The Pale King - XVI

Part 1

James could only catch glimpses of things as time went on. He felt his legs move. He felt his lungs fill with air. He noticed when his eyes moved but if felt like someone else was controlling his movements. As if someone else had taken the reins and was leading him along. He didn’t mind this. It felt nice to sit back and relax in the confines of his mind. Despite this disconnection he still felt wholly himself. The things that were transpiring, the words that left his lips, the feelings in his breast were all still ultimately his own. They were simply amplified now.

                He could tell he was following the silent man and Reginald from yellow ward up the escape tunnel towards the mausoleum. He could feel the trembling in his hands from having killed the rest with his bare hands. He could feel the weight lift off his shoulders at having let them escape this plane of existence as well. Their suffering had ended and he was their conduit to a great existence.

                Between the glimpses of the trek through the tunnel James was flung backwards in time once again. Back to the time of his youth with his brother. Back to that world of suffering that he lived day in and day out. It wasn’t his own suffering. It was the suffering of his young brother. The late nights of terrors, the screaming, the labored breathing, the wish to have him be happy and healthy and free from suffering. A wish that culminated into a plan.

                The cold brisk night air hit James’ vessel on the face wrenching him from the past back into the present as if he was being flung forward off the bow of a ship. The collision with reality like the splashing of waves at first it was hectic, chaotic, frantic, then it calmed. He was standing in the middle of the darkened marble room having ascended into the graveyard from the lower levels of the sanitarium. The sun was rising, the light reaching the tops of the stone pillars and bouncing off the shined stones towards their faces. Reginald stood with eyes wide, face expressionless, waiting. James didn’t know what to think of the man even now. The silent man sat like he normally did but he wasn’t lost in a dismal gaze any longer. A new expression came over his face. One of repose instead of listlessness. He looked more like an old man pondering the facts of life than a vegetable of a man hanging onto it.

                What had caused such a change in his demeanor? Was it the fresh air? The expulsion from the sanitarium? Or something darker?

                James felt an urge to scan the room for others. He felt that there was a presence with them even now. Something unnatural. He clung to the crucifix at his neck. He longed to have the presence that overtook his body in great stress to return. The other one, Cillian, came when James needed to be saved or when James couldn’t do what he needed to do, or when James was afraid. He was afraid and wanted Cillian to come and save him. He wanted to hide behind his own eyes and shy away from the light for a little while.

                Cillian first arrived to James one night when his little brother was screaming in agony. The pain in his screams made James claw at his own ears to drown out the sound. Cillian showed up to help shield him. He spoke to him in the darkness of that night, and helped him form a plan.

                “Look here lad, we can’t let your brother suffer. He is too sweet for this world. We need to release him.”

                “Release him?”

                “Yes.”

                “I don’t think I can.”

                “It’s okay. You just sit back. I’ll do the hard part. No need to worry.”

                That night Cillian crept into James’ brother’s room and held a pillow over his sleeping face. He held it there until the struggling boy was done squirming. In his head James called out.

                “Be released from his pain brother! Quit fighting! I release you!”

Cillian would stay with James from that night forward. James didn’t disagree with his methods, they both agreed that they hated the needless suffering of those around them. They decided the best place to be would be to join the medical field. To help spirit away those most in need of release. So when James joined the sanitarium years ago, he had Cillian with him. In the night Cillian would add doses of strychnine to those he and James deemed ready for release. In the five years they had worked at Westknell they had released 15 patients from this world of suffering. All starting with the young boy that reminded James of his brother.

They had done great work, God’s work. But now James felt he was no longer in God’s sight. He was surrounded by shadows. The same shadow he saw moving among the graves, the same shadow that he saw in the morgue, the same shadow he saw in the eyes of the silent man. Why had Cillian followed these men?

Though he felt there was a pressure building in the dark room. Like all the shadows weren’t in league with one another.

                Reginald moved before the silent man and knelt before him. He looked from the old weathered man to James with a devilish smile.

                “You must relinquish your vessel to this man. He holds the key, can’t you feel it? There is something greater inside him than either of you.”

                James felt a chill run up his spine as the room grew darker despite the rising sun. A wind began to howl through the stone structure and James heard a voice in his head. It wasn’t his own thoughts, and it wasn’t Cillian.

                “Who are you?”

                Reginald must have heard the same question because he answered.

                “I am the one who made the pact. He is the Pale King. And he…he is special.”

                The winds howl subsided as the shadows stopped swirling. In the corner, where the true shadows still lay the figure appeared. It felt like the one James had seen amongst the graves. Then who or what had he seen in the morgue?

                At the shadows appearance the Pale King, jerked his head from side to side in an unnatural twitch. His arms and legs regained their strength snapping and twitching as the body started to stand. Reginald fell back a step to watch the sight unfold with wide eyes. James was still frozen in place willing, wishing Cillian to save him, the crucifix clutched so tightly it started to hurt his hand.

                The Pale King stood as if his body hadn’t been a shriveled old man, but was a stout middle aged one. His eyes scanned the room, gaining a new feeling for existence. James saw them flash over him, unfeeling and it made his heart jump. The Pale King having surveyed his surroundings turned with a sharp twist of his neck towards the shadow in the corner.

                “Join me lesser one. This vessel can host us both. Together we will ravage this world.” The Pale King’s voice was a shrill razor blade to James’ ears. It was not a human voice that emanated from the mouth of the man. It was something demonic. James fell to his knees and clutched his ears as the voice returned to his head.

                “I consent to this union.”

                With a violent jerk the Pale King turned towards James and bounded towards him his white skin seemed to glow. The shadow from across the room swirled and seemed to engulf James. The Pale King leapt for James grasped onto his face and opened his mouth wide. From deep in the man’s mouth came a red glow. James looked deep into the maw as a shadowy devil crawled up from the flesh. James tried to scream.

                “Cill…Cilli…Cillian!” The words erupted from James’ mouth and he felt the world fall away. He was sitting now in a chair he was being pushed. He could hear voices conversing in this head. He tried to turn his head to the sound be he couldn’t move.

                “Who’s there? Cillian? What’s going on?”

                Cillian responded first.

                “James, lad, it’s alright. We’re alright.”

                “Why can’t I move Cillian?”

                “It’s all part of the plan. You’ll see. We can help more people this way.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Will he always be this weak?”

                “No, he won’t I promise. He has grown very strong. The last few times he helped them release from this plane on his own. He was growing so strong he barely needed me. This whole situation has made him take a few steps backwards but we’ll he’ll be strong again. I’m sure of it.”

                “Why can’t I move?”

                “It requires a lot of concentration to hold someone like me inside your head.”

                “But why are you in my head?”

                “We are here to help you complete your mission. Cillian has told us everything.”

                “My mission?”

                “To end suffering.”

                “To end suffering…”

                “Like your brother.”

                “Like my brother.”

                “Things will be alright James. Just let go for a while.” Cillian’s voice reemerged.

                James felt the swirling of the three entities in his mind as the world came back as the light returned. He was seated in the wheelchair. Before him kneeled Reginald. The murderer stood and began to push the chair out into the light of the day.

                “We will return to end this world of its pain.”

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