Owen Minor lay in darkness as the storm raged.
Bedroom door closed, lights out, window open ten inches. Rain slanted in and pooled on the floor. The cold wind raised gooseflesh all along Owen’s thighs. His body trembled and shuddered, but not with orgasm. No, he felt the flies moving inside his skin. Not under it. Inside it. They were only as deep as the ink that had created them. Even after all this time the movement felt strange. Almost an itch. Almost uncomfortable.
Always exciting
All those other times, with Alexa Clare, Burleigh Hopewell, Slider, Eileen Sandoval, and dozens of other drones over the years, it was a different kind of excitement. Sure, he’d made them do bad things. Delicious things. Exciting things. Some of them anyway. Others he just fed on their despair, because that emotion was so firmly anchored to specific memories. Alexa was his favorite because on some level Owen was sure she enjoyed killing all those boys as much as she enjoyed banging them. The others were just random murders, and with a fly in their skin Owen got to be right there. Not memories but actual in-the-moment experiences.
So hot.
Tonight was different, though. Tonight he was not just sending out a single fly to create a single drone.
Tonight he was going wash Pine Deep in blood.
Tonight Owen Minor was going to war.