Rogue Rider

Twenty-one

Hell was neverending pain. It was a fog the color of blood. It was a set of sharp claws that ripped into the brain and shredded it like pulled pork. With every dig of the claws came a new memory, and with each new memory, Reseph screamed.

Sometimes the claws stopped digging; instead they recycled memories he’d already been through but that were juicy enough to relive over and over, bringing nonstop regret and the pain that went with it.

The things he’d done as Pestilence clanged around inside his skull in a maddeningly loud screech, filling his vision so completely that only rarely did he see his surroundings or his siblings when they came. Reseph wasn’t even sure why they came. Limos tried to clean him up with wet, warm cloths, and Ares tried to get him to eat, but Reseph didn’t deserve any of it. He did, however, deserve the knockout punch he’d gotten from Arik before Limos dragged the human away.

He also didn’t understand why he was here. Thanatos had killed him, so how was it that he was alive?

Then there were the other memories, the ones he wasn’t sure were real.

Jillian.

He blinked, slowly becoming aware that he was lying in a fetal position on the floor. He never knew where he’d find himself when he came to or how broken his body would be. And he wasn’t sure if the periods of lucidity were better than the periods of driving memories that took him out of the present. At least when he was being tortured by the memories of what he’d done, he didn’t have to come face to face with the people he’d done them to.

He’d tried to apologize to them, but after Harvester’s beating and Arik’s punch to the face, not to mention Thanatos’s scorching glares of pure hatred, Reseph had given up. “I’m sorry” was beyond lame, an insult, even, given the gravity of his sins.

And Jillian… had those days spent with her, making love and being at peace, been a figment of his imagination? A dream that made the nightmares seem all the worse? Maybe his conscience was playing tricks on him, because the days with Jillian might well be a dream, but she was real.

“Kill me,” he whispered through a throat that was raw from his screams. “Someone… kill me.”

But there was no one around to hear. Even Harvester, who delighted in his agony, had left after fitting him with restraints. He didn’t care about the shackles. He wasn’t going anywhere anyway. Besides, sometimes he jerked on the chains just to feel the soul-deep knifing agony that shot through his bones.

How long had it been since she’d chained him, anyway? He remembered a couple of nights, a couple of dawns.

Suffer, you bastard. Suffer as no one has suffered before, she’d whispered, before licking at a trail of blood that ran from his face to his ear. If you care at all, you should know that you aren’t free of Pestilence. Only a sliver of evil could turn you back into him. Oh, not in an apocalyptic sense, but you could revert back to the disgusting creature you were if evil taps into the demon half that was awakened when your Seal broke. You think you’re miserable now? Turn back into Pestilence and watch your brothers and sister hunt you into the ground.

Harvester’s words rang in his ears over and over as he fell back into the pit of memories, so soaked in horror.

“End me,” he whispered.

But no one heard.