Flash Fiction No. 49


Putrid Fume
A continuation of Merchandise.

Pain blistered through his skull. Cold, aching pain.

Frosty sunlight skimmed the toes of his trainers. Morning sky was barely distinguishable between the crowded leaves above him. The dense foliage had obviously saved him from capture as he’d lain unconscious after his fall, but that wasn’t all good. It meant that she was on her own with them.

Blinking, he stumbled to his feet, limbs stiff and uncomfortable. She would need his help to escape; psychics weren’t as well equipped as others to deal with these situations. The last psychic he’d tried to help…

Things hadn’t gone well…

He pulled a throw away mobile from his pocket and punched in a number. Dial tones screeched in his ear, heartily ignored as his fingers probed the mass of blood beneath his hair. The call connected through to his uncle. After a security question or two, they lapsed into conversation.

“They were more determined than usual,” Adam muttered, picking his way out of the garden. “This might be the one he’s been looking for.”

“They got her?”

Adam held his breath. He knew what his uncle would say.

“You did your best. Your parents would be proud.”

Teeth crunched together as he grimaced. His uncle said that every time he messed up, like some kind of consolation prize. Adam didn’t need consolation. He was over their deaths and onto revenge. Consolation couldn’t cut it.

“The next name is–”

“No.” Anger etched his forehead above flaming eyes. “I’m telling you they wanted her more than the others. This could be the one he’s been looking for.”

“I know what you’re thinking–”

His uncle’s drawl itched the beast within him. “I’m going after her before they turn her into something evil.”

“It won’t bring them back…”

Adam slammed the end call button. He didn’t need to listen to that. He knew it wouldn’t bring them back. He knew they were gone forever thanks to that twisted collector, but he wouldn’t let the same fate befall Jenna. She didn’t deserve it.

When they got under her skin, it wouldn’t take them long to distort everything about her. He’d seen it happen before. They took something beautiful and turned it into putrefaction.

He scaled the wall, leaping down on the other side to the springy grass. Jenna’s scent was growing faint. It tracked all the way to the road where it evaporated into thin air. They must have shoved her into a car.

He hunted for any indication of their direction. When he was beginning to lose hope, he caught the unforgiveable aroma of that woman. His stomach clenched. He’d smelled it hundreds of times before. It had followed him every day, when he was younger. Now he wanted it rubbed out of existence.

This meant they knew he’d gone to find Jenna. It meant that she was in more danger than he had ever known.

His fists bunched. He knew how to find the woman. He could always find her, her sickly scent a homing beacon drawing him on. And when he found her he would find Jenna.

Loathing bubbled inside, but he followed the woman’s trail. That woman. She had been dear to him; then she had been twisted beyond recognition.

But now he would kill his once mother and take Jenna back.

Continues in The Man With No Face.

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3 thoughts on “Flash Fiction No. 49”

  1. Now that's a twist I didn't see coming. Not until the next to last sentence.

    "It had followed him every day, when he was younger." should have been a clue, but I didn't pick up on it until I started typing my first sentence above. ^_^

    Well done!

    I think you could write more on this (please). It could easily become a novel or at least another flash fiction piece or two.


  2. Thank you to both of you. I am considering another flash piece following onto this.

    And in reference to a previous comment, Lura, you're perfectly welcome for the mention in the sidebar & I'm glad you enjoyed reading through all of the flash pieces. =)

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