Becoming Chaos

I. - Unbecoming Peace Part 2

In the dream, I was walking through a valley.

It was cold and dark. The trees around me stood like eerie towers, their branches swaying in the wind. Through the gaps between the trees, I saw a pair of glowing eyes. They were bright, luminous, and yellow. A wave of uneasy familiarity washed over me as the glowing eyes seemed to move closer to where I was.

I know those eyes.

I tried to run, but I was pinned in place. I looked down and saw that my shoes had gotten caught between the roots of the trees. I turned my head back and the yellow eyes were gone. My heart drummed like a war song. I tried to free my feet from the overgrowth to no avail. As I resisted, the roots moved and crawled and tightened around my ankles as though they were alive. A loud and terrible ululation pierced the silence. In one swift move, I turned my eyes to its direction. But I was too late. A huge, furred beast lunged at me, all teeth and claws. I screamed and --

I jolted upright in bed. My body streamed with cold sweat, the blanket over me drenched in saltwater. My heart banged like bunnies making out. I was breathing deep, labored breaths. What the Hell happened last night? I wondered as I realized that the valley was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real. I glanced around. Wait, this is not my apartment. Where on Earth am I?

I was sitting on top of a white-cushioned double-sized bed. The room was painted a bleak shade of gray. A wide glass window was directly on top of the bed’s headboard, letting rich sunshine into the room. A flickering lamp sat on the bedside table. Along the walls were shelves stacked with hardbound books and open closets filled with men’s clothes. Men’s clothes! Whose room am I in?

Horrified by boys’ articles of clothing, I jerked the blanket away from my body. I was no longer wearing my black dress. Instead, I was clothed in an over-sized shirt and a pair of men’s boxers. What happened last night? I asked myself as I tried hard to remember.

Then, out of the blue, it finally hit me. The stranger in the leather jacket. Memories came running back to me as I sat on the bed, frozen in terror. It is such a shame you will die tonight.

I swallowed the bitterness pooling at the back of my mouth. Perspiration beaded across my forehead and my back. Flashes of the monstrosity flooded my mind. I remembered the pain as sharpened teeth sunk into my skin. I recalled feeling the blood pour out the open wounds on my shoulder. Pulling at the neck of the shirt I had on, I turned my gaze to see the wounds. I must have been too adrenaline-pumped that the neckline ripped open. My eyes widened in disbelief as I saw my pale skin without flaws or marks. This is not possible. I am sure he bit me, over and over and over…

I stood up and got out of the bed, dashing to the mirror behind the open closet doors. Annoyed that I could not see the entirety of my shoulders, I decided to rip the rest of the sleeve apart. It came away with ease, almost like tearing paper. I stared at my reflection. I was half-angry to see that my new bra was missing, and half-shocked to discover that my shoulder was absolutely unmarked. What the actual heck is happening?

A rhythmic thudding resounded as I was inspecting my unwounded skin. I craned my neck to have a better view of the door.

Footsteps.

I took in a sharp inhale and my breathing evened out. My heartbeats slowed to normalcy as my subconscious took hold and lowered my stance. I strained my ears. Left… Right… Left… Halt.

The jingling of keys and the turning of the lock filled the air. I stared and waited. The doorknob rattled.

I lunged as soon as the wooden door swiveled open. Before I knew it, I was at the threshold, my hand reaching for the man’s neck.

“Easy, Tiger,” the man said, taking hold of my wrist with his right hand. An apple fell from the shopping bag he carried in his other arm and rolled to the floor. “Or should I say Wolf? Hmm… Tiger sounds better,” he blabbered on as he casually let go of my arm. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. His lean and muscular body was clothed with a tight-fitting white shirt and ripped jeans. What is it with men and ripped jeans?

He eyed me from head to toe. “You can get a new shirt from my closet, you know? Don’t rip it, though. I’ll give you a free pass now for ruining my favorite one,” he clicked his tongue. “That one’s extra comfortable.”

I looked down at myself, suddenly aware that my left shoulder was bare and my chest was almost exposed. Crossing my arms over my non-existent cleavage, I backed-up to the closet. “Who are you?” I hissed at him behind the mirror. “Where am I?”

“Are your questions rhetorical?" he asked, turning his back to me as he placed the brown shopping bag on top of the bedside table. “If so, I fear I have no answers for you, Tiger,” he added as he picked the stray apple from the tiled floor.

“Stop calling me Tiger, for Heaven’s sake!” I exclaimed. “Answer me! Where the heck am I? Who are you?”

He turned to face me. His hazel green eyes studied me as his sharp jaw twitched. He swept his fingers through his dark hair. His muscular chest heaved as he sighed. “You tell me. Who are you? Why is Vladimir after you? Are you some kind of witch? He hunts mostly witches, and you don’t look like one.”

Why are all the handsome guys crazy? "I don’t know what you are talking about! And why will I answer you? I asked first!”

“For starters,” he began, brushing his thumb against his nose, his biceps flexing as he did. “You are in my room. Further, I may have been the one who saved you from utter dismemberment by a werewolf.” He raised his thick eyebrows. “You’re welcome.”

“Werewolf? There is no such thing --”

“Can you describe to me how you probably saw Vladimir’s teeth sharpen into fangs? Or how his eyes were yellow? Or maybe you can retell how his dog-like muzzle tore through your shoulder?”

I released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My blood was singing in my ears. My mind tried to find rational explanations as the horrific flashbacks in the alley flooded my memories. “If what you’re saying is true, how come I have no wounds? If that thing really tore through my flesh, then why am I unblemished?”

“You’re sick,” he said and took a bite of the apple.

“Ugh! Stop with the games, will you? First you call me Tiger, then witch and now you are saying I am sick!” I screamed, slamming the closet door closed. Ignoring the rattling sound of the mirror shattering from the sudden force, I tried hard to recall what the monster called this man. “You, Mr. Riverwater, are the one who’s sick!”

“Riverwoods,” he corrected.

“What?”

“You remember wrong. My name is not Riverwater. It's Riverwoods. I am Michael Riverwoods. And I am a Soul Dealer.”