Rocks of Solitude. Novel #2

Mark leaned back on his seat and watched Elizabeth disappear into the other room. Just how tea was supposed to pacify the raging demons within him baffled him much. But the life that throbbed in some deeper chambers within him took to appreciating the fact that Elizabeth was just trying to be helpful. Helpful in ways Joyce had never been and quite possibly could never be. Come to think of it, Elizabeth was quite a looker too. He watched her approach, a tray held before her chest. As she bent over to serve, he peered at her cleveage. Her dress was modest but her bent posture meant that her breasts hang just below the neckline. Mark held his breath as he fought some other demons. Those of lust. But it was ironic that he could think of that now and not when he would rub himself dry on Joyce's pictures. Elizabeth seemed to have noticed this for she straightened herself and pulled up her dress straps. Not to much efficacy but it seemed a subtle statement to the aroused Mark that she had noticed and was not taking kindly the lecherous eyes.
 "Here you go," she said, handing him a mug of the steaming tea, "could go a long way in calming you down." Mark did not receive it. Instead he fixed his eyes on her, his face deadpan. 
 "I'm not stressed," he moaned. Elizabeth put the tea on the Blackwood table and took a seat adjacent to him. He leaned forward and there was a hefty heaviness in the folds of his face, as if he had burdens weighing down the skin's on him. "I'm not even sick. I just have a deeper problem. There is something Liz, something in me that wants to take over me. It started out as an innocent voice. Now I don't know. I feel like I have the devil in me. A dark shadow that wants to tear me down, rip right through the threads of my humanity."
 "Wow Mark," Elizabeth said, looking concerned and worried. And she was. Mark has captured her heart and she wanted to help. "That's - grave. Have you seen a psychiatrist?" Mark clicked with disdain. 
 "Those fuckers just eat my money," he spat, scratching his head in confusion. "But I had one. He wasn't helping much. He is in no position to help now."
 "Why is that?" Elizabeth asked. 
 "He is dead," Mark said, "I killed him." His tone was nonchalant, casual, as if what he had just uttered bore no consequence. Elizabeth cringed in her seat and studied Mark cautiously. She remained solid as the words took their meaning. Then she gasped. That security and assurance that she had grown to develop around him dissipated, beginning with a lingering disbelief before crawling on and building up to shock and distrust, then, a chilling dread. "M... Mark d...d....did you mean what you just said?" She dribbled, fear profound on her face, glazing in her eyes and reducing them to a teary mess. Mark slid to where she was seated and knelt before her feet, which has been curled up her body. She whimpered and cringed some more as Mark tried to touch her. Mark recoiled quickly, looking worried now.
 "Which is why Elizabeth," he snivelled, tears rolling down his eyes now, "I want you to get away. Run for your life Liz. Save yourself and me, from My Demons. Because if I lose myself, not you, or anyone else, has a chance. And I might never regret it." There was a sinister look in his eyes, far from the usual affable deportment he always displayed. Elizabeth looked resigned, crying as she hid her face from him. Mark backed out and barged out of the room in tears. Elizabeth quickly scampered after him and latched the door. She was droused in her own tears. She was bewildered, and for a moment, held the phone in her hand, dialling and cancelling 911, as she toyed with the idea of calling the authorities. But then what would she tell them. A wind howled, and the trees around the lodges gave ominous whispers, the rustling leaves seeming to herald a doom. After a while, she called Allan and confided in him. Mark, who was a shadow against the wall listened on with fervid fury as Elizabeth shared his secret. He gave a terrible grin as his teeth, which in the deathly moonlight assumed shapes of fangs, gleaned with intent. His eyes were red and savage, unhinged , as the devil began to fashion for himself a shot at his sanity. A dog wailed to the skies in the distance as a brooding mist floated in the faraway ranges.

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