Consigned to the Dark

By Andi Davis

The sinking sun cast the world in a sparkling, amber glow, and my skin prickled with the desire to bask in the radiance. Of their own accord, my fingers escaped the confines of the shadows and found the sun’s rays. A smile spread across my face as the warmth bathed my skin.

It didn’t last. The warmth quickly became a burning fire, accompanied by livid welts. Yanking my hand to my chest, I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and waited for the skin to heal.

Why did I torture myself this way? Why did I still feel the need to seek the sun?

Turning my back on the light, I entered my apartment, pulling a heavy curtain into place over the sliding door. I dressed for work quickly and was soon driving to the warehouse. Troy opened the back door for me, his trademark frown in place. “Russell’s waiting.”

“Russell’s always waiting,” I mumbled as I stalked deeper into the building, passing others going about their jobs.  At the end of the hallway, I opened one half of a massive double-door into a room whose opulence contrasted sharply with the rest of the warehouse.

“You’re late,” said a cultured voice. The attire matched the tone, full of money and self-importance.

“The sun just set.”

“No, it set thirty minutes ago. If you slept here, you would be more readily available.”

Unlike his other employees, I refused to call the building home. Just as I refused to wear the expensive outfits he kept sending me. I lived for those tiny rebellions.

“What do you need?” I gritted out.

“Didn’t you see the packages in the hallway?”

I snorted. “Office supplies? That’s why you’re bent out of shape?”

The annoyance bled out of Russell’s face until I was staring at an expressionless statue. A frisson of fear raced up my spine.

“Do not disrespect me,” he said with chilling calm. “I am your Maker.”

As if I could forget. Nodding, I escaped to the hall closet and unboxed and organized paper, pens, and ink cartridges until I wished immortality was a myth.

Like clockwork, Troy came down the hall at nine, leading a woman to Russell’s office. I kept my eyes averted as she looked at me. They disappeared behind the doors, and I held my breath, wondering if she would simply provide a meal, able to go on with her life after a quick memory wipe, or if she too would cease to exist and become one of Russell’s lackeys.

Screams penetrated the door, which was expected. Masculine shouting followed, which was not.

“Jocelyn! Get in here!”

I flung open the door to find Troy huddled into himself, cradling his arm, and Russell holding onto the struggling, shrieking woman.

“Grab her,” Russell said in exasperation.

It didn’t make sense. He was much stronger than his “employees,” but he liked us to restrain his meals. I, however, had never done the restraining.

Slowly, I made my way forward and saw the problem. The woman’s army of bracelets must have been made of pure silver. It was so uncommon these days that Troy probably hadn’t considered it. Judging from the vicious burns on his forearm, he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Russell dismissed him with a jerk of his head as I stepped behind the crying woman. Gingerly, I grabbed her upper arms, but when her struggles renewed, I realized I’d need more leverage. I wrapped my arms around her torso, avoiding the bracelets.

Stepping back, Russell straightened his clothing and smoothed his hair, obviously annoyed with the unscheduled drama. “There’s no need for all this,” he said, waving his hand as if to encompass all the emotion pouring from the woman. He came closer, nearly pressing his chest to hers. “It’s but a fleeting discomfort.”

That phrase ripped through my mind, unearthing long-buried pain. I’d heard it before. A lifetime ago.

Russell bared his fangs and lowered his head.

I felt the woman vibrating with fear in my arms and something shifted in my chest. I became her, transported back to the night my previous life ended.

A vicious savagery erupted, and I felt my fangs punch into my mouth. My vision colored with a red haze, and I experienced hatred as I never had before.

Shoving the woman aside, my fingers curled into claws and I lunged at Russell. His utter shock was my only advantage. A hissing sound filled the room, and I realized it was coming from me. I struck at his throat, my teeth sinking in like honed knives.

But that wasn’t the way to rid myself of him.

I threw him away from me—without releasing my bite—and was immediately covered in a wash of hot blood. He landed on the guest chair, splintering it with a loud crack. His wide eyes rolled as his hand came up to cover the gaping wound in his throat.

Darting forward, I grabbed a broken chair leg. Russell’s eyes flashed, and his breath exploded out of him as I slammed the makeshift stake into his chest.

It needed more force. I moved to put my whole weight into it when he rasped, “But I created you.”

I met his gaze one last time.

“Exactly.”

When I threw myself onto the length of wood, it pierced his grizzled heart, and I watched in fascination as he disintegrated.

Breathing heavily, I stood amidst the ashes, hardly able to believe what I’d done.

He was gone. I was free.

The seconds ticked by as I waited for a mantle of peace to envelop me.

Something tickled down my forearm. Turning it over, I found blood leaking from a cut and wondered when I’d been hurt. As I watched, the wound knit together, stopping the flow. My breath hitched.

Instead of peace, reality settled over me. There was no reset button. I was what he’d made me, and what I was could not be undone.

I was consigned to the dark.

Forevermore.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andi Davis has loved to escape into the extraordinary realm of fiction for as long as she can remember. Now she creates her own exciting worlds as she writes fantasy across different subgenres. In the real world, she lives in California where she spends her time working on her third novel and caring for her husband and two young children.

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