7. Allan

Chapter seven

Allan

A s soon as I heard the door close, I cautiously exited the bathroom. Argus, who had taken up residence beside me, and who had attempted to comfort me, followed behind, acting as my shadow.

I desperately wanted a shower and something to eat, but our trip out to the island and the sight of the bodies as they rose from the earth replayed over and over and over in my mind.

"The life you knew is gone. You can never go back."

How? Why? And it was all my fault. This "magic" thing too, like, what the hell?

Finding my way back through Patrick's house, I went into the kitchen and pulled the door open on the fridge, revealing an overstocked selection of items.

This guy had everything.

A chicken carcass which had been half devoured sat on the middle shelf, wrapped in plastic wrap. I grabbed the plate it sat on, peeled the plastic away, and ripped some meat off, sampling it.

"Not bad." I savored the bite, then took a little more.

From behind me I heard a ruff.

Turning around, Argus sat on the floor behind me, his thick tail making a steady, thwump, thwump, thwump on the hardwood floor.

I ignored him and shoved another piece of chicken into my mouth as I surveyed the area around me. The cabin Daddy Patrick lived in contained a lot of wood. Beams on a vaulted ceiling gave the small abode an appearance of expansiveness. The walls were a stacked series of intertwined logs, and along with the wooden floors, the general feel of the space grounded me. An overwhelming sense of comfort took over as I was bathed in warm hues of earthy brown, chestnut, and beige.

Ruff .

"Ha, okay, buddy, here." I ripped off a good-sized bite and threw it to him.

He caught it mid-air, chomped on it, swallowed, and then begged for more.

"Yeah, I don't think Daddy Patrick would be happy if I fed you all his chicken."

Argus looked like he was frowning.

"Okay, one more." I gave him another piece, and he seemed content.

Caw! The shriek came from behind me. I damn near shit my pants. Clutching my chest while balancing the plate of chicken, I spun around.

Kaos sat on the counter, bobbing her head, and making a low-throated gurgle.

"Gross, isn't that, like, cannibalism or something?" I said as she spied the chicken meat. I ripped off a chunk and threw it onto the counter. There was no way I was putting my hand near her massive black beak with a dangling morsel of food.

Kaos hopped to the offering and chucked the treat down her throat. While watching in abject terror I peeled off a few more bites for myself, then put the roasted bird back in the fridge.

I needed something in my stomach, but with the swell of emotions, the gnawing ache of hunger eroded rapidly.

My mind wandered back to the corpses lifting out of the ground, which got me thinking about Shawn and Dylan.

They had always been goofy, kind, and loyal. Even though they were a couple, it wasn't uncommon to spend the majority of my time with them.

And now they were gone.

I couldn't reconcile that it in my head.

Brent on the other hand…good riddance.

I probably should have felt some kind of grief or remorse, but all that registered was a sense of relief. His anger and abuse had been permanently erased from my life. Unfortunately, the damage he had already caused left me forever tainted.

I took another walk around the cabin, getting the lay of the land. Argus had gone into the living room and plopped himself down onto a large, tawny pillow that had been situated near the fireplace. Obviously his bed. He busied himself licking his paws.

The pterodactyl had perched herself on a stand that had been built using fallen deadwood. As I walked past her, black beady eyes followed me.

"Damn, bird, you're creepy." I tossed the mound of black feathers some side-eye.

Caw .

I swore she understood me.

Walking down the hall I found the first bathroom, but the idea of a soak sounded intriguing. Finding the primary bedroom, a door off to one side promised the location I sought.

The king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room. The corner of the bed had a draped blanket, a luxurious decorative fur in variable shades of grey. Throw pillows in a variety of textured black-and-white herringbone material accented the duvet which was dark ebony along the bottom, slowly lightening in colour, an ombre effect, to pure white on the top of the bed.

The effect was stunning.

Gorgeous photos hung on the walls, all black-and-white photography.

I could have a nap in this room.

But what I really needed was to soak my skin in hot water.

I've always found water to be soothing, healing, and comforting. With everything that had transpired, I needed this.

Walking into the ensuite, I was pleased to see the black enamel soaker tub sported brass clawed feet.

"Cool!" I whistled as I glanced around the spacious spa-like retreat.

I ran my fingers over the lip of the tub, the flat surface cool to the touch.

The money required to create this space; I couldn't even comprehend.

As much as a soak sounded like a necessity, the shower grabbed my attention.

It was set into the far wall, like a cave, with the front a large glass pane.

The floor consisted of black-and-white flat pebbles. The walls were veined marble. Black streaks crisscrossed the stone, looking like the fingers of black rot, or an infection. Perhaps a bit dramatic, but the look was stunning. There was a skylight above the shower which provided lots of light, and one end of the shower was a living wall with a number of plants cascading toward the floor.

The shower head had a bunch of settings…one of those twist and rotate for a different kind of spray. I read some of the options.

Rain.

Massage.

Mist.

Jet.

Screw having a bath. I was taking a shower.

Pulling the glass door out toward me, I reached in and turned the lever to get the water started.

It didn't take long to find a towel. An alcove on one side held plush, thick, velvety towels in alternating black and white.

The guy knew how to stick to a theme.

I grabbed a towel, placed it just outside the door to the shower, stripped, then stepped in.

The water was perfect. Softly cascading from the nozzle and skin-scorching hot.

I shifted the spray to massage.

The staccato beat of the spray assaulted my shoulders.

I closed my eyes, letting the water pound my muscles as my head lowered.

Stress melted away. Grief washed off me and swept away the stain of tears from my cheeks. My mind went blank, and all thoughts of dead friends, the asshole Brent, the strange but stunningly handsome Daddy Patrick evaporated.

I stood there. Thinking of nothing. Enveloped by the blackness behind my eyelids, my mind listed off into nothingness. Swaying back and forth, the steady beating of the water sent me into a gentle lull where I floated. Caressed by the torrent, I lost myself.

Air currents in the shower stall pushed steam all around me. I could feel the gentle mist swirl around my exposed skin.

The gurgle of the drain added to the water's lullaby.

Enjoying the warmth, I could smell eucalyptus, cedarwood, and mint.

Where was that heady aroma coming from?

Cracking my eyelids apart, a quick scan of the shower stall revealed an assortment of hair products and a handmade bar of soap. Picking it up, I held it to my nose and inhaled.

The aroma reminded me instantly of our paddling lesson in the canoe when Daddy Patrick had been pressed right up against me. This was his smell.

Huffing the bar of soap, it suddenly occurred to me this object had rubbed itself all over the most private and intimate parts of my rescuer.

Taking the soap, I ran it across my body, imaging that I had a helping hand pushing the suds over my skin, then soaping up Daddy Patrick, getting his musclebound chest thick with lather, running my hands over the furry pectorals he flaunted so casually.

With the earthy odours, hot water and intense fantasy unfurling in my mind, it didn't take long for my body to respond in kind.

I grabbed myself, all wet and slippery from the suds, and slid my hand back and forth across my erection, enjoying the sensation, picturing Daddy Patrick's hand instead of mine. The soap suds became thick and creamy, adding to the glide. The heady aroma from the soap solidified Patrick's face in my mind's eye as I continued to stroke myself.

"Ah! A nice hot shower. That will wash away some tension."

Startled to shit, my body jerked in surprise; then immediately I tried to cover up my erection.

Every muscle in my body tensed as I collapsed in around myself at the sound of his voice, not to mention the cresting swell of embarrassment. Did he see what I had been doing? My personal space had been invaded, his deep voice reverberating within the shower stall, my boner on display.

All of this happening within a second, a heartbeat, an inhalation of breath, I turned toward the noise and let out a short, but ferociously loud yelp, purely of fright.

Then all hell broke loose.

The shower stream abruptly changed course as it circled in a spiral around my feet and rose, encompassing my naked body like a DNA helix.

The water coalesced into sharp, long spikes.

Those spikes then became projectiles as they shot out toward the glass shower wall.

A deafening crack erupted as the pane shattered outward toward Patrick and then ricocheted back at me.

Patrick lifted one arm to cover his face and turned so that the glass and sharp water spikes didn't spear him in the face. He took several steps back.

I, however, didn't have anywhere to go. Glass shards pierced my skin and stuck out of my flesh in several spots. The shower water returned to normal, but the floor of the stall now swirled with rivulets of blood.

It churned and eddied, flowing down the drain.

I felt weak in the knees, wobbling like a newborn fawn.

My eyes fluttered, and the whole world tilted to one side as I slipped and fell sideways coming to rest after smacking my head (again) against the river rock pebbles.

Patrick came running toward me.

"Shit. Oh my god. Allan are you—" He shut the water off.

Stooping down, he thrust his arms under my supine form, one arm under my knees, the other under one of my arms and across my back.

With care and tenderness, he lifted and carried me across shards of broken glass to his bed.

"Don't. You'll get blood all over it." I whispered, shaking, as the lacerations and embedded glass sent a heated pain shooting through my skin and into my brain.

"Let's not worry about that right now. This glass has to come out."

"What the hell happened? Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine. Lay still." Patrick's voice was soothing.

Patrick disappeared briefly but returned with tweezers and a roll of gauze and some bandages. He scanned my body for slivers.

My hand involuntarily tried to cover myself.

"Allan, that's not really necessary."

"I don't want you…"

"Gods, okay. Give me a minute."

He came back with a hand towel and spread it out over my junk.

"Well, that little scene confirmed my suspicions." He yanked out a sliver.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry. That one was deep." said Patrick.

"What the hell happened?"

"You. You happened, Allan. You're just like me. A water witch."