BBC Prologue

James glanced up into the mirror of his bathroom, a slight distasteful look spread across his face. He was sweating again, furiously biting back the urge to vomit. Over the past few weeks, it was clear that his cravings had not only grown, but developed into something much more dangerous than even he, himself, had expected. It hadn’t been any more than twenty four hours since he had dragged himself down to the bottom basement to continue his business, yet here he was, standing in front of his own reflection with a face that told him he wouldn’t be able to hold it back much longer. After a moment of watching himself, he shook his head and allowed his normal blank expression to fall back onto his face so that he could finish his work.
The basement was dark and dismal, which was nothing short of what it generally was. The jars that contained what he considered his most prized possessions sat neatly on the shelves behind him as he walked in, although the shadows that lurked in the room kept them from view. The only thing that really made the place stand out from its usual was the man pushing out hushed breaths in a chair directly in the center of the room. James ignored this sound, all it did was increase his desire and he wasn’t quite ready to satisfy his fix.
No…..Gotta play with them a little first, Jamesy boy, a slick little voice, one that James was all too familiar with, rang out in his head repeating these words like a sickening disease infecting his mind. He leaned against the counter, observing him for a moment. He looked awfully worn for his age, but that was to be expected seeing as he had spent the last few months in that chair. The small breaths were now threatening the boundaries of gasps vibrating off his chest like the panting of a mongrel; James craned his neck slightly with each new sound. Running his hand down to his side, he tapped his fingers lightly upon the knife that was dangling there as if attempting to contain his patience.
Sense the fear James…it’s all yours, the voice played out again, but this time, was soon pushed out seeing as James knew for a fact that this man wasn’t feeling such a pathetic emotion. He stepped forward, unlatching the knife and pulling it out. The black hilt was worn and the blade caked with dry blood, yet something round and glossy dangled from its back. It made a small clinking noise as it collided gently with the blade when he approached the man’s chair. He tensed faintly as James ran the edge of his knife down his side, twirling it casually just above the cut that had been made hours earlier. For a moment, he continued holding the blade there, watching as the man’s muddy brown eyes followed the knife’s every movement.
“Tell me asshole,” he said in a completely blank tone, “How’s it feel to be helpless?” A small smirk pricked at his lips as he dragged the knife up the ribcage, careful to only add the tiniest amount of pressure. As expected, no answer to the question came; there was never an answer.
It’s fear Jamesy…terror. Something they can’t give answer to, this time, the voice prowled in the very center of his mind, echoing like a tape recording ironed in his brain. He closed his eyes, holding the knife still, unable to drive the voice from his head. It was lying, again. There was no terror whatsoever in this man’s eyes. In fact, they were much likes James’; completely dry of any emotion, but something about them gave off the eerie feeling of having nothing left. It was a look that really only seemed to fuel James anymore.
It’s only going to get worse from here James, I hope you know that, it rang out several times before James suddenly plunged the knife into his ribcage, glaring down at the knife as he twisted it. A sharp hiss followed closely by several more deep gasps for air broke out into air. The man was now gripping the bottom of his chair tight desperately trying to keep sweat drenched hands from slipping.
An abrupt jerk of the knife forced a resounding crack to break any silence there may have been. It reverberated throughout the entire room, bouncing off the jars like the sound of hitting a hollow pipe.
“Whoops,” James said, mockery clear in his voice, “That’ll be a broken rib, now won’t it?” A smirk ran across his lips as he ripped the knife out in such a harsh manner that it splattered thick drops of blood across his shirt; that slick little voice in his head had ceased finally which gave his soul that odd sense of relief it often needed. The man gave another short hiss thick through his teeth as the blade slid out of his flesh, his body giving in to minor shakes from the lack of control.
For a moment, the room went silent of anything but shrill intakes of breath. James took a small step back, his eyes scanning the man’s entire figure. There was a shadow almost completely covering his face, except for the eyes which were fluttering faintly, trying to blink out the water. These weren’t tears; just liquid that had formed from the pain that James imagined was now pricking at his chest from every new breath.
Despite the fact the voice in James head had died down, there was still some craving deep down inside of him. It waited in what was considered the darkest corner of his mind, all too eager to dive out and take control any chance it got. This was a simple desire, a burning curiosity, to push things far past their limit that had developed inside of him only weeks ago.
“I think you could use a friend to accompany you to your grave, asshole,” James said, the smirk slipping very slightly, “What do you say?” The second he asked the question, the gasps had begun to fade. It was obvious that an answer was being summoned up from what little energy was still left.
“Ah, so it’s come to death then, has it?” The man’s words were slow to come and the strain could be openly heard in his voice. James was done tending to the wounds; done going out of his way to keep him alive when he so hated the bastards guts anyways. Rolling his eyes, he stepped forward once again, sliding the side of the blood stained blade across his face.
“Of course it has. This has been real fun, dipshit, but I don’t think there’s much left of you to maim anymore.” James watched as the brown eyes traveled away from the knife that was now being tapped lightly against the skin of his cheek. They came to a sudden halt upon his torso which was almost completely bare of a shirt and covered heavily with blood. It was obvious that this man was looking at himself and wondering if this was really true, but James found this contemplation to be a complete waste of time. No amount of thinking would change the fact that he was indeed wearing down. He could feel the grip on his knife’s hilt tightening, a burning sensation crawling through his system at the fact that this asshole was even considering it.
“Is it going to make you feel big, Beckett?” The strain in the man’s voice was now gone, replaced with a more blank tone. It was likely that the pain in his chest had not yet ceased and would probably persist for what little remainder of life James was going to allow him, yet after breaking a rib so many times, one learns the proper way to speak through all the throbbing.
James, please….You can stop him, another voice had forced its way into James head. This time, it was different though. The voice was quite soft and had a pleading edge to it which sent that distasteful look straight back onto his face. He knew exactly who it belonged to and the mere fact that he was letting it creep into his mind disgusted him.
The man had obviously taken note in James change in expression because when he spoke out this time, it had a slightly more confident hint to it.
“No control anymore, hm? That’s what it’s come down to, no control.” Immediately after the words were spoken, James used his free hand to get a good grip on the man’s hair. The burning in his system had now amplified; the word ‘control’ sent a spark of hate right through his heart. The blade still lay steady on the man’s cheek, a deepening crease forming on the flesh as James added more pressure to the knife. Silence broke out for a moment as his gray dull eyes met the brown murky ones and the air was thick with tension. James could feel his neck giving into another crane as he could sense the voice coming back into his head.
You could have stopped it James…You didn’t have to do it!
This time, James didn’t wait for the voice to disappear. Lifting the knife from the man’s cheek, he placed it just above his heart, knowing full well what he was doing. He took ahold of the shoulder and pulled him forward, adding pressure to the blade as it slithered into the man’s bare flesh. There was a quick intake of air, but James paid no attention to it as he continued to push, forcing the knife hilt deep. It wouldn’t be much longer, a few hours at the most, before the wounds would take their final toll; he only hoped with everything he still had left that it would be as slow and painful as humanly possible.
Averting his eyes, James slowly released his hand from the hilt, leaving it where it was. Removing the knife would mean instant death and it wasn’t quite time to end this yet. The man’s breathing was light now; he was in no way ignorant to the fact that deeper gasps would only increase the pain.
James turned on his heel, taking two heavy steps forward before grabbing the handle of the door. He could feel that urge to vomit lingering deep in his throat again. The ignorance of what had just been done and shown was now starting to sink in. To make matters worse, he was sure that the man had caught on to what was going on, despite the fact that he now had a knife wedged deep within his pathetic heart.
“Burns, eh?” the man said, giving a dry subtle chuckle, “The moment you truly break.”
For an instant, James was unable to move from these words, but he soon brushed it off reaching to his left and grabbing the old spare knife that lay on the very edge of the counter. He gave the knob a quick twist, pulling the door open.
“Just don’t fucking die yet, bastard. I’m not done with you,” he said, faint venom in his words. With that, James stepped out of the room and purposely slammed the door shut after him, praying the bastard was in as much agony as possible.