Nixie Cole's Story

Markus found himself staring blankly at the man as he began to speak. Trying to convince himself that he was just imagining things. That there was no way that this was him. There was just no way. It was seven years now, he had seen the body, been to the funeral, everything. So, there was no way, he was just seeing things he so desperately wanted to see. But then, the other man spoke and Markus could have sworn his heart stopped in his chest. His voice. That voice. It was his. And suddenly, Markus didn’t know what to believe. Was he truly losing his mind? Was this the day he finally just lost all of his remaining senses? Probably. But, even if he was just seeing things that weren’t really happening, Markus didn’t want it to end just yet. He shook his head, taking him out of his thoughts as he finally felt strength return back to his legs to help pull him along as the other man got back in line. Markus didn’t know if he was staring or not, but he must have been as his eyes scanned over the man that stood before him as he spoke. Nodding ever so slightly as he said that he was from around here. That he grew up here. Or, that he thought he did. Markus didn’t understand what he meant, but kept silent as the man continued to talk. Not like he had much of a choice, seeing as his voice caught itself in his throat and wouldn’t come out as hard as he tried.

He found himself continuing to scan over the man that stood next to him trying to understand what the fuck was going on. Hell, he was close to asking what kind of sick joke was this, until the man finally said that he was sorry about his memory, and how he had bad amnesia. And that if he seemed to come across as rude, that he wasn’t doing it on purpose. Markus took the cup the man handed to him, and took a sip. The drink helped clear his throat a bit, but not much. Markus finally found himself regain that strength he needed to speak, and he couldn’t help it as his voice came out in a shaky tone, try as he might to not have his voice break, “It...It’s okay.” he began, clearing his throat and took a deep breath as the two began to walk once more. Markus took another moment to gather his thoughts, he didn’t know what was going on but, if Soren was really fucking here, somehow...Well, he wasn’t going to waste it. He didn’t care. All he wanted was to be able to talk to his best friend again-no, the person he cared for more than a friend, but that was so long ago. As if it was almost a life time ago. But, however many years may have passed by, and however older he may have looked...This was Soren. His Soren. His best friend. Markus bit his lip for a moment and began to finally speak again, “Yeah...I guess you could say we used to know each other.” Markus said with a small chuckle, however forced it was.

This felt so unreal, but he wasn’t going to waste time with this. Markus sighed as he looked down at the ground before looking back at Soren. “We...We used to be best friends, Soren. Me, you...and one of our other friends.” he paused for a moment, finally for the first time his memory went back to how things used to be. Back when they were kids, the three of then. He shook his head once more as he continued, “But, that was a long time ago. A really long time ago...But, that doesn’t matter. You’re back and...That’s all that matters.” he smiled slightly, a rather genuine for the first time in a long time. He looked back at Soren, “I won’t ask what happened but...If there’s anything I can clear up for you...I’ll be more than happy to, if I can.”

Soren could have guessed from the man’s reaction that they had somehow known each other, but being told that they had been best friends just broke Soren’s heart. He watched the man, desperately hoping for something to be familiar, for something to just trigger the memories and they’d come flooding back. But besides that lingering feeling that they had known each other, there was nothing. Soren studied the man’s face for a second or two, before things fell into place.

“You’re Markus, right? Markus Vasco?” He said, his face lighting up in a smile at the realisation that the name finally had a face to match. Even though he asked it as a question, his gut told him he was right. Markus Vasco, his best friend… well, before. For a moment, there was that burst of emotion, just lingering for a second, but this time, echoes of the emotions remained. Not enough that he could remember why he felt them, but it was something.

“Well… I mean, even if you did ask what had happened, I don’t think I could answer. I… just woke up two days ago and… poof. No memories, no… nothing. All I could remember was my own name.” He decided against mentioning that his first thought had been Markus’ name for some reason. Now he knew who he was, he swore that the man’s face was familiar. But there was a bittersweet undertone. He knew who Markus was, but he couldn’t remember any of their history, any of the things that defined their friendship. All of the things he could remember were things he’d rather forget, but the good memories were completely out of reach.

“I… have no idea what happened. Just… nothing. Do… do you know?” He asked, turning slightly to look at Markus. There was a wave of that same anxiety he felt whenever he went to type his own name into google, except this time it didn’t go away, settling into his chest and wrapping around his lungs. Soren cleared his throat in an attempt to ease the building pressure, but it didn’t budge. He felt in his pocket for his cigarettes, but he’d left them on the window of his apartment. He took a sip of his cider, trying desperately to ignore the growing pressure in his chest.

Markus nodded slowly as he could tell Soren was trying to piece things together, and the moment he heard Soren say his name, a smile appeared on his face. But for just a moment. “Yeah. That, that’s me.” a tone of excitement rang through his voice, quickly clearing his throat as he recomposed himself. Taking a deep breath as he listened to what Soren said. Not exactly fully understanding but, for as far as Markus was concerned, why would Soren be lying about this? It didn’t make sense. Hell, none of this made sense. Markus took a deep breath, before taking a sip of his drink, “Uhm...I think it’d be best if we...Sat down first..?” he motioned with his head to a few benches that were off to the side of the main square, far enough away from most crowds. Once they both sat down, Markus put the drink down next to him on the bench, and clasped his hands infront of him before he began to talk, “Soren..” Markus began, “....Seven years ago...There was an accident...We got into an argument and….We both stormed off...I don’t know what happened exactly but...You got into a car accident, and...Sor... You didn’t make it.” his voice dipped at the end, as tears began to fill his eyes. He let out a long held breath in a small gasp, rubbing his head. “...You wouldn’t know this cuz...Well...You were gone after this but...Our other friend...Erin she...She died not too long after you…” he shook his head, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his knees as he looked away. This was the first time in years he talked about either of them. And now, he was somehow talking to Soren again? Whether he was really here, or Markus was just imagining it, he didn’t know. But, if this was really Soren, however he may have been here, he deserved to know.

Soren’s chest tightened even more as Markus suggested they should sit down, but he just nodded numbly. It felt like every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run away, to leave, that he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear, but he needed to know. He needed to know what the hell had happened to him.

But he never would have guessed what Markus was about to say. He had died. Seven years ago. It felt like there was a weight pressing on his chest now, enough that it hurt to breathe. He wanted to accuse Markus of lying, wanted to say it had to be some type of sick joke. But… deep down, it felt like he knew. When he desperately tried to call up some memory of the incident, all that came up were all the bad memories he’d tried not to think about. The shattering of glass less than an inch away from his face, the burning of cuts, and the sickening smell of whiskey. The fear of creeping through an empty house as silently as possible in case it wasn’t as empty as he thought.

“This… this can’t be happening,” he managed to force out, searching Markus’ face for some type of answer. “I can’t… how did I-“ The weight on his chest now was unbearable, and Soren realised that the light above their head had begun to flicker and both his and Markus’ cups of cider were now floating in mid air. His hands were flickering in and out of sight. “I need to go.” He bolted to his feet, looking at Markus for just a second longer. “I’m sorry.” He managed to get out, before turning and walking away.

He didn’t know where he was going or why, but all he knew was that he needed to get out of there before something bad happened. Back to the apartment, back to where he was safe, away from everyone else. The quickest way home was through the crowds, and his intense discomfort won out over his desire to be away from people.

It was when he was in the crowd, surrounded by people, that it happened. His vision suddenly went black, and it felt like he’d been pushed into a freezing lake, gasping for air that wasn’t coming and the cold practically painful against his skin, even through his clothes. And then there was a voice. Low and dark and sinister. “I’ll take things from here.” It sounded smug, as if this was a game. And Soren couldn’t do anything to stop it.

And suddenly it seemed like he was watching his body from somewhere else. Something else was wearing his skin. Soren had never stood that tall in his life, had never worn an expression like that, one that was somewhere between idle boredom and intense hatred. It took him a moment to identify what was wrong. The iris of his eyes was pitch black, darker than dark, chilling when you looked at them for even a millisecond too long.

A demon was wearing his skin and using it to wreak destruction. Soren wasn’t sure if the limitations of his strange new abilities were just gone or if the demon just knew how to use it better. Because handmade stalls, impeccably made stalls, were shattered to smithereens with just a lazy toss of it’s- his- hand. In only a few short moments, it had destroyed half of the carefully made stalls without a second thought. And it smiled, an awful, twisted smile that looked all wrong on Soren’s face. It caught two people staring at him in terror and that horrible smile widened.

“Haven’t you ever seen a ghost before?” It asked, in a voice that was both his and not his, reverberating all wrong for such an open area. “Consider this your first warning. Restore what was mine to me or I will use these vessels to bring more destruction than you can ever imagine,” it called. It turned its cold, harsh gaze on a figure that Soren swore he knew, and Soren panicked. He didn’t know how he did it or even that he could, but he flung his consciousness towards his body. And it worked, because there was that same feeling of being temporarily submerged in water, of breathlessness and not being able to breathe.

For a moment, he stood exactly as the demon had stood. And then his legs gave out at the same time as a wave of dizziness and exhaustion hit him, and he hit the ground, dazed and trying to piece things back together.