Bitter Oracle - Chapter 13 - The Vision

Bitter, an Oracle, has agreed to help Mike Murphy find out what has happened to his brother, Kyle. In Chapter 12, she acquired a watch of Kyle's. Now, she's ready to Scry for him.

I like rituals, small habits that make life feel structured, feel neat and controllable. Whenever I can, I try to put aside a couple of hours before I Scry, just to prepare myself, make sure I eat right, make sure I’ll be comfortable – it’s never a good idea to Scry on an empty stomach…or tired. Exhaustion affects negatively the quality of my Visions.

I was too shaky to wait an entire night, though, and I had stuffed myself with Mike. I just took a hot shower to loosen my muscles. It’s a bitch to cramp during a Trance. It’s…It’s not easy to explain.

It’s not the glamorous process you see in the movies. I’m not like all those on-screens Oracles. Hollywood doesn’t like young tattooed punks like me, good luck finding us in any movie – except in that one mystery movie with Kevin Aziz where you can see a huge bearded fellow Trancing on drugs during a hardcore rock festival.

Deplorable. Like you need drugs when you’re Scrying…I hate it, but it’s also the most pleasure I’ve ever gotten, almost sex, but more too. Nipples harden, hair rise, wetness ensues, but it’s intellectual, spiritual too. It’s a joy, deep and wicked. Ecstasy coming on the heels of hell. It’s a warmth – a glow – that stays with you for days. It takes up your entire being, it lights up every cell like its own tiny pleasure center.

Sibyl Thirdeye does it well in her TV show. That’s about the only realistic thing about her fake ethereal, whimsical act. Yuck. I hate that show. Whenever I turn up the TV and hear the first notes of ‘Dream’, I can feel my teeth grinding together. She always Scryes in the most improbable settings: amidst a circle of candles on the floor of her dusty workshop, dancing naked in the woods…

For the record, dancing naked in the woods increases your chances of catching pneumonia; it has no impact whatsoever on your chances of successfully Trancing. And as for playing around with fire hazards…How stupid would it be to set yourself in fire while you’re convulsing on the ground?

Stupid Sibyl.

And don’t get me started on the Avenger type of Oracle, the superhero Scrying easy as you please. Scrying upright. Scrying walking, Scrying talking. Excuse me while I choke on the unlikeliness.

Nobody in their right mind would Scry standing up. You bump your head a couple dozen time and, then, sitting down becomes automatic reflex.

I did one better and I always lied down. It was a little humiliating, at twenty-four, to own three bed pads, but the most comfortable place to Trance was my own bed, and it would have been annoying to sully it.

Following my own little ritual, I spread the pad under the blankets, prepared myself a cup of chamomile tea, turned the heating down a notch and curled up in an armchair with a book. As one last soothing touch, I put on some music, low, soft as a lullaby.

I didn’t need to be relaxed to Trance, but panic never fails to cloud the mind, to make the Visions blurry, slippery. I waited until my entire body felt like warm butter, then I dropped the empty cup in the sink and the book on my bedside table. I turned off the music, the light. The stars Colleen had painted on my ceiling glowed just brightly enough that I could make my way to the bed.

Kyle’s watch was already on the pillow next to mine. I groped for it. It throbbed, uncomfortably cold in my palm.

Damn. I was going to fall hard and fast. Sometimes, it was like that. Sometimes, I had to push for the Trance, like it was the first time all over again. I did nothing to fight the watch’s strong pull, only too relieved to give myself over.

The piece of mechanics on my palm was pulsing harder and harder, faster and faster. My hand fell open. My heartbeat picked up. A little bit of panic surged. I fought it down. It was normal. Trances always began with minor losses of control.

This time felt different, the Trance was dragging me in. The watch pinned my palm down in the softness of my mattress. I could hear its loud beat – or was that my heart? I didn’t know anymore.

The Vision reached out and grabbed me.

Beating. Beating. Beating. A vein throbbed behind his ear. Angry. Anger. Pain blooming in my belly – someone had punched me in the guts. My throat. My throat ached. He was…My throat ached and itched from the coarse hair on his arm. The smell of his Cologne, citrusy with a hint of musk, burnt my nose.

Instinct almost pushed me out of the Trance. Rape. Murder. Suicide. Kidnapping. All of Humanity’s petty failings, endless dramas and tragedies, I had seen it all. Trancing was unfair, a game of chance. I had no control over the places it took me. I carried memories of the worst and memories of the best. But I had never experienced death.

That’s what awaited. Death.

I wasn’t even deep-Scrying yet, I was only just skimming the surface. I reclaimed some semblance of control over my hand, closing it around the watch. Rewind.

The press gleaming above a sheet of metal, smooth, delicate, little cogs.

Not that far.

Patiently, I unraveled all the loose threads wrapped around the watch until I found Kyle’s. Such a reckless flame, engrossed in the here and now, hiding deep insecurities behind a façade of friendly pragmatism. I felt his love for his brother, for his mother, underscored by the knowledge that they would always rely on him, never the other way around.

And, then, there was Arthur. Blind awe more than love. They had been together months and Kyle knew next to nothing about him. He was a deep, cultured voice, the salty taste of his skin, the different feels of that skin – smooth, fine, translucent, tan, dark, rough to the touch. He was so together. He was also controlling and judgmental, but Kyle had been happy to be controlled, at first, mistaking control for safety. And, then, he had been such a coward. He hadn’t known how to stand up to the man he loved, he hadn’t been confident anymore in his own judgment.

It was Mike who had finally opened his eyes.

Kyle had learned from a young age that social interactions could be torture for his younger brother. He had always tried to do his best to shield him.

It didn’t take a genius to see that every second with Arthur was hell for Mike.

Kyle had grown steadily unhappier as he realized just how subjugated he had become. The breakup had been ugly. Mike didn’t know that. They were close, but it wasn’t easy to confide in him. Behind the stammer, Mike’s intelligence was perfectly normal, but his handicap kept him isolated. He had a simplistic view of the world. He was innocent. Arthur could have shattered that in two words, could have destroyed Mike’s trust in his older brother. Arthur knew all of Kyle’s dirty secrets.

It had been the real draw: Arthur had known how to see straight through Kyle to the dirty, shameful fantasies, to the need. He had indulged them like no one could have. Wasn’t he owed something for that? Some loyalty? And Kyle had given him an implicit promise. He had allowed the older man to see him as his thing, his creation. How could he just walk away?Arthur had known how to play on his guilt, his sense of loyalty. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. How to blame him for that? It had been part of their game rules.

But the game had been slipping further and further out of hands. Kyle had been afraid for his life. He had been so tired too, exhausted by the humiliations, exhausted by his silent struggle to retain his will.

His only option had been to run away. He had left his job, his place and broken all ties with most of his friends. He had only kept in touch with his brother, mother and a couple of old friends, but they were under strict orders not to answer any question about him or his whereabouts.

Mike had required an extra stern lecture. He simply didn’t understand why he couldn’t visit his older brother at his place whenever he pleased anymore, but he promised to do as he was asked.

Still, Kyle wasn’t surprised to find an unsmiling Arthur on his porch, one night when he came back from work.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, nonetheless.

Inane question. Arthur didn’t grace it with an answer, but maybe it was because Kyle’s feeble squeaking hadn’t made an impression.

“Let me in,” he said.

Kyle was closing the door behind them by the time he realized he had mindlessly followed orders. He drew a deep breath, slowly turning around to face his biggest weakness. “Listen, Arthur, we shouldn’t see each other again. I think-”

“Stupid boy,” Arthur growled, slamming him against the wall.

All the air exploded out of Kyle’s lungs. Before he could draw breath again, Arthur’s hands had closed around his throat – those beautiful, deft hands. They shook him. His head thumped twice against the wall.

“Who do you think you are?”

Spittle splattered Kyle’s face. He couldn’t turn away, couldn’t bring himself to look away from those crazy eyes either. How hadn’t he ever seen the madness in them, heard the disdain in that voice?

“You’re nothing! Nothing! Just a poor little slut-boy with a fat ass and daddy issues!”

“Please,” Kyle wheezed.

He didn’t struggle. Struggling only made things worse. The hands tightened on his throat. Spots danced before his eyes. He told himself that Arthur was going to let him go. It was a game they had played before, and he always let go in time.

“Little slut,” Arthur repeated. He shook Kyle again. “Who do you think you are?” His hold slackened just a bit, just enough to let the younger man gasp, gasp, and gulp down a small breath. “You’re mine. Say it.”

Kyle managed to hiccup, “I’m yours,” and was rewarded when the fingers at his throat unclenched yet a bit more.

“You go where I tell you. You do what I tell you.”

Kyle nodded energetically with every word. A smirk appeared on Arthur’s lips. The young man welcomed it, as it meant that his ex was finally winding down a little.

“You’re mine to use.”

Arthur grabbed Kyle’s tee-shirt by the collar and ripped it off. It was fairly cold inside the apartment. Goosebumps spread all over Kyle’s chest, then Arthur’s warm fingers drifted down from his throat to one of his nipples. He shivered, colder still. Arthur’s eyes climbed down, he licked his lips. Kyle recognized the desire in the other man, in his touch and his gaze.

It was a familiar feeling, being just a thing, the object of someone’s lust, but it terrified him. He panicked. The violence of his reaction was entirely foreign to Kyle’s past and character. He knew Arthur was about to grab him by the neck and to exact his passion for physical domination. Kyle had enjoyed it all before – being an object, and the physical submission too.

So, flight, fight or freeze?

Well, fight. It was like something took full control of Kyle’s body in one long spasm. He fought, struggled, pushed against Arthur, kicked out, scratched his hands and arms. But the other man was taller, bigger, stronger. He grabbed Kyle’s head and banged it on the wall, once, twice, three time, then he pressed a forearm across his throat.

Not playing around, this time. Something snapped in Kyle’s neck.

He knew he was never going to breathe ever again. His eyes, his lungs, his throat hurt. His heart hurt. The fight leeched out of him. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Arthur’s coarse hair burnt the fine skin of his throat. The smell of his Cologne left a familiar taste on his tongue.

Kyle, rejecting the other man with his entire being, conjured the scents he loved. Clean, warm and soapy. Mike. Cigarette smoke, honey and freshly-baked cake. Mom. Musky resin and clementine. Christmas in family.

Good-bye. I love you so, so, so damn much.

*****

The Vision spit me out like wet gum. I jack-knifed in bed, panting. Not over yet. The Trance was still trying to pull me under. I held on as hard as I could, digging my nails into the bedsheets, welcoming the pain spreading from my fingertips.

Just a minute. One damn minute!

I gasped aware. No time to absorb my Vision of Kyle, no chance I could stop Scrying. Quickly. Assess your condition. My body? Fine, it was fine. No cramps, I hadn’t soiled myself. But my flesh was acting out on me, aroused, but I didn’t want that. I didn’t want it!

My hands relaxed, the pain eased, my entire body felt warm, cottony. I slipped, let go, slipped under. No. Then, free-Trancing took up all of my mind – and that shameful pleasure found its way in.

Now, Bitter's got to tell Mike what happened to his brother. Read Chapter 14.