#oneaday Day 608: Pain Killer

Aimee Lee had been wracked with inexplicable pains for several days now. She couldn’t explain them, nor did she feel that she could bother the doctors with them. She couldn’t talk to her friends about them, because she didn’t have any friends. But every night, it seemed, the pain got worse, and always, after she did manage to succumb to sleep, she woke the next morning feeling as if she has been beaten, battered and abused.

But there’s no-one there. No-one has beaten her, no-one has taken advantage of her, no-one has violated her. She’s all alone. She has been ever since the day when she decided enough was enough, and called the police on her abusive boyfriend, who took him away, never to be seen again.

“Bitch!” he’d called after her as he was forcibly removed from the premises, her trembling figure cowering in the corner as a female police officer spoke to her in a calm, low voice, assuring her that everything was going to be all right now. “Whore! You’ll suffer! You’ll suffer!”

She’d come to this town of her own volition, given up her life for the man she thought she loved, and for a while all was well. But then his fury started. Every day she’d dread the turning of the key in the lock, for it would mean that he would be back again, and the beatings would start. She’d often be in tears even before he arrived in the house, but that would only fuel his aggression. There was no explanation for it, and on the few occasions where he did prove to be lucid, he had no justification for it, either.

But she missed him. There had been love there, once, and amidst all the abuse and horrors, she knew that he was surely still the man she had fallen for and given everything up for. After a while, she even found herself longing to hear his voice in any form — even if it was yelling at her, a prelude to another beating.

It was in this admission that the shadow found its way into her soul. A fleeting thought, that was all it took for it to take hold. And then the pain started — a dull ache in her limbs at first, but gradually growing in intensity night by night. By now, by the time she eventually passed out from the pain — she couldn’t call it “falling asleep” — her body was wracked with the agony of a thousand burning needles searing her flesh, though her skin bore no scars.

The girl knew the signs as soon as she became aware of Aimee. She had come across this kind of horror before, and she knew all too well that if it were not dealt with quickly, Aimee’s mind and body would tear themselves apart, whether the agony were real or imagined.

So it was that she stepped into Aimee’s mind, flickering energy running up her arm letting her know that the blade with which she had already dispatched so many similar terrors hungered for the blood of the dark one responsible for this particular mess.

The room she found herself in was dark, its walls made of stone, and dull lights sitting in sconces high on the walls.

How cliché, she thought. A dungeon. Perhaps this’ll be simpler than I thought.

A moan from somewhere in the darkness led her to the prone figure of Aimee, lying on the floor, clad in a white dress that was already stained crimson with blood.

“Please!” cried Aimee, her voice quavering with tears. Invisible lashes cause her body to jolt with pain, fresh wounds opening with each hit. “Please!”

The girl stood watching this horrific sight, her jaw set. She wouldn’t have called herself “embittered” or “cynical” but she had been doing this for some time now, and she knew that to become emotionally invested in the situation was to show weakness to the shadow.

“Show yourself,” she muttered, clearing her throat then uttering it again. “Show yourself!”

Aimee’s writhing stopped as the invisible lashes ceased to batter her body. The darkness seemed to shift around her, taking form, becoming a recognisable shape.

“Uh-huh,” said the girl. “Let me guess. Couldn’t get no satisfaction, so decided to take to beating on this poor girl to get your ya-yas.”

The male figure before her snarled, black smoke billowing from his head as he did so. There was to be no parley, it seemed, as it lurched straight at the girl — but she was ready for him, deftly stepping aside and flourishing her arm as she had done so many times, the blade flashing and appearing ready in her hand as she summoned it.

The shadowy, smoky figure lunged at her again, tackling her and slamming her against a wall. Aimee screamed as she watched — she knew his violence all too well, both in reality and here in her own mind, and was terrified to see it inflicted on another. She sobbed, taking big gulps of air as she hoped the girl could escape his terrible clutches.

She did. Kicking away the shadowy figure and slashing at him with the curious blade she held in her right hand, the girl moved with the agility and speed of a cat. She wasn’t going to be caught out again. By the time the smoky figure crudely lurched at her again, she was already elsewhere, slashing at his body with her sword, but even a direct hit caused only black smoke to spew from the wound, not blood.

“Hey!” said the girl, addressing the terrified Aimee for the first time. “What do you want? This isn’t going to work if you don’t know.”

Aimee didn’t know what she meant. She watched the unfolding scene with tears blurring her vision, unable to stand, the pain from her wounds stinging her body and leaving her immobile.

“Come on!” said the girl. “I can’t help you if you don’t help me. I need you to know, Aimee. I need you to say it.”

Aimee gulped, swallowed some air, hiccuped and sobbed again. What did this strange girl mean? And who was she? Aimee had never seen her before in her life, but somehow the girl knew her — or at least her name.

The shadowy figure’s blow found its target, and the girl was sent clattering across the ground, winded, blade still clutched firmly in her right hand. It turned back to Aimee, menace in its glowing red eyes. It began to advance — far more threatening now it has a visible form than when it lashed her body with invisible strokes.

Aimee screamed. This isn’t what she wanted. She wanted things to be back how they once were — back when she was in love, back before he was engulfed with this inexplicable rage. She wanted —

“I want,” said Aimee uneasily, staring in fright at the advancing figure. “I want — I want the pain to stop!”

The girl leapt to her feet.

“That’s it,” she said. “You never wanted this abuse. You never wanted this pain. Once you thought you might, and that’s how you let this thing in. But now you know that way lies only suffering. So I’m here to help with that.”

She plunged the blade deep into the back of the shadowy, smoky figure, which let out an ear-splitting howl before whirling around in an attempt to strike back at its assailant.

“Come on!” cried the girl. “Torture’s such an easy, boring way to inflict pain. Take me instead! I’ll give you a fight.”

She struck again, slicing at its face this time. The blade found its target, and this time instead of smoke, black ichor spewed forth. The girl hopped backwards to avoid the spray.

“Made that mistake before,” she said, more to herself than the horrified Aimee. “That shit never comes out.”

Aimee watched in astonishment. Tears still stung her eyes and blurred her vision, but the sheer oddness of the scene before her almost made her forget the pain that had brought her to her knees in the first place.

The girl plunged the blade deep into the shadowy figure’s torso now, and it let out a howl even worse than the first one. It seemed to shake the very foundations of the room they were in. Its foul black blood sprayed again as the girl twisted the blade, no trace of anger on her face, to all intents and purposes looking as if she was simply screwing a piece of furniture together rather than doing untold damage to the innards of some monstrous creature.

Finally, the figure let out one last roar and exploded in a cloud of black smoke, a torrent of the black ichor suddenly falling to the floor and splattering across it, leaving a stain. There was a silence for a moment, then the blade simply seemed to disappear from the girl’s hand.

“Thank you,” said Aimee, though she still wasn’t quite sure what had just happened.

“You’re welcome,” said the girl, who promptly vanished.

Aimee gasped and opened her eyes. She saw the familiar sight of her bedroom ceiling above her and was momentarily disoriented. What had just happened?

She had no answer to that question, but she knew one thing — the pain had stopped, just like she wanted.

But who was that girl?