Michael and Mikaela

Crud… where do I start? It has been another hell of a month with another bombed vacation attempt. I’ve currently lost all creative motivation and am just taking each day as it comes. I suppose it takes a little time to recover when  you feel like you’ve been kicked in the gut. 

I’ll get everything back on track soon. Soon – you hear that universe! Not another 6 months like last time. I don’t have Howl-O-Scream to contend with this time so not much to stress over besides the usual. Once money is back on track – which it will be. 

10:30 – or there abouts anyway. What about an attempt at a writing exercise? Something simple before bed. 

***

She had been comfortable, blissful even when he started tossing and turning next to her. As she slowly climbed back to consciousness, she realized that his skin was burning hot against hers. Her eyes fluttered open and she let out a contented sigh, hand snaking playful around his side. It was the tone of his soft moans that brought her fully awake and she sat up. Her hand was wet when she pulled it away from his fiery skin. 

“Michael,” she breathed. There was the faintest of light fluttering through the heavy curtains as the air conditioning unit pumped a cold breeze beneath them. The moistness on her hand was sticky as she rubbed her fingers together. Even in the dim light she could tell it was blood. She bolted to her knees and rolled him over. 

“Michael!” she shook him by the shoulder, reaching behind her with one hand and flipping on the light. 

He flinched at the sudden glare and groaned loudly. She quickly found the source of the blood; set just under the joint of his arm was a set of four deep gouges across his ribs. His eyes cracked open ever so slightly, revealing the white sclera as they rolled back into his head.  

“-kaela,” he choked out. Mikaela quickly jumped out of the stiff hotel room bed to the vanity at the back. The ice bucket was the closest item and she quickly filled it with cool water. She froze in mid-stride before carrying it back over to him as she caught sight of herself in the long mirror. Her naked body was covered in dried blood. She couldn’t help but think she looked like the product of some crazed director’s vision from a horror flick as she finally urged her feet into motion. 

The tall man was writing on the bed, breath caught in his throat as he clawed uselessly about. She didn’t know why she thought the water would help. She threw the bucket of water against him and she wasn’t as surprised as she felt she should have been when he gasped and sat up straight. His green eyes snapped back into focus and he found her immediately, standing over him with the now empty bucket. 

“Mikaela, what happened?” he asked breathlessly. The bloody sight of her must have kick-started his senses as well. She dropped the bucket and quickly rushed to his side on the soggy bed. 

“Do you remember getting scratched earlier?” she asked, her hand once more going to the oozing wound on his left. His beautiful face screwed up in confusion as she glanced down. 

“No – I was never…” the words died in his throat as he spied his own ribs. There was angry red lines taking over his entire left side and the edge of the scratches themselves were dark and tough. “I don’t even feel that,” he looked up at her hopelessly, and edge of panic to his baritone voice. “How do I not feel that?”

“We need to get you to a hospital,” she gushed, flying out of bed and casting about for her clothes. Michael rose from his side of the bed, only to crumple over with a yell. Mikaela turned back quickly at the sound, his hands wrapped around his bare stomach. 

“No,” he croaked. “No hospital.” 

“You are burning up with fever, those are horribly infected…” the sound of bones cracking killed her words as he yelled once more. The pain dropping him to his knees. 

“I don’t think it’s an infection,” he gasped after a moment. “That… thing…” 

“No.” 

“Come on, the stories had to come from somewhere!” he snapped as he pushed himself back up to his feet. 

“You of all people? You’re going to sit here and wave the idea of a… a what? Werewolf around? Or have you shot too many movies with them in it?” She was pulling her pants on as she stomped across the room to him. 

“Do you have a better idea of what that -” Michael screamed again and dropped helplessly to the floor; the muscles beneath his skin visibly contracting. She reached down to take his hand and they both went stony. He was larger than her to begin with, but her fingers barely stretched across his palm now. The fear was thick in his eyes as he looked up at her. 

“I can’t turn into that thing Mikaela,” came a husky whisper. She stared down at her hand against his and met his eyes. She’d watched those eyes for years before ever meeting him just yesterday. There was pleading and panic that no amount of acting could ever duplicate in them now. “Please.”

“Please… what?” she asked. She was shaking her head because she already knew the answer as he spoke.

“Kill me now. I can’t…” he doubled over with another set of sickening pops coming from beneath his skin. 

“No,” she breathed, stepping away and reaching for her shirt. 

“Please…” he cried between ragged gasps. 

“I can’t!” she shouted back. 

“Can’t or won’t?” he demanded. She knew the words must have come naturally to him, a common quote from his movies. 

“Both,” she admitted. “There has to be a way to fix it. Otherwise there would be these monsters all over the world. They’d be all over the news, the internet – not just on the big screen. And if there is a way, don’t you owe that much to your daughter?” 

He held her gaze for a few heartbeats, his teeth grinding against the pain. 

“If there’s no cure…”

“Then we’ll figure something out. I’ll be back. Do NOT leave this room,” she ordered as she snatched up her purse. It had just turned six o’clock, the predawn light was barely painting the eastern sky. If anyone would be able to help them, it would be Steven. 

She let out a frustrated sigh as she pulled away in the small S.U.V. they’d stolen. 

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