Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

156 :: JOHN R. MABRY
gave him a similar expression, that must have been reflected
on his physical face.
“What is this look?” Dane asked, almost laughing. “Are
you waking up? No...maybe not.” He pulled a syringe out of
his pocket and tested it, sending a golden stream into the air
for a brief second. “Well, this can wait, then, I suppose.” He
set the needle down out of reach of Mikael’s body.
“Still, you are kind of cute, you know. And so long as you
are unconscious...” Dane began to rub at himself. He lay
down on the stone floor beside Mikael’s body and undid his
own belt. Lifting his hips, he slid his pants down and pulled
at his penis until it stiffened. As the candle danced, he
allowed himself a small moan of pleasure.
From his vantage point on the ceiling, Mikael had no
interest in the man’s erection, nor did he feel any revulsion
or disdain. Nor did he feel any when Dane swung around on
his knees, and climbed up on the mattress. He planted his
knees near Mikael’s head, and shuddered visibly as he felt
the stubble on Mikael’s cheek graze the sensitive skin of his
scrotum. Again and again he rocked himself over the unconscious
man’s head, feeling the ecstasy of the prickly and
scratchy beard against his balls.
Mikael watched the scene feeling an overwhelming compassion
for the man. The friar did not see what happened
next, for his attention was diverted. Above him, a hole
seemed to have formed where the stones had been, an ectoplasmic
whirlpool that sucked at Mikael’s consciousness like
an undertow. At the center of it, he saw a child—a little girl,
dressed in what appeared to be a long, olive-colored dress.
She looked frightened and uncertain, and stared straight into
what would have been Mikael’s eyes, had he been using
physical eyes. Moved by compassion, he held out his hand to
the little girl and moved towards her into the eye of the vortex.
He did not panic as he was drawn up into it, nor was he
reassured that all would be well.