William Rose - The Seven Habits

Reflection of the linen closet door flying open, a pink blur of movement, a completely naked, wild-eyed man, glistening in sweat. Tom? Tom Stark? No. No, no, no…

Hands yanking at her hair, fistfuls with pale, bulbous roots still attached to each strand; she’s pushing, scratching, clawing, screaming. Her attacker’s face leering so close the tips of their noses nearly touch; the linoleum cool and slick against her writhing back. Yelling, meaningless jumbles of words sharpened with animalistic growls and grunts, spittle flying from his snarled lips, she opens her mouth to scream for help, saliva so hot it seems to have been boiled sprays into her mouth.

He’s trying to force his way into her; no, no, not Tom, not Tom Stark, not the friendly insurance agent from down the block, this can’t be happening, she’ll wake up at any moment, a dream, has to be a dream…

You’re a murdering bastard and I hate you, you understand? I hate you!

I didn’t…

Her attacker scurrying out into the hall, the scent of singed flesh as thick and heavy as steam, little bits of flesh and charred eyebrow still sizzling on the end of the curling iron that had been heating near the sink. Not raped, thank God, not raped, but cowering in the corner of the bathroom, shivering, crying, spitting repeatedly because that bastard drooled into her open mouth and it makes her feel dirty, so dirty, like some tiny piece of him is still within her mouth, infecting and tainting her with its presence…

See? You were infected and I had to… A sensation like falling through darkness and reaching terminal velocity instantaneously. Everything seeming to rush away at the speed of light and come crashing together all at the same time. A gasp, a burst of color and perception, the muted sensation of being in another skin, of anchoring into a mind that is fixed to a corporeal form. There is pain… physical pain that can only accompany having a body. There’s something else. He feels at home in this new skin. Like a well-worn chair that has molded and contoured itself over the years to fit the shape of his particular form. Familiarity.

He knows what this body will say before its lips begin to part. He thinks its thoughts like a man reciting a poem with a recording of himself. He knows this body all too well…This time the Eye of Aeons has allowed him to jump into his own head.

The sound of wood scraping over concrete cut through the fog in Ocean’s mind as efficiently as if it were Gauge’s sickle. He was really going to do it, he was going to lock her away in this dingy little room, would fulfill all of Vessel’s dire warnings. Warnings she had so desperately wanted to believe were nothing more than some transparent attempts to turn her against the very people who had taken her in. People she had trusted… people she had loved .

Ocean sprang to her feet and threw her body against the door, hoping it would fly open and catch Gauge unaware. He must have caught the flurry of movement in the shadows, he quickly pressed his shoulder against the other side and Ocean slammed into a surface that was as immovable as the walls surrounding her.

“I hate you!”

Thrusting her hands through the bars, she grabbed for Gauge’s long hair but he pulled back with a laugh, leaving her with nothing more than a few dark strands in her fist.

“Nothing personal, honey… but all that food in Heaven? It won’t last forever, you know. We need some way to … supplement it.”

She wanted to say something that would cut him with its ferocity as thoroughly as he’d cut Vessel. To hurt him in ways he’d never been hurt before and make him see what it was like to bleed, but she could only stand there and glare at that crooked little grin on the smug bastard’s face.

“Now, don’t you start giving me trouble, too. I’ll have to take a bit of that feistiness out of you.”

I want to see him cry, to hear him beg as he tries to squirm away.

“I’m gonna bar this door and then I’m gonna go fuck Levi for a while. Tell her how much I love her. Hold her and kiss her.”

There’d be so much blood that he’d look on shocked that it could all really be coming from his own body.

“And then I’ll be back to teach you what’s expected of you.”

Like a serpent materializing in the air, a length of chain whipped out of nowhere. It hit Gauge’s face with a loud snap and the man reeled and screamed, grabbing his face with his hands. The chain lashed out again, bashing onto the crown of his skull and coming away wet with blood.

“ You get the fuck away from her, you degenerate son of a bitch!”

The voice was thick and raspy, familiar… but there was also a power in it that she’d never heard before. As if years of repressed rage and hatred had come boiling out in a volcano of pure emotion.

Gauge’s cheek had already started to swell from the initial blow, the skin puffy and purple, starting to push his cheek upward, forcing his right eye into an unnatural squint. His hands were away from his face, but he still seemed dazed, like he’d always believed himself to be invincible and was just now feeling pain for the very first time.

“What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing? ”

“I said back the fuck off, man!”

Corduroy stepped into view, his anger burning so hotly that even the twisted mass of scars covering his face couldn’t contain it. He held the chain in one hand as he advanced; it whistled through the air as he swung it in quick circles, forming what almost looked to be a blurred shield before him. In his other hand was a ball-peen hammer that shook with the currents of fury undulating within him.

“You damn traitor. You wanna fuck her, Cord? Is that it? You want a piece of that little street rat? Shit man, all you had to do was say so. There’s plenty enough to go around.”

Corduroy circled Gauge like a stalking animal, his eyes darting from the plank of wood in Gauge’s hands to Ocean’s face peering through the window.

“I’m gettin’ ya outta here, Ocean. Don’t you worry.”

“You ain’t doing jack shit, Corduroy. You think Levi hasn’t heard what’s going down? All the shouting? You think she’s not already on her way? You might be able to take me down, old man, but no way you can get both of us. So give it up… and I might find it in my heart to forgive you.”

Corduroy stared Gauge directly in the eye and his answer was short and cold. “Levi’s dead.”

Gauge looked as if he were caught by a surprise pain, and the color drained from his face. He moved his lips in a silent word Ocean soon realized was really one syllable repeated again and again— no .

“Funny how quickly a pot of boilin’ water will strip the flesh off someone’s pretty little face if it’s held down long enough.”

Gauge roared and rushed toward Corduroy, but the older man was ready. The chain lashed out again with a flick of his wrist and coiled around the wooden beam. He yanked with both hands, obviously trying to pull it from Gauge’s clutches in one swift move.

Gauge responded with the reflexes of a soldier, however. At the same moment Corduroy was pulling, he twisted his body savagely to the side. Instead of the plank flying from his hands, Corduroy was jerked forward by his own weapon.

The burned man swung his hammer with a yell as Gauge whirled, the rounded head passing within inches of his face. Then he was falling backward as Gauge tackled his attacker, slamming into Corduroy’s midsection, and the two were suddenly rolling across the floor.

Their hands grasped and pulled at one another, scratching and choking and gouging as the hammer clanged to the ground. Neither one shouted or hurled threats, they were locked in combat. There were only grunts, strained growls, and gasps of pain.