain. Anger and brutality were still clouding his brain and he could feel the blood lust rise again as he passed a group of women dressed for clubbing. He felt his hands clench and stuffed them in his pockets. He looked around into the surrounding people and felt exposed. A bus rumbled past him and the eyes inside felt like they were all on him. A moment of clarity hit him and the world around him suddenly had sharper edges. A man brushed past him and once again the fuse was triggered and in the next moment he had pummeled the man at the back of his head and knocked him onto the sidewalk. He kicked him in the midsection and dropped on top of him pinning his arms with his legs while he rained down fists on his victim. From behind someone grabbed Key by the arms and pulled him away. Distantly he heard his name, but hardly recognized the word in his berserker state. He spun on his attacker and recognized the face. Patches of black and white skin mottled together like a Rorschach test. The man's rheumy eyes seemed to look through him and he heard the word again. The word that was his name. There was another name that screamed in the back of his subconscious, Elvis. He knew the man in front of him. The man who helped him only hours ago.
Key stared at Elvis with red rage blurring his vision and his hands balled tightly in fists. Elvis seemed to sense the danger and stepped back as Key held himself still with whatever will he had that wasn't subjugated by Collodi. He gritted his teeth and crossed his arms over himself and managed to grunt out, "Get away from me!"
"What's going on with you?" Elvis asked and took another step back.
The tension in his body and the desire to lash out brought Key to his knees and yelled out, "Please! Run!"
Key ran into the street banging his fists against his temples as he moved. Every jagged violent impulse he ever had was roiling in his subconscious. He grabbed the amulet and tried to breath. Ahead there was a bridge. Cars raced past as he found his way below to the river. The water seemed to match his own turbulence. He emptied his pockets, ripped his shirt from his body, then his pants. Stark naked in the cold night he dove into the river.
Black unconsciousness greeted him. It was a feeling like when you're sick but just before you feel like total shit. The body buzz of your antibodies trying to fight off an infection. A feeling of security. It was something he remembered just on the edge of his memory. He felt warm. Embraced by something that wasn't a person or idea but a sense memory. He wrapped himself in the sensation but it was ripped away.
When he opened his eyes again cracked earth spread around himself in all directions. Another him sat cross-legged in the field. He could feel the heat rise to him as he watched himself. It beat him from above with the sun falling and again reflected up from the earth. The air quivered everywhere he looked. He took a deep breath and felt the earth fall away below him. He dropped to his hands and knees and felt the sting of the alkaloid salt below him. He inhaled sharply and forced his heart to stop racing before he spoke, "Where am I?" nothing answered.
He saw his own chakras blazing like LEDs on his twin's body. The sitting version of himself opened his eyes and smiled as he hovered above the ground. He felt the briefest sensation of cold rushing water but the sensation was consumed by a pulse of heat the following instant. He drew in another breath, the air itself burned his throat.
When he opened his eyes again he was in an alley with bodies strewn everywhere. Red blood streaked the walls and in the center he saw himself squatting nearby giving devout attention to a piece of meat in his hands. This was him but feral. His mohawk was gnarled and matted into one massive dread on the back of his head. He was shirtless and shoeless. The only semblance of dress were the torn oily jeans that hung off his legs. The feral Key's fingernails were caked with dirt and his knuckles were scabbed over. "Who are you?" Key said to himself. The creature looked up. His eyes were cracked with red and his face was swollen. He snarled and returned his attention to the meat. Key spoke again, "Talk to me," his double dashed the meat to the ground and sprang from his position at Key. Key threw his hands up defensively but his twin's strength was too much and knocked him hard to the ground. Key flailed wildly trying to avoid the strikes but each one seemed to land harder than the last. He gasped and felt water fill his longs.
A strong current and threatened to take him deeper into its heart. The river water took on the shape of hands grabbing at every section of him as he struggled to find air again. His eyes stung and his lungs were on fire. He reached hard with what little reserves of strength he had but there was nothing left. Only the warm sensation returning. Part of his brain was panicking but that was becoming more distant. His mind drifted in the empty blackness until he saw blurred street lights and felt wet gravel in his grasping hands. He retched up water from his stomach and turned on his side. He looked around but saw no one. The river bank was lapping against his body as he pulled himself upright in spite of his throbbing head. The amulet was still around his neck but he was other-wise naked.
He didn't know where to go or what to do, his home burned, Noami was gone. Collodi's influence was largely gone from mind but he could still feel the crackle of it in the back of his head. He took stock of the encounter and found that under duress Collodi found a way around the anger but it was taxing for him. The oxycontin probably didn't help his resistance because he missed the mental avenue Collodi took to get around his defenses. His reprogramming wasn't perfect and took time to cement evidenced by Noami's experience. Repeated exposure to his power made it harder to resist. He racked his brain for solutions but none were forthcoming.
He made the walk to Seth's and as he got to their house his heart sank. Police tape on the door, a chalk outline of his body was just inside the entryway, and the rust color of old blood spotted the rug. Key dropped to his knees and felt his eyes well up with tears. His heart felt heavy and about to burst as the path to that moment caught up with him. Exhaustion, injury, and psychological pressure all tackled him at once as he yelled out in the open doorway.
Passing headlights reminded him of the task at hand and he suddenly felt very aware of the absurdity of a howling naked punk laying in the open doorway of a house. It would have been funny if he didn't feel so wasted. He pulled himself up and further into the house closing the front door behind him. Key moved as quickly as he could as he grabbed a t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of old heavy work boots Seth had from when he worked construction back in the day and left. The tingling in his head told him that Collodi was still working him, though his hold had loosened with every step. He walked along the streets avoiding people just to be safe. He still didn't quite trust himself. He moved through residential neighborhoods into downtown until he found the place he was looking for. A neon blue hand greeted him. It was the only thing he had left, "Belinda Blue," He said as he crossed the threshold into her shop.
"Key?" She asked as she came from a back room with a glass of whiskey in her hand. She wore a green track suit with matching tennis shoes. Her red hair was braided behind her and hung to her waist.
"Are you going jogging?"
She scoffed, "I don't jog, I was just about to close up actually."
