The complication of truth is that sometimes the truth isn't complicated.

Stage 12

The complication of truth is that sometimes the truth isn't complicated.

Night, having move from obscurity, the shadow and dark forms that cultivate in the absence of light, such was the timing as a fuming young woman walked the now silent sidewalk of a certain downtown's rather illustrious housing complex. The woman's apartment wasn't but half a block away and she was planning on running a hot bath and drinking a glass of red wine to wash away that days stress.

Her mind was rushing far too quickly, processing so much data that it took a while for her consciousness to register what her instincts were shouting in alarm. She stopped and felt goose bumps on her arms and neck, shivering at the realization that crossed her mind.

She had a fleeting thought that perhaps she was only feverish, even sick. Her sense of smell contradicted that assertion, for there was a smoky sweet scent in the air, prompting a memory of nights camping with family, of burning wood, that dark sweet aroma. The scent memory was interrupted by another smell - the faint smell of rotting eggs. She turned around to see the barely visible outline of what appeared to be a couple standing just outside the circle of light provided by a nearby street lamp.

"Excuse me," she said, not understanding why her voice was quivering, "but… do you smell sulfur?" She fought against an overwhelming urge to flee.

A small giggle resonated impossibly close to her. A male voice answered. His voice was friendly, helpful, even cheerful.

"Sulfur?" he said oh so gently, sounding surprised and saddened at the same time. "It would seem we found the one you were looking for my love."

The other voice responded, a woman's voice, but this voice held no warmth, no cheer, no friendliness. Instead it resonated with a deep, unadulterated yearning. It was a voice that spoke of an unsatisfied hunger. A voice like that of a crackling flame.

"She will do, her body will consume quite nicely."

In an instant, the woman knew she was about to die. Fear gripped her. Stepping back, she clutched her hands over her breast and began to mutter, as if a mantra, "This can't be happening, this can't be happening…"

A gentle finality filled the man's voice, almost as if he regretted the news he was about to impart.

"My friend is running dangerously low, dear stranger. I'm sorry to inform you that you fit her need for consumption." The second silhouette started to move forward, the light from the street lamp flickered and died.

The woman tried to run; even managed to turn in the opposite direction, pushing herself forward for a few yards down the sidewalk. But the attack came at her too fast, with surgical skill.

She was thrown against a wall, falling on her knees she blubbered for mercy, only to be met by a chilling laugh.

She raised her arms.

She covered her face.

She squeezed her eyes shut to pretend the monsters away.

Then came the culmination of the horrific act, the piercing scream as the air filled with a precipitous amount of agony and pain.

Before the scream could echo off the masonry of the buildings, a deafening silence swallowed it. A silence so profound, any man would panic by the sheer stillness it created.

The silent steps of her lover approached her,

"How are you feeling, my love? Was she what you were looking for?"

His voice echoed in the surreal chambers of her mind, bypassing that manufactured silence. She turned as she felt a gentle hand rest on her shoulder.

She nodded, as he heard her response echo in his mind.

"Yes."

In this telepathic state, her voice no longer had that quality of crackling flame; that hunger in her voice, the yearning that could never be quenched.

Just as quickly as that silence was created, she dispelled the power with a motion of her hand.

"That's good." There was measure of cheer to his voice. "Maybe when it's all said and done, they'll let use find an isolated spot you can consume…"

She turned to look up at him and smiled rather fondly, leaning up to kiss his lips. "…rather than consuming you and making the pain stop once and for all?"

"My pain is nothing compared to yours, my love," he said, deepening the kiss between them.

The moment of passion was disturbed by a distinctive crackling sound coming from their earpieces, a familiar yet not so welcomed voice that interrupted their little interlude.

"What, in the name of heaven, are you two doing downtown?!"

There was small growl from the woman, but the man was a bit more diplomatic, raising his hand to his throat and keying the mike that was strapped around his neck,

"She needed to feed and so she fed."

There was a small pause as Aerlina's voice came back through the earpiece securely lodged in his ear canal. He could tell she was suppressing a most powerful urge to yell.

"Get the hell back to HQ. If you two get caught in the open there will be hell to pay. Copy that?"

He grunted into his mike. "Copy that."

A gentle touch upon his lover's shoulder tempered his lover's stress.

"Come, my dear. Our warden bids our company."

She smirked, but instead of moving she crouched down and with her fingers touched the recently-scorched cement wall. She patted the place of the woman's execution almost lovingly; as she straightened to her full height.

A beautiful design, even if she thought so herself.

The man smiled as he admired her work. "Your best yet, my dear."

Returning the smile and nuzzling his shoulder, she wrapped her arm around his waist. As the pair slowly walked away from the immediate area, for all the world they were just another happy couple heading home after a long night out.

The next morning brought upon its usual cast of onlookers, some of whom stopped and pondered the new form of graffiti on the wall. Many found it rather beautiful, even as others found it oddly disturbing.

Someone had burned what appeared to be the profile of a kneeling woman right into the masonry wall.