"How can we take that monster in!"

Backing away, he held his arms over his head, trying to dull the blows he knew would come. Their anger was pointed at him, their punishment would soon follow after. The taste of smoke still burned his throat, the fire could have still been raging around him.

"He killed her! He-- it had to have been him!"

The hate didn't fall upon him, rocks and sticks didn't assault him. It was if they were talking through him. Looking at the crowd, he watched their eyes, they were. Looking straight through him. A child's shrieks, broken sobs drew his attention.

He choked on the next breath he took, looking into the eyes of the woman, eyes that were so familiar.

"Kill him!" the crowd roared, moving as one toward the child. A defenseless boy, a boy without a mother. They would strike him down as if he were a killer. This small boy.

"No!" the scream was strangled, thin arms fighting against satin sheets. The boy. The boy? Where had he gone.

Taking a breath, he touched his cheek. Crying, crying again. It had been a dream, another odd dream. Sliding out of the bed, two feet were in two slippers, one arm went into one sleeve, a second arm into another. Preening at mussed and tangled hair, green eyes fell upon the oak Grandfather clock, three fifteen, right on schedule.

Thirty-First March Two-Thousand and Five ; Three Fifteen ante meridiem

Again, I have had the dream of the little boy. He can't be older than five now, last night it was a baby. The mob didn't fall upon him then, they only banished him, but tonight. If my dreams are a look into what is outside this room, I am mildly pleased by my solitude.

"Solitude." rolling his eyes, he looked around the lavish room, the black marble, the angelic statues. There would not be much more of that for long, it could be months, weeks, days, hours, even minutes until the next anxious 'Master' stepped through those doors. Shuddering, he tapped his pen against the leather book, the book of his life. Chronicled fears, and hates, past loves, and a numerous list of deaths.

"Master Arnold Yates, April 17th, 1993. Mistress Christine Lloren, June 5th, 1993. Master Gillian Shore, December 25th, 1994. Master Dennis Maxwell, August 19th, 1995. Master Bruce Fredrick, most likely January 2nd, 1996." remarkably the current train of thought was not improving his mood.

What really happened to the little boy? It is an incredibly odd dream, ever changing. The eyes are the only things that remain, forever alluring, always haunting. One day it shall all end, I am sure of it.

                                     Felicien

"Angelique, I am perfectly relaxed. I just have to stay to this schedule here, and we will finish this project ahead of time, by two days. Which, will give us time to rehearse the presentation and make sure it is flawless for the Board." Removing his glasses, Samuel pinched at the bridge of his nose. Perfectly relaxed. He was far from relaxed, the tension in his shoulders alone could kill an ordinary man. But, Samuel, Sam Old Boy was no ordinary man. Neigh, Samuel was Pencil Pushing Super Ad-Man!

The crease between his brows deepened, he was losing his mind. Distastefully for that matter. Placing his glasses back into their groove on the top of his nose, he managed to force a smile, "After this project Angelique. I will take a bit of time off, will that make you happy?"

Wrinkling her nose, she rolled her eyes, "Maybe, maybe not Boss Man." twirling a piece of red hair between thin fingers, elbows rested on the desktop, "You shouldn't wear yourself out for the partners; they don't care about anyone that works here or what gets printed, as long as there is something," rubbing her fingers together to inform Samuel of what 'something' was she continued, "Coming in."

Standing, Samuel dusted and straightened himself, giving his reflection a quick glance in the mirror on the right wall. "All the more reason for me to follow through. We have to make them care about their business, don't we."

Angelique, nearly lost the smile, her partner was delusional or very near to it. They did not and would not care about the company. And, God help them if they did, to find out the stoic Samuel Hanes was the poster-boy god of the company. Poor Sammy would have a fit to have his position taken away, no matter how nonchalant he acted.

They were in his head. The little boy and his terrified eyes, those helpless tears. Begging for aid, his aid. His Masters, all of the deceased clamoring for his attention, to shriek his name. To give blame for their death. All of their voices meshed into one angry and hate filled roar. He knew it was his fault they were dead, he knew it when he was given notice of the first death. Though there had been nothing but hate and malice for that man in his heart, Felicien had felt his heart sink, his eyes pricked by tears, genuine sadness for whoever may have lost him.

He was going to lose his mind, he knew he was. The curse wasn't only going to kill those that desired him, but him as well.

Looking up he noticed breakfast was on the table. He hadn't even felt the use of magic. Rubbing at his forehead, he sighed, today was not a good day. A knife was set beside the usual food, silver-blond eyebrows raised in surprise. The new guard must have slipped up, a lovely turn of events. Picking up the knife, he examined it, remarkably sharp to cut breakfast sausages. A smile broke on the face of eternal despair, lighting angelic features in a twisted pleasure. Running a finger down the edge of the blade, he was pleased with the blood that beaded up. With a quick movement of the wrist, he hid the utensil in his sleeve before picking at his food, returning to his usual dull demeanor though his heart beat frantically.

They never would have noticed if the Head of Security hadn't stopped at the Surveillance Room to check on the trainee's progress. They would not have been able to draw him back into the world of the living if the bumbling fool of a guard would have stuttered only moments longer. He would never have had to deal with the guilt of being the cause of a stranger's death again, if only he had cut deeper. He could have been at peace forever, a real angel instead of a bringer of death to the unfortunate souls that found him beautiful.

Nodding, Samuel clasped his hands behind his back, he dared not smile and did not consider speaking.

"We, appreciate, your diligence. The constant remarkable products."

If he stayed silent they would never suspect him, never suspect his hope to move far enough up the 'Corporate Ladder' to own the company.

"For the, dedication, and the unfaltering die-hard attitude. We, the company, reward you with, this."

A small manila envelope was pushed across the table, the corporate officials giving him tight lipped smiles. He looked at them, the envelope, and again back to the Board. Interesting. "Sirs, I cannot accept." he gave his own tight, unfeeling smile.

"We insist." a white-haired gentleman stood , leaning heavily on the table. Clouded gray eyes stared into Samuel's own dull cobalt. There was no battle between them, only an apathetic surrender.

"Yes sir. I thank you for your, gift." unclasping his hands, he leaned forward to retrieve what was apparently his. Saying his goodbyes and thank-yous he exited. What were they thinking?

Later in the day Samuel would sit at his desk, the envelope at a forty-five degree angle, and examine it without bothering to touch it. It could be anthrax, but why would they poison him? It could be lice, but that would just be silly and spiteful.

"What could it be."

"What do you have there Boss Man? I take it the presentation went well." Angelique picked up the infamous envelope, a smirk on her face. But, he did not notice that for a moment, only the outfit that seemed more like a Teddy than a blouse. Tearing away the flap, she sat on the edge of the desk, "What did they give you. A bonus? A new Ferrari? --A key to the city?" tipping the contents into her hand she frowned, "They gave you a necklace."

Looking over the woman's shoulder, he shrugged, "There's a paper attached."

Samuel looked down at the card in his hands, flipped it over to examine for further instructions. All it read in elegant blue-black print was, 'Cursed Key; Felicien; Seventeen.' Flipping it again, the directions on how to enter the room had disappeared. How odd. Stepping into the room, he was shocked by the morbid setting and surely would have turned and run, if the door had not shut behind him.

Green and purple eyes looked over the newest ornament, matching surprisingly well with the onyx marble and defeated angels. The suit shouldered his messenger bag and stepped further into the room, obviously overlooking him in the far corner. He was not offended in the slightest.

Sprawled in the armchair, Samuel was fixated on the ceiling. He wasn't sure if his eyes were closed and the perfect sense of darkness resided in his mind, or if the room with it's blurred and smudged blackness was his cradle. In his own mind, he wasn't sure if he cared. In there everything was ticking away, his heart hammered against his ribs violently and his breath was strained, but he couldn't make himself care.

The suck marks on his neck, and the thin welts on his sides, the divinely mussed hair. That was all he could think of at that moment. Sodomizing a minor. He, Samuel J. Hanes. His mind could not twist around it, but his body could not get over the sensation.

At first the boy had been reluctant to even look at him, once Samuel had acknowledged his presence of course, and even less eager to speak anything less than bitter and venomous insults to him. The older man had taken it all in stride, having a seat at the end of the immense table and tapping away at his keyboard. He had no clue what kind of sick joke the Board, or Angelique, was playing on him, but at least it was quiet and serene.

Now, he was lost between the delicious lack of tension in his body and the gnawing of guilt for his immoral soul. It was an intriguing dilemma, though his mind kept drifting back to the receptionist, smiling tragically and whispering of something happening in seventy-two hours. But, thoughts of it all fell from the forefront of his mind when thin arms wrapped themselves around a thirty-five inch waist.

"Come back to bed." kisses were dropped at his hip, the small of his back, his bicep, and a lick -- that normally would do nothing for him -- slid along the nape of his neck sending a shiver through him. Felicien had exquisite negotiating tactics.