Read Consumed by Love - A Short Story Online
Authors: Pavarti K. Tyler
Consumed by Love - A Short Story
by
Pavarti K. Tyler
CONSUMED BY LOVE – A SHORT STORY
(Second Edition)
Original Copyright © 2011 Pavarti K. Tyler
This New Edition Copyright © 2013 Pavarti K. Tyler
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ISBN (EPUB Version): 1622532937
ISBN-13 (EPUB Version): 978-1-62253-293-3
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Edited by Lane Diamond
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Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them
fictitiously.
Slicing a knife through the skin and muscle of a human
thigh is not difficult. Enough Novocain and Oxycodone evaporates the pain. The
first time, it’s difficult to believe how hard it is to push the blade through
the layers of thick muscle. Eventually, it, like so many other things, becomes
habit—simply something that needs to be done.
***
Hugo had never been
close to his father. Ever since his old man died, however, he hadn’t felt
right.
His disorganized mind couldn’t
stay focused on any topic for more than ten minutes at most. He missed
deadlines at work, talked in his sleep and lost his appetite. Eventually, the
only thing he could convince his sensitive system to digest was his wife’s
meatloaf. He lost weight rapidly, and his normally deep bronze skin fell ashen
and hung limp from his bones. Just an inch below six-foot, and with a once-athletic
build, his muscles now wasted away. He appeared much older than his twenty-nine
years.
His wife Bree worried.
He ignored her when she
asked what was bothering him, pretending nothing was wrong. He kissed her on
the lips, and asked what was for dinner with a strained smile before excusing
himself to the bathroom. Once there, he cursed at his wane reflection, knowing
his wife probably listened in the other room with tears in her eyes.
As weeks slipped by,
Hugo faded, becoming little more than a stranger, detached.
Bree woke in the middle
of the night, alone in bed again, and drifted downstairs to find him sitting in
the living room.
He heard her, but didn’t
turn. He just stared through the window up at the distant moon, as if it were
speaking directly to him.
***
Skin easily pulls away from the flesh, having already
been carefully separated from the muscles and nerves of the leg. The flap of
skin is vestigial, only the casing of what had once lain beneath. Now it helps
conceal and protect the next section allocated for removal. Necessity demands
the sacrifice—love will reward it.
***
Doctors’ bills piled up,
yet no one could diagnose Hugo. His health had degenerated, his energy gone.
Now unemployed, he sat in the house all day, waiting for the moon to appear in
the night sky. He barely moved and never spoke. None of the tests revealed a
disease, a virus or a pathogen; nothing could explain his decline.
Bree became desperate. She
cooked every meal he’d ever liked, trying to entice him to eat. She begged and
cajoled him into walking around the block with her, hoping to pull him out of
whatever had grabbed hold of the man she loved.
He’d become a mere memory
of the man who loved her. The man who laughed easily, who charmed the Jehovah’s
Witnesses at the door so much they now stopped by just to visit the “heathen
native” who lived here, had vanished.
The doctors said it was
all in his mind, that he’d suffered a break from reality when his father passed,
his grief overwhelming him—too much for him to bear. Bree tried to explain that
the loss of his father hadn’t been a tragedy, that they’d never been close and hadn’t
spoken in over a decade, but they ignored her in favor of the simple
explanation. They tossed about words like “institution” and “for his own safety,”
but Hugo remained silent.
Having exhausted all the
medical options available, Bree expanded her search, calling holistic healers,
acupuncturists, and finally Hugo’s sister. He’d never wanted to have contact
with her or any of his family after he’d left home at the age of fifteen,
wanting to escape anything that reminded him of his childhood.
Now, Bree had run out of
ideas. She hoped the woman she’d met only once years ago could somehow offer
some real help. Doing something—
anything
—was better than doing nothing,
and this seemed her last hope.
Rita was a quiet woman
whose feathers never seemed to get ruffled. Bree’s feathers, on the other hand,
remained in a constant state of ruffling. Hugo spoke fondly of his sister
sometimes, usually after a few drinks or when they were out with friends. Yet
he never talked about his parents. Bree only knew they were extremely
superstitious and committed to raising their children the “old way.”
When everyone, including
the holistic healer who advised her to bury a cow liver in the backyard during
a full moon, had given up on Hugo, Bree broke her promise and made the call.
Rita lived near a small town in New Hampshire, in a commune with other Abenaki
Indians in the area. According to Hugo, she also maintained the “old ways.”
The phone on the other
end rang.
Hugo hummed in the next
room, a new development in his illness—no tune or melody, only the mournful hum
of a vacant man.
“Kway?” a soft voice
answered.
“Um, hi. This is Bree.” Her
chest tightened.
“Awani na?” the voice
asked.
“Is Rita there?” She
forced the words out, her fear and nervousness battling for the right to
constrict her throat.
“Rita! Oho! One minute.”
The phone fell against the wall, and the slam of the mouthpiece assaulted Bree’s
overwrought nerves.
“Kway?” a stronger voice
asked.
“Rita?”
“Oho.”
“Um... I hope that means
yes.”
“Oh! Yes, I’m sorry, it
does. Who is this?”
“Ah, it’s Bree. You
might not—”
“Bree! My sister! I’m so
glad to hear from you. How’s Nevada? How’s my prodigal brother? We missed you
both at this year’s gathering, and again at the funeral, of course.” Her voice
darkened at the mention of her father.
“Yes, I... um... I’m
sorry for your loss.”
“The community’s been
struggling to find a new leader. It’s hard for a small group like us to stay
together. Daddy’s death was... well, it’s been hard.”
Her sister-in-law spoke
as if they had spent their childhood growing up together.
“I’m sure—”
“Are you...?” Rita
suddenly sounded hopeful. “Are you calling because Hugo has reconsidered coming
home?”
“No,” Bree blurted out. “I
mean, he’s never mentioned it.”
“Oh.”
“Rita, I’m calling
because... well, Hugo’s sick.”
A sharp intake of breath
on the other end of the phone preceded silence, and the moment spread across
the country, connecting wife and sister in panic and dread.
“Bree, you need to bring
him back home.” Rita kept her voice quiet and serious, none of her usual
perkiness in her grave tone.
“Hugo wouldn’t want
that. D-do you know what’s happening to him?”
“You need to get him
home, Bree. I can’t say anything more than that. When did he begin to fall?”
Fall?
“Umm,
he started getting sick about four months ago.”
“After Daddy died?”
“Yes, the doctors think
its grief, but Hugo never—”
“No, he never did.” Rita
sighed. “Bree, you have to bring him home before this changes him. We can help
him, and he can be home and lead his people.”
Lead his people?
“What
the hell is going on?”
“You just have to get
him here before we lose him completely.”
“Lose him to what? To
who? Rita, I’m not bringing him there without some kind of explanation, without
knowing what is going on. The doctor’s can’t tell me anything!”
Rita snorted. “No, they
won’t.”
“Rita!”
“Bree, has he stopped
talking?”
“Yes.”
“Has he stopped eating?”
“Mostly.”
“You have to get him
home before he starts losing his hair. Before the tune of the devil takes over
his mind.”
“He’s... started
humming,” Bree whispered into the receiver.
“Listen to me. You need
to get on a plane today. Get him home. If he changes, no one will be safe.”
Rita’s voice dripped
with fear now. “It never occurred to me that my brother would let it go this
far. He should have known what was happening when it began. He’s been preparing
for it his whole life. I always assumed he would come home.”
“What are you talking
abo— Rita, I can’t! He doesn’t want that. He
wouldn’t
want that.”
Sobs broke from Bree’s
throat; tears of concern and fear intermingled with the cloud of confusion
surrounding her.
“Bree, I know you’re
afraid but you have to do this. You
have
to.”
“When he gets better, I’ll
discuss it with him further,” she whispered, preparing to hang up the phone.
“Wait!” Rita’s voice was
desperate, her fear clinging to every word. “Don’t let it go too far. If he
starts to change, if his hair falls out, if his skin turns white.... You can’t
let it go too far.”
***
People don’t realize how much blood and water there is in
muscle. Just a small section of flesh can be diced and added to a meal like any
other meat, but it’s the juice that sets it apart from an animal. The
now-familiar aroma fills the kitchen with a spicy richness, intermingling with
the vegetables it stews with. No broth is used—humanity itself provides all the
complex flavor necessary.
***
Bree prepared the
protein-rich drink the doctors prescribed for Hugo. It had been two weeks since
she’d spoken to Rita, and her nerves balanced on the edge of hysteria. Hugo no
longer appeared to sleep, and he ate only what she forced inside him, yet he
would inevitably vomit half of it. He didn’t speak or move, only grew paler by
the day, always keeping his vigil on the moon.
She reached for a knife
to cut open a new package of whey powder, but sliced open her finger instead.
Quickly, she pulled the wound into her mouth and opened the package, but not
before two small drops of blood fell inside the package.
***
The desert is wide around the small house; some would
call it desolate. Isolation is what they need now—nothing for miles. It appears
abandoned but for the smoke rising from the chimney. A common misconception is
that the desert is always warm, but at times it can be one of the coldest
places on Earth. The wind can whip through a body, setting in a chill no soup
can thaw.
By the blazing fire, the meal finishes early. Now all
there is to do is wait.
***
Hugo’s eyes adjusted to
the darkness. Stillness had captured his soul, but something woke him from his
slumber. Outside, a rare rainfall brought the steady ping of droplets against
the windows. He looked down and saw the old, withered hands of another man, a
man he had tried to force himself to forget.
Shaking his head to
dismiss the superstition he was raised with, Hugo stood unsteadily and moved
through the darkness of the living room.
How long had it been
since he’d gotten up from that chair for more than just a trip to the bathroom?
How long had it been since he’d felt in control of his own body?
Moonlight spilled in
through the windows, distracting Hugo with fractals of color splitting the
night. Blues and silvers wavered on a spectrum he’d never imagined existed,
while other colors drew him forward. They mesmerized him as he stepped into the
glow and felt the power of home course through his body.
“N’mahom Pguasek,” he
uttered before closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. He savored the night’s
vivid flavors, and the sound of lizards scurrying about outside.
He turned his head
sharply and breathed another scent into his lungs. Deep in his body, a hunger
stirred, and he knew that peace awaited only a few steps away. He followed his
instincts down the dark hall, back to the master bedroom where his wife slept.
Inside the room, he gazed at her as moonlight shone on her face, as her blonde
hair glimmered in the air, creating a halo of color around her perfect face.
Breathing in, peace and love filled his soul.
He
sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb her, and watched her sleep.
A smile crept over his
face as time sped by. The moon dipped below the trees and the amber lights of
morning filled the sky. Bree’s breathing changed, and the flutter of her
eyelids and the soft moan from her lips assured Hugo she was just moments away
from waking.
He stretched out and
stroked her face. “My love.”
“You’re back,” she said
softly, still somewhere between the land of dreams and the world before her.
“For you,” he sighed,
leaning down to kiss her lips.
Her arms wrapped around
his neck, and she breathed in deeply, feeling safe for the first time in
months.
“Don’t leave me again,”
she begged.
“Never,” he promised.
He placed a soft kiss
against her lips.
He was determined to
love her pain away and prove he was hers forever. There was no ancient battle
between good and evil warring within him now; there was only her: her lips, her
neck, her breasts.
As he kissed his way
down her body, she relaxed into his touch, choosing to believe this was the end
of the nightmare. She had stayed true, taken care of him when he needed it, as
she had vowed to do years ago. She’d proven her love for him, and now nothing
could take him away.