Dorian's Destiny: Altered (3 page)

Before his mind could register what he saw,
he was grasping the creature and pulling it up to his eager mouth.
His fangs pierced the soft flesh of its neck, releasing its warm
blood. This blood coursed through his body, empowering and
sickening him at the same time. When the last drop spilled down the
back of his throat, he pulled the lifeless body away from his
mouth. He gawked at the rabbit lying limp in his hands. Shocked and
disgusted by his actions, he frantically tossed it away.

“Oh God! What did I just do?”

Wiping the blood from his mouth with the
back of his hand, scared and ashamed, he got up from where he
crouched and bolted back into the cabin.

He sat on the bottom bunk with his knees
pulled up, and rocked back and forth. His body shivered. The
satisfaction he felt from drinking the rabbit's blood terrified
him. Sticking his finger down his throat, he desperately wished to
expel the blood, but his body wouldn't relinquish it. Instead, a
deep desire for more of life's sweet essence gnawed at his
insides.

Not knowing what else to
do, he recited scripture
–
the only weapon he possessed to battle his
uncertainty.

“Matthew 7:7; Ask, and it
shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be
opened unto you
.”

Looking up to the
heavens with hands interlaced, Dorian pleaded his case.
“
Lord, why? Please help me. I
don't understand why I would do something like that. I enjoyed it,
Father, draining that defenseless animal of its life and I so badly
want more. Please remove this curse, I've been stricken
with?”

He continued rocking back and forth on the
bottom bunk, repeating the scripture over and over. These
monotonous, repetitive acts kept his mind from his building
thirst.

Believing God had interceded once already by
freeing his memory, Dorian hoped he would receive God's Hand again
soon. Finally, as the sun rose on his fourth day in the wilderness,
he drifted into a fitful sleep, waiting for God to intervene on his
behalf. He tossed and turned as his mind’s eye relived his
appalling deed. Again and again he felt the rabbit squirm to be
free of his deadly grasp; he felt it shudder and die as he siphoned
the last drop of blood from its body.

He awoke the next evening,
curled in a fetal position. His body writhed in agony as he
stretched and sat upright. He shook his head to rid himself of the
horrific images saved there, but they seemed to be permanently
engrained in his being – just like his hunger for blood, which was
even stronger than before.

“Father are You listening? I need You, I
still feel the hunger inside me.” He grabbed his abdomen, wishing
he could reach inside and rip out the hunger. “I don’t know how
long I can resist the urge. Please take this curse from me? I can
live with the memory of what I've done. I can endure the dreams
that will plague me nightly. It would be a fitting punishment for
my depravity, but I can't bear the possibility of repeating my
actions. What if it was a person? Father Murphy? Could I stop
myself? Would I even want to?”

He abruptly had a terrible flashback of his
last conversation with Father Murphy.

What if it’s too late?
What if I have already killed someone? Didn’t father Murphy say
that the three men who attacked me were missing? No, I would know
if I had done something so vile.

Unable to believe he could be a murderer, he
pushed these thoughts from his mind and returned to his prayer.

*****

For
days, he refused to leave the confines of the cabin, praying
nonstop for God to save him. On the fifth day of his confinement,
the stark reality that his prayer for a cure might not be answered
weighed on him heavily.

Looking to the heavens,
Dorian begged, “Your Word told me that You would go before me, You
would be with me. You would not fail me, nor forsake me, to fear
not, nor be dismayed. Is Your Word not true? Please, save me! Why
won't You? What have I done to deserve this?”

Never had God felt the
necessity to speak to Dorian; countless times His Presence had been
sufficient to soothe His Servant's soul – not now, however.
Entering Dorian's mind, He whispered, “DORIAN, BE STILL AND LISTEN,
MY SON.”

Dorian jumped at the sudden intrusion in his
mind. Tilting his head slightly, he asked, “God?”

“YES, I AM.”

Dorian swelled with hope as God confirmed
His Presence. He knew his prayer was about to be answered.

Sensing this resurrection of hope saddened
God, who was not manifesting His Voice to deliver good news, but
the news Dorian most feared. “I AM SORRY FOR YOUR SUFFERING, BUT I
WILL NOT RELEASE YOU FROM THIS BURDEN.”

“Whhattt?” Dorian sputtered.

Ignoring his question, God continued His
Message. “YOU HAVE DONE NOTHING TO DERSERVE THIS BURDEN, BUT YOU
WILL HAVE TO BEAR IT NONETHELESS.”

“Why?” Dorian whimpered; his hope replaced
with despair.

“YOU POSSESS A PURE SOUL, MY SON. HAVE FAITH
IN YOUR ABITLIY TO CONQUER THIS BURDEN ON YOUR OWN. REMEMBER, I AM
ALWAYS WITH YOU.” God severed their connection before the turmoil
radiating from Dorian overwhelmed His Spirit.

“What if I can't?” Dorian
waited for an answer he knew wouldn't come. He had felt his
Heavenly Father's presence vanish after His last Word. “Please,
Father, come back! Please reconsider your answer!”

He sat in silence, reflecting about the past
few minutes. He sighed not knowing which was more shocking, the
deeply one-sided conversation he had just had with God, or the fact
he wasn't going to be cured. He felt deflated. Covering his face
with his hands, he wept until no more tears would come.

Unable to accept God's Judgment, Dorian
decided to take matters into his own hands. “I can't live like
this. I won't,” he vowed.

Dorian spent hours pacing the floor of the
tiny cabin, contemplating how best to do the deed. He wanted
something simple, quick, and hopefully not too painful. Luckily,
not many options existed with his limited resources, but planning
one's own demise can be quite the daunting task.

Without a large body of water nearby, he
knew drowning wasn't a possibility; even the creek he and Father
Murphy fished from was barely deep enough to submerge his foot.
Jumping off a cliff was out, and he surmised he didn't possess
enough rope to hang himself. That left only one option.

After deciding his course
of action, he abandoned the cabin, along with all his belongings.
He did not want his sin to stain that special place. He wondered
the forest searching for the perfect spot for his final resting
place
.
About to
give up, he saw it; a massive oak several feet wide stood in his
path. Walking up to the ancient tree, he placed a hand on its rough
brown bark. “I am sure you have witnessed much during your
lifetime. Please forgive me for involving you in my sin,” he
apologized as he stroked the tree.

He found two giant roots extending out from
the oak, forming an almost perfect chair. Sitting between them, his
back resting against the trunk, he allowed the tree to cradle him
for a moment before executing his plan.

Clutching the knife in his trembling hand,
he hesitated, unsure in his ability to break one of God's Ten
Commandments. “Thou shall not murder, but would it not be more just
for me to end my own life than to take another?”

He assumed this act of defiance would
purchase him a ticket to Hell, but could that be worse than his
existence now? Instantly, he saw himself in the fiery pit, naked,
being consumed by Hell's fire for all eternity while pieces of
scripture played in his head. “No murderer has eternal life,
murderers shall have their part in the lake that burns with
brimstone, a second death.” He pushed the disturbing images away
before they took hold and he changed his mind.

I could be wrong, maybe
God will forgive me, when He sees that my reasons are
pure.

Stealing his nerves, he slowly drew the
blade across his wrist, splitting the tender flesh. Switching
hands, he repeated the process on his other wrist.

This whole ordeal began with the spilling of
my blood. It is fitting that it should end that way as well.

Not wishing to see the damage, Dorian closed
his eyes and leaned his head back against the rough bark, patiently
waiting for the inevitable to happen.

He wasn't sure how long it
would take to bleed to death, but he assumed it wouldn't be
long.
“I'm sorry, Father,” he spoke to
both his earthly and heavenly fathers, “But I cannot live as a
monster.”

Minutes past as Dorian's chest gently rose
and fell, taking in what he thought were his last breaths. Sure
enough time had elapsed for nature to run its course, he braved a
look. Blood had flowed down from both wrists to cover the roots of
the old oak, but only a tiny stream now escaped from the
slices.

I should be dead or
still bleeding. Maybe I'm not cutting deep
enough?

Dorian grabbed his knife once more. This
time, he pressed down as hard as he could as he ran the blade
across his wrist. He exerted so much force, he carved straight
through flesh and tendon all the way to bone.

He screamed out from the intense pain.
Gritting his teeth, his left hand now useless, he made several more
gashes along the same arm up to his elbow. Leaning his head back
again, he tried to collect himself enough to remain alert. Not even
waiting a minute, he investigated his handwork.

There was a great deal more blood, however,
when he looked at his other wrist, only a thin pink line remained;
the cut was completely gone.

What?!

Not believing what he saw, he looked back at
his mangled arm and noticed all the deep gashes he had made minutes
before were healing themselves before his eyes.

No! Why can’t I harm
myself?
Maybe I’m just not inflicting
enough damage.

With this thought in mind, he decided to
thrust the knife into his heart. Picking up the knife for the third
time and without hesitation, he plunged it deep into his own heart.
Blood sprang from the wound, soaking his tunic. Relief flooded his
mind at the thought of his ordeal being over. He leaned back and
shut his eyes for the last time, knowing there was no way he could
survive now.

After several minutes, Dorian's eyes burst
open. Shocked and dismayed, he saw his knife still protruded from
his chest.

I'm still alive! That's not possible!

Flying into a frenzy, he
jerked the knife from his chest. He stabbed and sliced himself
repeatedly in any place reachable – arms, legs, chest, and stomach
– only to see the wounds heal almost as soon as he moved onto the
next target.

Seeing the futility of his
fit, he flung the knife aside with such anger, it imbedded itself
into a nearby tree up to the hilt. Tearing at his hair, he screamed
to the heavens.
“Is that it then?! You
deny my prayers for healing?! Now, as I try to do the right thing
by taking my own life to protect the lives of others, You won't let
me die!

“IT IS NOT YOUR TIME,” God whispered in
Dorian's mind.

Angered by His lack of
intervention, Dorian spat his words back. “Not my time? That's
painfully obvious, isn't it, Father? How can You allow me to stay a
monster? As one of Your chosen, I gave my life to You, and this is
how You thank me? Fine then! You win. I will be a monster. From
this moment on, if You're not going to cure me or let me die, then
please, stay out of my head.”

After spitting his rant, Dorian blazed
through the night shrieking. Brambles and thorns shredded his skin
and clothes as he traveled deeper into the forest, leaving behind a
trail of blood and fabric.

Utterly exhausted from his stabbing frenzy
and rampage through the forest, he collapsed. When he rose from his
bed of rotting leaves, he unleashed the animal within; razor sharp
fangs protruded from his upper and lower gums, lethal claws tipped
the ends of each finger, and eyes, once blue, turned red to match
his rage and blood lust. Gone was the young man destined to follow
in his father's footsteps. In his place stood a creature whose sole
purpose was to feed his growing thirst for life's essence.

It didn't take Dorian long to realize that
embracing his new life as a monster would prove harder than he
thought. His first kill had been purely instinctual. Now that he
needed to kill, he was lost. He hadn't been taught how to be a
hunter. Father Murphy had an aversion to the hunting and killing of
animals. Fishing, however, was another story. He would say, “Fish
have a choice to bite or not. Now, deer and such don't have a
choice to be shot, do they?”

As Dorian sat cross-legged in a small
clearing, he pondered how to kill. Several pairs of eyes shone in
the distance, but he wasn't confident, he would be fast enough to
catch them.

Luckily, he didn't need to ponder long over
how to kill. The fresh blood clinging to his body soon attracted
plenty of practice. The first creature was a coyote.

First, Dorian noticed the eyes moving toward
him, the soft sound of padded feet stealthy nearing, and finally,
the smell of wet fur mixed with dried blood from its previous
kills. Anxious to feed his thirst, he bolted toward the coyote as
it emerged from the tree line. Within a few feet, he leaped at the
beast but fell short, landing face first into the firmly packed
earth. As he rose from his failure, he stomped the ground in anger.
He laughed maniacally as he tossed the handful of fur clutched in
his hand; the only reward for his effort.