The Scent

         Euphoria. It is the first thing he feels as he opens his eyes for the first time. The heavy thuds of a horse trotting lightly in the dark of night breaks through his senses. Though the horse is miles away, to him, it sounds as though it is just on the other side of the door.  And the smell, oh God the smell! It is like nothing he has ever smelt before. He has no idea where it is coming from but he knows that he will do anything to be closer to that tantalizing smell. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It was a tangy, sweet smell; similar to his late father’s cologne that his mother adored so much but it was much stronger, much more potent. With every breath he took the scent penetrated infiltrated his mind until it was all he could think about, all he could smell. All he wanted. He gets up resting his hands momentarily on the velvety sheet beneath him, taking in the luxurious fabric that he’d never had the opportunity to feel before tonight. It was soft; much like a young kitten’s fur after it had been brushed with an expensive comb. He looked down at it and noticed the deep red color of the fabric and again thought of the scent that never truly left the forefront of his mind. He does not take notice of the cool floor as he slowly gets up from the large bed, his bare feet hitting rhythmically against the tiles as he heads for the door.

         A shout breaks through the lull that had taken over the room. He stops and turns toward the sound. There is yelling now. Two voices, he thinks, two males. The one that shouted was gruff and angry. He was yelling at another much weaker man who apologized profusely for whatever he had done in a much higher voice. The yelling man was obviously the older one and the leader between the two while the younger was more likely than not a servant who had made a mistake that was most likely not even his fault and was now being punished for it. The man honestly doesn’t care what happened between the two men. He only cares about the sweet scent that became much stronger with the shout and again even stronger as the man continued to yell. Loud, echoing slaps followed each insult and a weak whimper and plea for forgiveness responds in return. He closes his eyes takes another deep breath as wafts of the enticing smell abuses his senses. He opens the door and walks down a narrow hall way cloaked in blackness. Though he has never seen it before he knows that it is made up of old weathered bricks, the ceilings are vaulted two to three body lengths high and that there are metal holders along each side of the wall for torches should the need ever arise. He takes his hand and runs in it along the rough bricks; little pieces of the rock came off onto his fingers as they rubbed gently. Small, muted, echoing thumps could be heard as the rocks fell away from the wall and onto the cold concrete floor. He closes his eyes as he walks, taking simple pleasure in the little echoes as he continues towards the sweet scent.

         The smell leads him outside. Though it’s a full moon on a cloudy night he is not bothered by the absolute darkness that seems to envelop him as he walks slowly out of the tall, heavy wooden doors. As he gets closer the smell becomes much stronger and he has to pause for a moment to regain his bearings before continuing on. The grass beneath his feet was cold and wet from the rain storm earlier that day; the mud oozing between his toes did little to deter him from his goal as he heads down the hill. As the scent gets closer so does the voices, he can hear them more clearly now and takes a moment to listen to the stutter of the younger man as he apologizes to the deep baritone of the other man. The master-servant relationship he assumed earlier became more prominent when the sounds of slaps make their way to his ears. This did not shock him for this was the way of the times but that did not make it right in his opinion. He couldn’t help but feel pity for the younger man—he himself had been a slave once and knew what it was like to be in that position. He remembered the stinging pain of a slap whenever he did something wrong or sometimes just because Master felt like it; he remembered the feeling of hopelessness and desolation that seemed to consume his every thought. He could remember everything this young man was going through and knew that it never got better.

         He walks up behind the two men and watches them for a moment. The master was a large man in every aspect of the way. His muscles seemed to be rippling with the sheer power that resided under his skin. The master was tall and burley and held an air of superiority around him that seemed to make the younger man flinch. His tunic was white and he had many jewels around his arms and neck that dully shined in the muted light coming from the lamp on the stagecoach. He had light blonde hair and fair skin that came from never being outside more than absolutely necessary—a true sign of wealth in society’s opinion. The servant was crouched on the ground, his hands covering his head as he whimpered apologies that fell on deaf ears. He was scrawny, the small tunic hanging loosely on his body and dirty pants held up by a slack of rope tied tightly around his waist. It was hard for him to tell if the servant’s hair was dark because of dirt or if it was his natural color and his skin was so muddy he wasn’t sure if the young man was white or black.

         His eyes widened as he saw crimson liquid fall in a steady stream towards the earth from the servant’s forehead. The master had drawn blood. What shocked him even more than that was the smell that had previously been seemingly coming from everywhere now concentrated itself at the wound. This young boy, who couldn’t even stand, was the cause of this mouth watering scent.  He quickly flashed behind the master’s back and snapped his neck with one smooth motion. Not a second later he was crouched in front of the servant smirking as he leaned even closer and took a large breath.

         The smell was even more divine up close. He couldn’t help imagining how sweet it must taste if he were to drink from the source. The servant blinked slowly, his eyes still on his master who was now lying on the ground motionless. A few seconds later his crystal blue eyes widen and he slowly turns to face the killer in front of him. His smirk grows and he gives the servant a once-over.  The young man was shaking now, his whole frame quivering as he stared into the shining, dark eyes of his master’s murder. The murderer laughs, tilting his head back and allowing the harsh cackles to escape his lips and rise up into the night sky. The killer was strange to the servant. He had never seen someone quite like him. He was dressed in dark fabric that seemed to hug his frame in all of the right places and he absently wondered if it was as soft as it looked from the soft glow of the lantern. The murderer was obviously well-off based on his pale complexion and extravagant clothing but he only wore one piece of jewelry unlike his master who took pleasure in the lavishness of the metal he placed on his body. He wore a necklace that hung lowly around his neck and fell halfway down his torso. The silver of the cross glinted from the light as it hung by a thin hoary chain. A red jewel in its center glowed in the darkness and the more the servant looked into the depth of the gem the more he was sure he saw something moving in it. The interior of the stone was made of some kind of liquid that seemed to have a mind of its own as it took different forms and defying gravity. The servant watched the ruby, for a moment completely forgetting about the murderer in front of him, as its smoky depths took forms of different people and animals.

         A hand to the cheek broke his foggy eyes away from the stone and back to the man in front of him. The man smiled kindly and brought the servant closer to him in a confining hug. The servant’s head was rested lightly on the man’s shoulder his eyes facing the other’s neck as he leaned down closer to the trembling servant and kissed his jugular. The boy saw his muscles in his neck clench as he swallowed. Without being told the servant realized that his fate was sealed and he closed his eyes in resignation as the killer’s teeth slowly pierced his neck, allowing his blood to flow into his mouth. The boy tasted better than he could have ever imagined. It was better than anything he had ever tasted before. His blood was sweet and warm as it traveled through his lips. All of the gnawing hunger that seemed to have been ripping through his stomach now settled down as it was sedated.  The boy slowly grew limp in his arms but he barely took notice of the chilling flesh as he continued to suck until there was nothing left of him.

         Once he was finished the man set the servant down on the ground gently, almost as if he were laying a sleeping child down on it’s bed without trying to wake him. He looked down at the vacant, cerulean eyes of the boy he had just eradicated which had lost all the shine that had been filled with wonder and hope. The boy’s face was peaceful—all of the lines that had previously marred his appearance had now smoothed out to reveal how young he truly was. He was probably around fifteen—no one deserved that kind of suffering. The killer knew, he had been in the boy’s position once. He knew what the child went through and as an act of kindness he ended the boy’s suffering.