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Part 1
> Silver Beach Resort
Relaxation for the weary, excitement for the bored, loving attention for the
lonely
We welcome you with the care of personnel handpicked to suit you and decades
of experience.
Come and spend the perfect holiday! <
Shane dropped onto his bed with a smirk. He loved this utterly cliché advertisement. It sounded exaggerated, posh and luxurious in all the right ways. To a casual observer it probably sounded like it couldn't possibly live up to its promise as well. Shane had thought so too when he had booked his first holidays at Silver Beach, more to test them and show what they couldn't do.
It had turned out the statement that they used as header for all their letters, all their pretty colour prospects and even as credo on their main building on the island was in fact a polite understatement. Had it said: 'We make every dream come true!', it would have been closer to the truth. Even for someone with as exotic tastes and wishes as his they had provided perfect service on his first visit and on every visit after that.
> Dear Mr. West
We are delighted to hear that you have chosen our Resort yet again and look
forward to welcoming you to your usual cottage. It will be prepared as always.
Please do let us know if there are any additional specifications for this
visit. <
Shane sighed happily. He knew that everything would be perfect again.
It had been more than half a year since he had been to Silver Beach. Work had been plenty, sending him from one end of the world to the other. And the jobs had been too highly paid to turn any of them down. Now - with a comfortably deposit on his bank account - he was finally able to indulge himself again.
His field of work required his full attention on each mission. He couldn't afford to get lax or at best his reputation would suffer and at worst he would end up dead. Killing people was a fine art when one worked on such a high level as he did. You didn't simply go and shout somebody in the head. No - customers paid his high fees because they wanted something special. A ritual beheading, a slow, painful dying drawn out over days, a messy, bloody death as a warning to others. That was what he was dealing in and he was proud at his expertise.
But sometimes he needed to relax, needed to let go of his iron self control and just let his moods rule his actions.
At Silver Beach he could do that, secure in the knowledge that security there was so tight that even he had turned down a job that would have required him to breach it.
> Included in this letter you will find a memory stick with the slave we have picked for your pleasure, complete with the usual background file. We are confident that we have found one that matches your special needs as well as your visual preferences. Should this one not be to your liking we of course have several others available for you to choose from. <
Curiously Shane shook the memory stick from the envelope and went over to his desk to insert the stick into his notebook. The staff at Silver Beach were getting amazingly good at picking the perfect toy for him. He wasn't even considering anymore that their pick might not suit him. What he was feeling was the giddy excitement of a boy on Christmas morning when he was staring at his presents curiously.
He opened the file and immediately the smirk returned to his face. The boy that looked back at him from the photo was frowning and he had a look at defiance that made Shane's blood run hot. This one wouldn't break easily.
He scanned the additional information and his smirk widened into a full dirty grin. They had indeed managed to find a slave who matched his preferences perfectly.
The boy hadn't been born a slave but had in fact grown up as a rich kid, the son of some New York business tycoon. Only when he had been ten years old had his father started doubting the fidelity of his dear model wife. A DNA-test had proven that the boy was not the man's son and the poor guy had of course kicked his wife out of his life.
The bitch had managed to feed the boy for two more years, then she had decided that he was more trouble than he was worth to her and had sold him to Silver Beach under rather illegal circumstances. But of course nobody asked any questions where this particular Resort was concerned. After all they catered only to the highest clientele.
Since then the boy had undergone rigorous training. Not to become the perfect slave but to make him a difficult, headstrong brat that would be a joy to some customer who enjoyed taming a slave. A customer like Shane.
> If there is any other wish we can fulfil for you
please feel free to ask. To serve you in every way possible is our mission.
We hope you will have a pleasant journey and await your arrival eagerly.
Sincerely
Angelica H.
Silver Beach Guest Services <
Dearest Angelica. Shane's smile grew a lot fonder when he thought of the lady who ruled the Guest Services Department with an iron fist. Shane had spent a few afternoons with her during his various visits, drinking ice tea on her beautiful terrace while he explained his complicated tastes in detail. She was the kind of woman Shane could admire, if only from afar of course.
He made a mental note to bring her some fitting gift this visit. She collected rare orchids and Shane was rather sure that she would consider some vases matching her flowers in beauty as an appropriate gift. Venice was a place where you could find the most beautiful pottery. And just down the alley were Shane had his flat there was a small potter who specialized in delicate vases.
She really deserved a little something for the fact that she had managed to make Silver Beach the one place in the world where he actually felt a home.
Maybe someday he would take up permanent residence at his little cottage under the mangrove trees. He would still have to kill a lot of people to be able to afford such a luxury. But it was something to look forward to.
---
Darkness filled the tiny cell like a living, breathing thing. It curled into the corners, granting them a murky softness, it recoiled from the line of glaring light that marked the way out, it slithered over the legs of the cell's other occupant, caressing them.
Stephen and the darkness had something like an agreement. The darkness ate Stephen's sorrow, his pain. It fed on the darkness in his heart till it was bloated and rife and Stephen was numb and uncaring. But it left his core of bitter hatred alone.
Basking in this hatred like a lizard basking in brackish water Stephen survived.
When they had first put him into this cell he had beaten his fists bloody on the heavy iron door closing him off from life. He had screamed and cried. But he had never begged. That was probably what had won him the respect of the darkness. That he wasn't weak.
They had hated each other at first, being forced onto each other like that. But time had changed that. In the years to follow they had formed their uneasy alliance and now Stephen didn't consider this punishment anymore. When he needed the darkness feeding on him he knew hundredth of ways to anger his trainers enough so they would put him in solitary confinement, so they would imprison him in this tiny hole where the darkness waited for him patiently.
It was his only escape from the daily torture of being a slave in training. He had hated it from the first second and his trainers had hated him on sight. His welcome to the training grounds had been a public beating in the central yard. They had tied him to the pole and the master of the training grounds had told the assembled slaves that he had been a rich boy, cruel amusement dripping from his voice.
He had been twelve years old and the worst he had ever experienced was a slap from his mother.
They had beaten him with the bamboo cane till he bled freely and his screams echoed from the walls of the yard like the shrieking of a tortured soul in hell.
The other slaves in training had watched with gleeful curiosity, relieved that it was not one of them who had drawn the trainers' wrath. Enjoying the thought that someone who might have been their master had fallen so low.
They had hated him and he hated them and they all hated each other for many reasons. To survive meant to crawl for the trainers, so kiss the feet of the older or stronger slaves and to treat on those weaker than you as hard as possible.
His trainers had taught him how to crawl, how to endure pain, take anything they dealt and get on with life. The other slaves had taught him how to cause pain without leaving marks, how to backstab, how to be like them.
He didn't know how to be scared anymore. He had forgotten what love felt like. The darkness had eaten all that. The only thing that remained was the hatred and he clung to that. It was icy to the touch but he held it in his heart. It kept him alive.
Curled up into a ball, his arms wrapped around his chest in unconscious protection of his bruised ribs, he lay in his corner, oblivious to anything but the slow beat of his own heart and the soft caress of the darkness.
In the cell it was impossible to tell the passage of time, hours blurred into days, days became weeks, weeks stretched into years. Years of silent darkness. Alone, the mind suspended in this comforting void where nothing could touch you.
The blissful ignorance never lasted forever. At some point the door would be yanked open, harsh, cruel light chasing the darkness away from Stephen, sending it slithering away to the cracks in the walls. A rough voice would command him to his knees, would force him out of his cocoon, a booted feet would enforce the command till he was all their again. His angry defiance his only shield against the fact that they owned his life.
But not soon. It had only been a few heartbeats, at most a few hours. Stephen was sure of that. Too much pain still remained, the urge to cry was still too strong. The darkness had not sucked it out of him yet. The wonderful numbness still eluded him.
It was much too early, when the door was opened and light reclaimed him, then the darkness cowardly fled to its hiding places, leaving him alone and exposed. His nerves were still raw. He couldn't go back yet. Couldn't face their knowing grins.
"Up with you, boy!" the harsh voice assaulted him, "enough lazing about!"
No way to escape that voice, nowhere to hide.
He uncurled too slowly and a boot nudged him, sending fresh pain though his abused body. Despite the fact that every muscle protested the movement he got to his knees, lacing his hands behind his back, his head lowered respectfully.
No way that he could spit in their faces now. He was too weak still, too close to the edge.
"That's my boy!"
Mocking approval, tearing at his nerves. He didn't want to be a good slave boy. He wanted to annoy them. But sometimes even he didn't have any strength left. He endured the hand ruffling his hair like it would pet an obedient dog.
"Come, boy!"
The trainer turned, leaving the cell door open and Stephen got to his feet as quickly as his condition allowed, holding on to the door frame for a moment to steady himself when sudden nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten.
Then he hurried after the trainer, keeping his head carefully lowered because it was expected as much as for the simple fact that he didn't want to see, already longing for the darkness he had to leave behind.
Stephen could barely keep up as the trainer didn't care about his battered condition but mercifully the walk wasn't long. The trainer directly went to the small office of the master of the training grounds. The door was always open so the master would be able to keep an ear on the training when he was not overseeing it himself. Not the trainer stepped inside, followed by Stephen who dropped to his knees again, assuming the position that had been beaten into him.
"Here he is, master." the trainer said and then left.
"Stephen."
The master's voice was cold. Silently Stephen went through his latest misdeeds, wondering which had earned him the master's attention. Wondering what his punishment would be. The master's next words completely took him by surprise.
"You have been picked."
They send terror down his spine. He had always known that it would happen at some point. Had tried to prevent it by being the worst slave he could possibly be. But now the waiting game was over. Some customer had picked him and there really was only one kind of customer who would pick a slave like him.
"You will be prepared for him." A hint of cruel amusement entered the cold, flat voice that made Stephen cringe. "I'm sure you will make us proud with your flawless performance."
He desperately searched for some cocky reply but only found overwhelming fear holding him immobile.
"Dismissed."
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go to PART 2