Century

8

Darkness at first. Then there's a light, rising from somewhere in the distance where it is also dark. At first, it appears as if the hand of God is playing with the star switch, causing the light to flicker on and off. It's so small it can hardly be seen. But shortly the light begins to largen and is joined by another light. A red one this time, dancing around the blue is some endless twirl. The dancing lights cast beams over his face and suddenly the darkness becomes brighter. Or rather it shrinks. Returning to the shadows.

There are trees rising from the wet earthen ground. The sky is a canopy and there's barely any clouds or even a moon. Somewhere there is a lake. Mace knows because a part of him is submerged in it. Which part it is, he doesn't know. But his hands and feet are cold. Freezing. And wet. Maybe it's raining?

Soon the dancing lights come to a stop and he can see them spinning about the trees, throwing the wind off its trail and into chaos. The leaves of the canopy are forced from their branches and they began to fall. The lights are powerful now. Blinding, but only momentarily, invading his vision with pure light before it passes over him, descending to the side somewhere in and amongst the trees.

For the longest time, he's completely motionless. He can only see and touch his surrounding but for some reason, he can't hear or smell anything. All he can do is stare at the canopy and the sky. He can't even move his eyes. He's frozen there like a stone through time. Soon, the figure of a man and woman appear but their faces are concealed behind something like the imitation of a shadow. A veil. It's not real. None of it is. But the voices are real. And it's oddly quiet.

'What happened to his one?'

'Went for a swim, it seems.'

'I think he forgot to remove his clothes when he did.'

A pause. There's laughter coming from one of the hidden identities. 'No, he didn't forget. He just didn't care.'

'Helloooo?'

A hand waves over him, distracting and intrusive. He wants to respond but he can't. The gap between what he intends and what his body is capable of is too large. He can't operate any part of this foreign body. If he even can at all.

'Looks like he's out of it.'

'Thank god. Saves us the trouble.'

'Where's his vehicle?'

'I dunno. Does it matter?'

'Not really. But if he went swimming with somebody else, we might be in the money.'

'Naaaah. Doubt it. He's a loner. No girlfriend or nothing. Pretty sure he's by himself. Besides, I scanned the area for other signatures. He's the only one.'

'Ah, fair.'

'We should hurry. The counties search and rescue has already been alerted.'

'Yeah, yeah. Right. Come on, then.'

His body is lifted from the ground and canopy is closer than before. He's floating now, gliding across the smooth surface of the air, passing through the dark and shadowed arena of the forest. He can't see what he's being carried on but it feels like a thin table made purely from hot air. It's almost comfortable and that makes him scared. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The strange figures, cloaked in white (besides their shadowy veils), were no angels. They were something else. Probably demons. Mother had always said he was due to end up in hell one day. Perhaps his time had come.

The dancing lights bounced from his peripherals. The natural response was to blink but even with that simple movement, he was totally incapable. Without a way to shield his eyes, he became partially blind. The red and blue lights danced in unison above the vehicle, which had been parked at some point on the side of the road, bouncing from its semi-circular surface. The table of hot hair brought him through a rectangular door made from light, led by the figure of the white man and woman. The canopy disappeared and he was left inside a room where the sky was made from metal.

The figures stood over him. In one of their hands, they held a small light, pointing it at him. 'So, what do you think? A good catch?'

'Yeah, I suppose. Good arms. Good back.' Gloved and slimy hands on his face. Touching, tasting, examining. 'Exactly what they're looking for.'

'Hmm.'

'Wonder if it's worth shaving his head.'

'Why would you do that?'

'Saves them the trouble.'

'Eh. Don't worry about that.'

'So we're keeping him, yeah?'

'Yeah, go on. You got the drill?'

'Yes mate.'

The white glove lifts something and holds it beneath the light. It's the silhouette of a machine shaped like a gun with a pointed end. And when it begins, the mechanical whirl that sounds is deadly. It invokes a sense of fear in the foreign body and he all he can do is think about of escape. The sound of the mechanical whirl comes closer and closer until its so close he can hear the turnings of the motor and gears grinding in his earlobes. And shortly afterwards he can hear the cracking of his skull and the ocean of blood exploding from his body, like a dam wall that's been brutally compromised. There's a pain but it no longer belongs to him. He can only observe from afar.

When it's finished the mechanical whirl ends and his heads loll over the side of the hot air table. On the opposite end of the room is a mirror and a reflection. Another man looks back at him. A man of dark skin and thick hair and huge ears. A man whose bleeding from his neck and has eyes that have left him. A man who looked like Mace. His eyes were green.