Wednesday Briefs #13 - Diventando: Becoming

 

 

Copyright JC Wallace 2013

 

Welcome to another installment of Diventando: Becoming. If you are new and haven’t read the previous chapters, click on Wednesday Briefs in the left hand column and start with #1. Enjoy and feel free to leave a comment.

 

 

 

Owen stared up at Turk. This was worse than a nightmare. Maybe he was hallucinating? But if that were true, wouldn’t Turk be doing something Owen would enjoy? Like kissing him? Nope, not hallucinating because Turk was standing in the door, scowling. His jaw twitched as a war of emotions crossed his face. Owen wanted to speak to him. Ask him what the hell he was doing, but the memories from when the entity had seen Turk were still strong. There had been a feeling of excitement and fear. There had been...recognition. What the fuck had that been all about?

 

Turk continued to point the gun at Owen as he stepped into the room. He never turned away from Owen, never took his eyes off of him as if at any moment Owen would attack. Owen tracked Turk with his eyes, not moving a muscle for fear of...of what? Turk shooting him? The thought was preposterous! If anyone had told Owen any of what had happened that day was in his future, he would have laughed aloud. Now, he wasn’t sure what to do. In all seriousness, he wanted to scream and cry and howl his rage, however he was mentally and physically exhausted. The floor was hard and cold yet Owen wasn’t sure he could move to save his life at that point.

 

Turk stopped at the table beside the bed. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a pair of restraints, apparently familiar with the placement of things in the room. Owen didn’t have to guess who those were for. The hard expression on Turk’s face belied the jovial, warmth he had bestowed on Owen in the past.

 

“Here,” Turk said and tossed the restraints across the room to Malcolm who hadn’t moved from the corner. He was afraid of Owen.

 

No. He’s afraid of what’s inside of you.

 

A shudder wracked Owen’s body. Every bone and muscle ached. His cheek throbbed where Malcom had struck him and he knew it would bruise. His head ached and his eyes burned. The cold in his body was overwhelming and all encompassing, however, despite all of it, his entire attention was on Turk who was indifferent and cold. Owen likened him to a hardened soldier fighting a war and that thought freaked Owen out even more.

 

Malcolm stepped up beside Owen and knelt down. Roughly, the nurse pushed Owen into a sitting position then grabbed one of Owen’s wrists and yanked harder than necessary to position his arm behind his back. Owen hissed at the pain in his shoulder. Turk frowned and opened his mouth as if to say something but quickly snapped it shut. Was he going to say something about Malcolm hurting Owen? If so, he’d quickly stopped any concern for Owen from showing.

 

Malcolm pulled Owen’s other wrist behind his back and secured them with the restraints.

 

“Get him back on the bed,” Turk said and stepped back to make way.

 

Each time Malcolm tried to heft Owen from the floor, Owen’s legs buckled. His muscles were useless from whatever drug the dart had pushed into his system. With his hands stuffed into Owen’s armpits, Malcolm grunted and huffed as he continually tried to lift Owen from the floor. Each time Owen hit the floor with a thud, pain shooting into his knees and hips. The man was useless and it appeared that Turk was coming to the same conclusion. Scowling, Turk stalked to Owen and shoved Malcom away.

 

“Hey,” Malcolm protested but a growl from Turk stopped all sound from the man. Turk shoved the gun back into his holster and without pretense reached down and hoisted Owen effortlessly off the floor. Owen gasped at the speed and then at the feel of Turk’s hands on his body. Sense memories flooded him from their kiss at Otter Creek. The tenderness of Turk’s touches, the need and desire...Had all of their times together been a farce? Was Turk part of some cult or weird group who experimented on people? What had he said he specialized in at the college? Folklore and mythology. Oh shit, had they put something inside of him? One of their demi gods or performed some sort of voodoo on him?

 

Turk dropped him onto the bed and Owen rolled onto his side to avoid lying on his bound hands. His internal temperature seemed to be rising slowly. Being cold sucked and he wished for an electric blanket. Here he’d be lucky if he got a regular one.

 

Turk sighed heavily and ran a hand over the curls on top of his head. The sigh said more about Turk’s turmoil than any words he could have spoken. Turk lifted his head and his eyes were on Malcolm.

 

“What the hell?” Turk growled. He was large and intimidating in his black fatigues, the same as the men who’d escorted him there had been wearing.

 

“Hey, I just do what I’m told,” Malcolm barked back, however Owen could hear an underlying tremble in his voice.

 

At that moment Dr. Sealy walked in the room, her steps tentative until she spied Owen trussed up on the bed.

 

“Well, Daniel, I see you have the situation under control.”

 

Daniel?

 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Turk bellowed. “It was two feet away from gaining the power needed to reach a corporeal state.”

 

She raised her chin in a show of defiance. “First, I am the lead on this team and I will make the decisions concerning testing. And second, we do not even have confirmation of inhabitation.”

 

Inhabitation? Okay, this shit was getting fucking weird and Owen wanted to say something, anything. But when he tried to move his mouth, the uncoordinated action came out like a mumble that no one seemed to hear.

 

Turk pursed his lips and took a menacing step toward Dr. Sealy. “He called me ‘hunter’.”

 

Her eyes widened as the color faded from her face. Her hand went to her throat and she nervously twisted a gold chain that she wore.

“I want this ward locked down and the other subjects moved to Section B,” Turk said with a commanding tone. “No one gets in or out. We have finally caught the Incubus.”

 

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