The ninth

‘Please. State your name for the camera.’
The lens is zoomed up close to the face of the person. The victim. His face is bruised, his eyes, blood shot. A bloody wound reaches from one ear to the other, his teeth are chipped and stained and his lips are nipple raw. His hair drapes down over his eyes, deep and brown, and sticks to the blood on his face and collar bone. Those sickly, protruding collar bones.
He gazes up at the camera, a deep, whining growl sounding in his throat.
‘I am the Revenant.’
*
A year. A whole, god damned year since that day. And, still, I felt barely alive. I could hear Ville knocking around in the kitchen, throwing stuff into his duffel and talking to his stupid camera. Yes, I had bought it to him, but I had little interest in the subject.
‘But Bam-bam, you used to love playing with your camera, and skating around and being a total fool.’ He would whine when I refused to be that person.
‘Well, I don’t anymore. I just want to sit here, okay Ville. Just let me god damned sit here.’
He would leave. He learnt quickly, after the first three times that he had confronted me, that I was not his Bam-bam. I wasn’t the man I used to be. I had no interest in anything but violence and anger and smoking and television. All of which I was working on, apart from television, it couldn’t harm me. Could it? 
“Bam – Bam.” My partner bounced into the bedroom, his duffel slung over one shoulder and his damned camera up to his face, “Come on sweetheart, and give us a smile.”
Reluctantly, I forced a small grin and gently kissed him on the cheek. 
“Let’s get this over with.” 
*
Delusional. Depressed. Post-traumatic stress with a side order of wacko. Feed him up on pills and shots and he’ll live a while longer. Let’s keep him as sane as possible, taking away little pain, so that we can get our information. Doctors. All the same. 
You love me, Ville? If you really loved me, you wouldn’t put me through this. 
“Regression.” Dr Isaacs said, his ape hands clasped together in the lap of his polyester trousers.
Ville ran his thumb gently over the skin of mine; ever the comforter.
“It’s supposed to help?” He said softly. 
“Well yes. And no. We-“
“What he means, sweetheart, is that they want me to remember everything and tell it to them bit by bit. They want to put me under and wake me up exactly where I used to be.”
“Y-yes. But, Brandon, we simply want to put you under to perhaps unlock memories still haunting your subconscious.” 
“Bullshit, doc. You want to put me under so I can give you al l the gore and gossip straight from the bowels.” I spat, “You realize I won’t be in control. I’ll be back in the god-damned cell, smelling all the shit, hearing all the cries. I’ll be right back in the arse-crack of hell.” 
Ville squeezed my hand. The doctor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, while I sat back quietly upon my seat and stared at the trees. I listened as the doctor explained further to my boyfriend. God, the lies spewing from his mouth. It would be enough to keep a priest going for a life time. 
Suddenly, Ville was pulling me outside into the hallway. 
“Bam. Are you okay with this?” He asked. 
I looked at him, wide eyed and confused. I didn’t have a choice, did I? Sure, he was making it out to be but really I didn’t. If I didn’t do this, he would huff and strut and tell me it would help. 
“Sure.”
He smiled and hugged me tight. He squeezed me and told me that he loved me. I didn’t reply; I never did. He was as much in love with me as I was with him. 
*
“Why are my arms chained?” I asked giving a tug on the iron. 
“In case, during the regression, you hurt yourself.” Or us. 
I nodded. 
Ville sat by him, his camera out. The doctor had insisted that it would be good to document what happens, he want to study it or masturbate to it. Either or. 
“Okay, Brandon, we will begin.” The lights dimmed. Cliché. “Brandon, when I count to 5 you will hear my voice and only my voice.”
“1. 2. 3. 4. 5. Brandon, you can feel your eyes closing, your eyelids are heavy. You will surrender to the sleep, you will relax your body, feel your body getting heavier. The only sound should be that of my voice and the beating of your heart.” 
Darkness. Thump, thump, the doctor’s voice. 
“I am going to count from 5 back to 1. When you wake up, you will be back in hell. You will be able to smell and see and hear everything. My voice will still be clear in your head. I want you to answer my questions and explain to me everything that you experience. Understand.”
I felt myself nod.
“Good. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.” 
My whole body stiffened. The smell hit me, the blood, the body fluids; the death. I wanted to throw up. I was shaking, sweat broke out and goose pimples rose on my flesh. 
Then, the sound. Crying, screaming, maniacal laughter. If you listen carefully, you can hear the snapping of bones. 
Despite myself, I whined low in my throat. I felt the chill of a hand on the back of my neck, but no one was there. Little did I know, Isaacs was removing my nape bar. 
“Brandon, can you hear me?”
“Y-yes.” I replied. 
“I removed the suppressor in your neck.” He began. 
“B-but-“
“Don’t panic. Nothing will happen to you. You are restrained and under my control.”
Despite his words, I knew it was only a matter of time. 
“Brandon, I want you to remain calm. Look deep inside yourself. Feel every inch of your body, ever warm drop of your blood. Listen to your heart beat, feel the scars on your skin.”
I did as he said. I felt everything he told me to feel. I listened to the whirring in my mind and felt the searing hot pain of the markings on my back. I felt myself losing control, I was being pushed further into my subconscious and the demon was getting out. 
“Where are you?”
“M-my chamber.” 
Again, the force pushed me. 
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s small. Chains all rusted. There’s days scratched off on the walls, hair in the gout of the tiles. I don’t know if it’s mine. There’s blood and shit and piss everywhere. No windows. I-I’m naked and chained.” 
“Yes?”
“My ribs are broken, I think. My heels are split.” I began to whine,” God, the pain.” 
Further into my subconscious I go. I could feel the demon pulling me, pushing me, getting me in there by any means. The laughter rang throughout my skull. 
I cried out.
“My spine!” I scream, “Christ my spine! Ville, stop cutting me. Stop ripping it out. Please.” 
I didn’t see his reaction, but I can bet it was priceless. The man in my head, the one who had hurt me and beaten me and raped me in hell, he was Ville. From his head to his fucking cock he was my Ville. And he was making me suffer. 
“What’s happening? Who’s there?”
“V-ville. God, my Ville. Why? The pain, it’s like – like nothing I have ever felt.” I clenched my teeth and screamed, “H-he’s ripping me open, he’s cutting my spine. Christ!”
Then, it was gone. I went limp, taking in as much air as possible. And, again, I was pushed back.
“Brandon? Are you okay?” 
“Just let me die. Please? Ville, I love you, don’t do this to me.” 
I was met by more laughter and then, suddenly, I was behind my own eyes but not in control. I wasn’t the owner of this human anymore. 
I grinned. 
“Why are you smiling?”
A chuckle escapes my throat.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Revenant. Your piggy is not here anymore.” 
“Welcome back.”
I’m trying to gain control, I really am, but he’s much too strong. Which raises the question, do I want control? 
I whined deep in my throat. 
“Humans. Puny, incompetent, not much to look at. No glory, no wonder. So easy to take and even easier to dissolve. Why you all live is beyond me.” I could feel my head twisting in a horridly sick manner, the bones cracking, a wet growl tearing up my throat, “ You sicken me.” 
The lights flickered and I was back in the room. But I was still captive, still behind my eyes but not in control. Ville was shaking, he was standing by the door. The camera was by his side now and he was wiping tears from his eyes. Isaccs was standing too. 
“Brandon, when I count -” 
“No more counting, Isaccs, your piggy isn't here anymore.” 
The lights dimmed, buzzing as they did so. 
I was across the room, my nose pressed tight to Ville's neck and my hands holding him firmly in place. He watched me with wide, puppy dog eyes.
Poor Ville.
“You! Leave.” I demanded. 
Ville remained where he was. I snorted abruptly and he scrambled to the door. I turned to the doctor.
“Sit, Isacss, sit. Won't you?” A chair was pulled round for him and, not given much of a choice, he was made sit. “Thank you. For releasing me from the nerve cells of that incompetent idiot. Living with the one that beat him and raped him in hell? Silly, silly boy. Why, I would have gutted him in heart beat.” 
“You smell putrid.” 
“Oh, tut tut. Is that any way to greet me, Godrick? I'm assuming you still have that nasty bite I administered all those months ago?” I glanced to the spot of the apparent wound, “Show it to me.” 
Reluctantly, the doctor pulled back his sleeve and rolled the fabric to his shoulder. There, on the upper most top of his arm sat a large and deep bite wound. It was black with dark spidering veins, a green and yellow bruise still surrounded it, even after a year, and it seemed that it was still having the occasional bleed.
“Nice. Very nice.” I licked my thin lips, “One of us, old boy, soon you'll be like us.”
“I'd rather die than become one of you. Its killing me to watch you do this to Brandon, but, god-damnit, you won't get me.” 
And suddenly, I was face to face with the kind doctor, snarling and watching him with maniacal eyes.
“No? No?! Old man, you can't run for ever. You can't out run me. I will get you. And where your going, well, your 'God' can't save you there.”
What happened then, I don't even want to remember. But I can. The screams of agony, the blood. All I saw was the red. All I heard was the beating of my heart and his screaming, the crunching of his bones and the sickly squelching of his insides. I hollowed him out. His intestines were ripped from his body inch by inch as he screamed for me to just kill him. 
“Humans are meaningless, filthy beings. You make light of all these morals and right and wrong but, yet, you don't listen to a damn word. Fucking hypocrites!”
And then I had his heart in my hands, still beating, still warm. 
I wish I could say that it ended there. I wish I could tell you that I was taken to an asylum or killed and the Ville went on with his life. But I can't. I can't lie to all of you like that.
I kicked open the door and I sought him out. I practically got on my hands and knees and sniffed the floor for his scent, and when I found it, I knew that would be the end. 
He was hiding in the men's room, huddled into a ball in the corner of the furthest stall. 
“Oh, little piggy? Little piggy? Won't you come out and play?” 
Silence.
“Or. I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll rip out your heart.” 
The small, irrelevant details escaped me. I can just remember the look of horror on his face when he saw me. Covered in blood and guts and grime and pure evil. It's not an image you forget, that of terror. 
I ripped him apart to. Limb from limb, slowly and carefully. I broke his bones and relished in the sick and wet sound of his flesh breaking. I tore open the skin of his back to reveal each and every spinal bone, just as he had done to me. 
God knows how long I tortured him until I finally snapped his neck. All I know is, at the precise moment, the moment when the crack of his spine was heard, I was in control again. I was on my knees and crying and vomiting into the near by basin. 
I waited for someone to find me. And all I could think, over and over, was:
The ninth has me.