Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Kyle takes a step back, overcome.
Another bloody print on the carpet.
He doesn’t care.
“It all started with him,” mutters Kyle. “It’s because of him I became this way … because of Tristan. And my family is dead because of what I am. Because of …”
Kyle stares down at the carpet. One bloody footprint after another. Isn’t that how this entire journey started?
Bloody footprints on his kitchen tiles.
Across his living room.
Across his front lawn.
Down the street.
“I didn’t want this,” says Kyle to that bloody footprint. “It’s because of what I am. Had I know this was my destiny, I’d … I would have never become this. I don’t want this anymore.” He clenches shut his eyes. The footprint is still there in his mind. “I don’t want it.”
“Are you saying you wish to return your gift? You wish to be rid of it?”
Kyle opens his eyes, turns to him. “Rid of it? … What?”
“Simple question.” Markadian’s voice has become soft and oddly alluring. “Do you wish to be rid of it? Do you wish to no longer be what you are?”
All the directors in the room watch.
All the directors in the room wait.
All the bloody footprints around Kyle, in and out of his life and his memories.
“You … Y-You can do that?” asks Kyle.
Markadian’s stare never breaks. His eyes never blink.
And his answer: “Yes.”
Kyle stares back in disbelief. “I … I guess I …” He squints at him. “I don’t have to be this anymore? I can get rid of it? I … I didn’t think that was possible. I never considered it. I thought this is … forever.”
The room continues to watch.
Continues to wait.
“It can be ended,” says Markadian. “All you need do is ask.”
At once, it feels miraculous.
Kyle and Elias in the sunlight, eating from a picnic basket, laughter in the air.
Kyle and Elias on the beach, basking in the sun, atop a soft beach towel with polka dots all over it in every color.
Kyle and Elias walking to a friend’s house for dinner, hand-in-hand, under a warm evening summer sun.
“Well?” Markadian also watches, also waits. “What do you wish, Kyle Bentley Amos? Shall we … end it?”
The life he could have with Elias.
A life in the daylight.
It breaks his heart, to think it cannot be a possibility, unless he says yes to Lord Markadian.
Kyle decides to ask one more question. “How is it done?”
“Simple.”
A rush of air blasts before Kyle, and he’s flat on his back on the bloodied Persian rug. Standing atop him is Lord Markadian staring down, one booted foot on Kyle’s chest.
Every director has stood up, no longer bored or tired, each of them excited, thirsty, staring over their desks to watch.
Kyle stares up at Markadian, all his hope traded for terror.
He cannot move.
“You are your blood,” Markadian tells the stony-eyed and blank-faced Kyle. “If you no longer wish to be what you are, I’ll simply remove your blood from your body. Every last drop of you. Every last drop of Kyle Bentley Amos. All your dreams. All your memories. All your anger and bitterness. Mine.”
Kyle can barely speak, as if the weight of the world is upon his chest, pressing down. “I … I didn’t … d-d-didn’t realize …”
“Save me the trouble of finishing this dreary case. Save me the tedium of paperwork and pageantry. Everyone loves a show. Shall we give them one? Say the word and it all ends now.”
Kyle shivers, trembling uncontrollably, his hands clasped to Markadian’s booted foot, placed on his chest, pinning him.
Tears sting Kyle’s eyes.
Somehow, he knew this is how it would end.
No matter what he said. No matter what he did.
“I … I should never have …” Kyle musters his last ounce of strength, pushes the words out from his strained throat. “… let Tristan … sit with me … at th-th-that lunch table.”
It is Markadian’s voice that smiles, not his lips, when he says, “My dear, beautiful boy. Nothing can save you now. Not even Tristan, who has used up all his favors …”
The world presses down harder upon Kyle.
“… burned all his chances, played all his cards …”
Crushing him. Ending him.
“… and spent every last one of his bargaining chips, the last of which he spent when he left you one year ago and returned to me.” Markadian bares his teeth. “I do wonder what you taste like. Perhaps your blood was your only appeal at all.”
Ah, but I have one chip left, actually.
Every face in the room turns, alarmed. From the boy to the grey-bearded man. To Directors Zara, Cindy, and teal-glasses-wearing Tsuki. To the old lady and a dozen silent others.
Markadian does not turn. He closes his eyes, jaw tightened.
Footsteps. Kyle looks up as best as he can from the floor, watching upside-down. Far behind the circle of desks comes a man in an odd outfit. His pants, one leg yellow, one leg powder blue. Oversized cream-colored blouse with a lion embroidery.