Kill Me Now - Chapter 5

I don't have much to give you right now, but I've been working on my NaNo novel over the past few days. Almost hit 17k words. Since it's no longer NaNo, however, I'll be using the actual title from now on. This segment is only a little over 3 pages in a Word doc, but it's something.

I have a few ideas floating in my head for twists and major plot points, as well as character development stuff and ways to get to the ending. It will certainly not happen fast, but I believe it will happen. For those reading, I appreciate your interest. Stay tuned for more!

Twenty-two years into Kale Presson’s unaccomplished life, he still had virtually no concept of his place in the world. Meeting his long-lost brother, gaining a tight group of friends, maintaining a regular schedule, and learning the details of his elusive past did not remedy the purposelessness he felt on a somewhat daily basis.—when he wasn’t completely occupied with cleaning up some mess or other left over from a training session, that is.—For almost as long as he knew what he was, he also knew that he was wanted by the devil himself to be his slave for eternity, yet the horrible creature responsible for his every hardship had not made a move nor given hint that he was acting on his desire for Kale’s service.

The scene in the darkroom was more than likely discussed on occasion between the group, but Kale pushed the incident to the back of his mind. There was no pressure on him at the moment to figure anything out or even really think about his destiny, or whatever. Ultimately this lack of pressure irritated the entire group of men—demons—whatever—and left them often to sit on their hands or twiddle their thumbs and simply wait. On one particular Tuesday evening just over two and a half years after Kale’s first conversation with his brother, that is exactly what they were doing. Roth had the day off to recuperate from training the day before, and Blake, Kenton, Enya, and Alexander were in the second meeting room stewing over an intense round of cards. The game was foreign to Kale, as they were using one of Enya’s sets, and anyway the atmosphere did nothing to calm Kale’s stirring mind. Corten had enough with the meeting rooms weeks ago, what with all the hours he spent there trying to figure out what the next move should be or how far Kale was in his development. So the two sat in the hallway with their legs stretched out. Silence comfortably floated by as they analyzed chips of paint and did everything they could to keep distracted from the not-so-looming end of peace.

“I don’t like my last name.” Kale murmured.

“Well, what do you want to do about that?”

“We’re brothers. By blood.”

“That we are.” Corten hid his smile as he thought about what was coming. He wondered why it had taken Kale so long to think of it.

“I want to use your last name.”

“It is on your birth certificate. Feel free.”

He stopped. Kale shifted and recrossed his ankles.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What is it?”

“Oh,” Corten pretended with a smile. “Delaire is my name.”

Kale sat back and looked to the crown molding, not noticing any detail in particular. “Kale Rietan Delaire. That sounds so much better than Presson. Too many N’s.”

“I’m glad you think so. That’s how it was meant to sound.” They both took a breath, knowing the other had something to say. Kale forfeited his comment, and Corten continued, “You were always meant to do this. I don’t know how I know. Maybe it comes from how we met. Like the whole thing was planned out somehow.”

“How we met? What do you mean?”

“It was just so random. I wasn’t intending to even venture outside that day. It was only by complete stupidity I did. We were never supposed to come across each other. I was supposed to be somewhere else that day. It was all a mistake and—“

“Maybe it wasn’t.” Kale rose to his feet, looking down at Corten from hunched shoulders and a crooked neck. “I mean, let’s look at all this, how much good has come from it. You can’t sit there and tell me it would have been better if I’d gone on having nothing.”

“You had so much. You had a future, and mon—“

“I had nothing, Cort. Absolutely nothing worth my time. Why do you think I stuck around so easily? Why do you think I want to use your last name? I’ve never belonged to anythi—”

“That’s not true!”

“DON’T interrupt me. Gosh. I just need to belong to something. Just once. To know what it’s like. Don’t you DARE tell me it was a mistake. ”

Kale walked down the hall and around the corner, storming through the darkroom into the one that housed the boys’ card game. There was no game going on at the moment, it seemed like everyone was just sitting with their hands in their laps and eyes boring into the table. Cards were scattered everywhere. Kale made his way to the other side of the table and brushed some of them off a chair before joining the group in what seemed like a mutual agreement not to ask questions.

Corten was not far behind. It only took a minute after Kale sat down for him to enter, much more collected than either had been in the hallway, and stand leaning against the wall, like he seemed to enjoy doing so often. Not one of the men lifted their eyes from the table, nor did they move a muscle to acknowledge Corten’s presence.

After a seemingly endless stretch of stillness, Corten slid down the wall, arms crossed, and sat with his eyes closed and back to the wall. Blake took this as his cue to continue the argument that must have taken place before.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.” The accusation was directed toward Alexander, but he did not acknowledge being spoken to. “This is Kale’s thing. Saving the world. I don’t understand why you expect me to have some hand in it. The whole idea is absurd.”

Finally, everyone’s heads lifted a few inches and stared at Blake, offended, as if he’d committed a felony in front of their eyes. Alexander merely looked angry.

“You must be a part of it. This is all of our responsibility. Kale is our responsibility—has been ever since we offered him a place here and promised to teach him what he should have learned a long time ago. We are all a part. It would only take one of us backing out for everything to fall apart.” Alex rose and leaned forward on his hands, somehow towering with his smaller frame over the table. “Are you going to be that person?”

Blake’s gaze returned to the grain of the wood below Alexander’s looming form.

“I would not dream of failing you, Master.”

Kale flinched at the way Blake addressed Alex. Sure, he had assumed the blond demon was some unspoken leader, probably because of his natural proclivity for organization and holding command over a room. But “Master”? Where had that come from? Blake had even dropped his head with the statement, like a bow. It was obvious everyone in the group was in some way used to this manner of speaking except Kale. Perhaps it was something left over from their past that they’d not though to tell Kale. Mustn’t have been important.

But the way Alexander looked down at Blake now . . . over his nose, lips pulled tightly into a line. Disapproval. Blake did something. Blake screwed up. Big time. They worked together fine; they had to; they’d done it for years. But Alex never got over whatever it was. The bitterness lay heavy over the room as Alex briefly rest his hand on Blake’s head, and left the room without a word.

“Okay, so what the hell was that?” Kale glanced uneasily around the room, trying to gather the answers from his friends’ faces. Still no one moved, with the exception of Blake, whose eyes widened but did not blink even as his body shook with built up regret and fear. Engulfed in the sight of Blake’s breakdown, Kale started when he heard a voice at his side. Alexander had returned holding a small, white, plastic cup of something, which he promptly handed to Blake, who grasped it loosely, flinching away when one finger accidentally brushed Alexander’s. The blond leader was not phased, rather looked down at him fondly and with sadness. He did not turn away as he spoke.

“Blake was my slave, in hell. We were both redeemed later on, after accumulating some reputation, though of course two very different statuses.” He turned to Kale as Blake slowly sipped at the liquid. “He was, in whatever sense possible, a favorite of mine, like a pet. I spoiled him, but only enough to keep him alive and with me. After I got out, my ‘toy’ became my friend. I lamented my loss for a long while, then realized I could do something. I got him out. I essentially bribed a friend of mine… Anyway.” He paused and glanced down. “He is… Blake is mine. It’s been many years, and we’ve had our troubles. But he will always be my friend. There is no mistake that can change that.”

The last statement had been directed to Blake. Forgiveness, and perhaps an apology, for all those years that went by in hell before Alex thought to rescue his once-slave. Blake set down the cup and smiled. Alex patted him once more before leaving the room. He didn’t come back like the last time, but everything seemed to be resolved anyway. What kind of magic, demonic serum had Alex fed Blake to calm him down so much?

“Hey, what was in that cup?” Kale saw no harm in asking.

“Water. Why?” Blake gave him a questioning look, and Kale laughed.

“Never mind.” So much for demonic serum.