The Devil's Disciple

Chapter One

The stench from the bathroom filled Zep’s nostrils making him nauseous. His body shivered, his muscles contorting as the poison flowed through him. The dripping of the water down the walls echoed in his ears. The numbness began creeping through his body, devouring him from his fingertips and toes. His thoughts increasingly slipped from reality to her.... dark brown curls draping his shoulder as they laughed together

He coughed, his throat dry, accompanied by a bitterness that lined his taste buds. The demonic voice replayed in his mind, a continual loop of verbal torture. Zep struggled to move, Adam’s lifeless shell covering his legs. With gritted teeth, he freed himself from the corpse. A sharp pain coursed through his thigh as he unintentionally ripped the coagulated meshwork of blood and fabric around the scissor wound. Zep winced as he pulled his tired frame along the cold tiled floor. He felt a wet stickiness between his fingers and retched as he realised it was Larry’s blood. Zep wiped his mouth with a dusty sleeve, bile now challenging his taste buds as well as the bitterness from before.

Zep shifted to the side of the room. Exhausted, he rested his head against the bath tub. He cried out at the thought of what he had done. He felt his muscles twist further under the strain of the poison. Zep felt a delirium ascend over him, he was beginning to hallucinate now, and even the dead man in the centre of the floor was beginning to move. Zep struggled to focus as the entity raised itself to its knees. A small vial rolled toward him. Zep found it difficult to anticipate the movement of the vial, the movement of his arm and fingers slow and sluggish. He looked up to see the man tear the mask from his face, a horrifying realisation as he stared into the other man’s eyes.
The antidote to the poison is in that vial. Drink the elixir Zep if you want to survive”
The voice was cold, heartless and almost commanding. The man edged towards the door, extinguishing the lights, his hands gripping the rusted bathroom door, shutting it behind him.
Zep fumbled with the glass stopper before placing the antidote to his lips. The liquid was sickly sweet and he forced a swallow, his arid throat becoming coated by the unknown substance. His mind raced with jumbled thoughts.

The man.

Her.

Them, all of them lying there.

The orderly cart crashed into the wall. Zep sighed; it was going to be one of those very long days. He was tired, he hadn’t slept properly the night before, the drunken college students in the next apartment had one of their all night raves. Dr Gordon had instructed that the patient was to be disturbed as little as possible, he needed rest. Zep knew that, everybody needed rest if they were in a hospital. Zep angered at Gordon’s patronising manner, becoming carried away with the motion of the mop. A loud crash and the jug of water on the mobile table beside the bed shattered on the floor. Shit, thought Zep. He felt his own body writhe with impatience and agitation. He almost jumped out of his skin as he felt the hand touch his shoulder
“It’s OK, Zep isn’t it?”
Zep turned and nodded, a flush of embarrassment sweeping across his cheeks. Momentarily he stared at the man in the bed, less frail than he would have thought, given his limited understanding of what cancer is. There was an air of command and control about the patient, but not an uncomfortable one to experience. Zep felt at ease and was reassured by a brief smile.
“It’s John.....”

John from the hospital.


Zep coughed, forcing a sharp inhalation of air into his lungs. The numbness began to subside. He felt his heart beat slow down to its common pace, the sound of the blood rushing through his ears silencing. He crawled to the door, his bodyweight forcing the handle. Zep sighed, the relief like a drug of its own. He forced himself to stand, shaky legs almost buckling; he made his way toward truck.