Chronophage

"Wait! You can't kill me!" The man begged around the cloth gagged in his mouth. "You don't understand what you're about to do!"

Mark sharpened his knife on the steel sharpening rod; a loud hissing sound of metal on metal permeated the small, concrete space. Mark approached the man strapped to the table, his nude body pale and glistening with sweat underneath the shop lights.

"I don't?" Mark asked conversationally. He admired the bluish veins that ran along the man's body, continuous and teasing down his flesh. He pressed the tip of his knife against the man's ankle, wanting to make a small incision and to press his lips to it and suck his veins out like one long gourmet pasta.

The man's body tensed and cringed against his restraints; the primal fragrance of the man's fear rose to Mark's nostrils, causing Mark to lean in closer.

"P-Please! Don't do this," stuttered the man, his lips were dry and cracked with dehydrated spit, "I'm a…"

"Spit it out," Mark punctuated his knife against the man's Adam's apple.

"Time traveller!" The man yelled, cowering in fear and clenching his eyes shut, as if preparing for Mark to skewer him.

Mark stood up, and laughter bubbled up out of him. He dragged a hand over his face and then braced his hands on the table, chuckling over the man. A strange swell of affection made Mark smile at the man, who was staring at him with large, blue, bloodshot eyes.

"What's your name, time traveller?" Mark asked.

"Si-Simon. Simon Hash."

Mark's cell phone rang shrilly on the cement walls. His eye twitched as he fished it from his pants pocket. Olivia's name and her smiling photo jingled brightly on the screen. Mark clapped a hand over Simon's mouth.

"Hello, Olivia." A beat, he looked up at the ceiling as the woman spoke. Mark looked down at Simon, bored as he squirmed. "Yes, tonight at seven. See you then."

After turning off his phone, Mark slid it back into his pocket. Mark gritted and hissed through his teeth as Simon bit hard into his palm, causing Mark to flinch away. Mark pressed his heavy hands over Simon's trembling shoulders, nose to nose.

"Simon…" Mark whispered as he pinned Simon to the table. Simon stared into Mark's bright green eyes. "I know you're scared, but I can't help but feel as if now I'm doing you a favor…" Leaning back, Mark grabbed his knife. He drew in a breath, willing a mask of pity to draw on his face. "You're insane."

"No! No!" Simon's face contorted in despair. Mark wiped the welling tears from Simon's eyes. "I've been alive for over 200 years! 1825, I was born in 1825!" The words spilled rapidly from Simon's mouth, "I don't know how I became this way. Do you ever wonder how you became who you are? You're a killer; I'm a time traveler. It's funny, isn't it, how things like that happen? But, but I've changed things! I can change things for you! Believe me, believe me! You have no idea what I could do for you! I could–I could fix you! You don't need to do this!" Simon screamed, blood now glistening on his lips.

"Fix me…" Mark mused, looking at Simon with a twinkling stare. "You've got it all wrong, Simon…I do need to do this." Mark's eyes dilated as a rush of weightlessness seized him, as Simon let out a guttural scream. He looked down at Simon's lifeless eyes; the knife plunged into the man's chest to the hilt.

+++

"Mark!" Olivia threw her arms around his neck, beaming. She smelled awful. Mark drew back from her sickly sweet perfume, smiling. The sun was almost set beyond the deep orange coastline, and the clouds were dusted pink across the Oregon sky.

"I'm so glad you could make it." Mark's eyes flicked up to the man ascending the stone porch stairs. Olivia noticed his gaze and then went to the man, looping her arm in his.

"I hope you don't mind, but I've brought a plus one tonight. I thought it was about time you two met." Olivia smiled up at her boyfriend, the soon-to-be doctor, Tyler Hutchins, dressed in a casual brown suit with a black shirt. Tall, blond, academic. She never shut up about him.

"Not at all," Mark stared, willing his charming mask to appear. "It is about time I met my sister's leech."

"Mark!"

"That's right," Tyler shook Mark's hand, his grip strong. He met Mark's eye and smiled easily. "Good to finally meet you, Mark. Olivia sings your praises."

The back of Mark's neck tingled with a certain giddiness. Can he sense what I am?

Mark broke the handshake and clapped a hand on Tyler's shoulder to lead them inside.

"Good to see he can take a joke," Mark teased.

Olivia walked ahead into the house, slipping off her heels and slumping onto the leather couch as she always did. Tyler followed her and sat down, looking at the high ceilings as he pulled her bare feet into his lap.

"What's for dinner?" Olivia leaned her head back over the cushion. "Please don't say something ridiculous like 'sous vide zebra tongue with cherry sauce'." Tyler chuckled. "No, he really served something like that once."

Mark retrieved three glasses from the cabinet and a bottle of wine, setting them on the dining table. He almost smiled at Olivia's remark, but instead looked at Tyler.

"You'll eat whatever I serve tonight, won't you?" Mark said.

"Of course," Olivia sighed, turning her head to glance at Tyler, whose gaze shifted away from Mark. "The restaurants you take me to are wonderful, but nothing beats Mark's cooking."

"It smells amazing in here," Olivia poked her head into the kitchen. She'd turned on the surround sound stereo, Patsy Cline echoing faintly throughout the house.

I fall to pieces…Each time I see you again… Patsy's voice rang gently.

Olivia chuckled at the sight of Mark in the apron their late mother had gifted him, frilly on the shoulders, like a maid would wear. "It suits you."

"I don't like him," Mark said, not looking at her. Olivia came and leaned against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. She tried to catch his gaze. "He isn't good enough for you."

"Don't do this." Olivia lowered her voice. "You always do this." Mark tonged the meat on the pan, turning it slowly, the searing sound filling the kitchen. "Tyler treats me…he treats me well–"

"Did he know he wasn't invited?" Mark pointed the tongs at Olivia's face. She stood silent as he scrutinized her stare. "So he knew, and he came anyway."

"I invited him." She mumbled.

"Go set the table. No plates."

When Mark entered the dining room, he saw that Tyler had chosen to sit in his seat, facing Olivia across the table. Olivia avoided Mark's gaze. His eye twitched as he approached, two plates in hand, one on his arm.

"I see you still set the forks to the right of the plate," Mark teased, inclining a smile.

"I used to do that, too." Tyler chuckled reassuringly. Olivia's eyes darted to Tyler shyly, her smile fixed on her lap.

"Fix it, please, Liv." Mark's teeth grit behind his friendly tone, watching as Tyler switched his fork to the left. He set Tyler's plate before him, the largest portion.

"Mark…" Olivia said, eyeing Tyler's plate and then her own as Mark set hers down in front of her.

"Hm?" Mark sat in his seat, opening his napkin to splay on his lap.

"Is this…brain?"

"It is," Mark said, smiling appropriately. "Bison brain, very tender, actually, due to the fat content. Don't tell me you've lost your appetite?"

"You weren't joking, huh, Liv? It is a bit strange seeing a brain on a plate, rather than in an examination lab." Tyler said, grabbing his fork and knife. Mark's eye twitched imperceptively as he sipped his wine. "Come on," he leaned forward, egging Olivia and resting his wrists on the edge of the table, "your brother has gone out of his way to prepare you a once-in-a-lifetime meal."

Mark watched as Olivia gingerly grabbed her silverware, prodding the brain softly. She moved it around in the pale sauce, seeing the fluids mix.

"This is weird," Olivia glared, though she couldn't suppress her smile. Olivia slowly melted under Tyler's boyish laughter. "It looks human."

"All brains look human," Mark lied. "Take a bite, Livvy."

Tyler's brows knitted, glancing at Mark.

Olivia looked over at Mark at the years-forgotten nickname, who willed his face to remain calm and subtly interested. How badly he wanted to see her eat the brain of the insane man! Eat it!

Tyler and Olivia decided to take a bite together, which made Mark's eye twitch again. They hummed with pleasant surprise at its delicacy and began eating quickly. Mark settled into his chair, now looking at his own piece—a small, curved structure located in the lower hemisphere; the hippocampus.

"You've outdone yourself, Mark," said Tyler, then gesturing to Mark's plate with his own fork. "Wow, that looks like the hippocampus. See how it's seahorse-shaped…I thought bison brain was smaller than humans, though…"

"What's the hippo…campus?" Asked Olivia.

"It controls our memory, the episodic processes as well as…" Tyler's voice faded in Mark's ears.

Mark took a bite, cocking an eyebrow in pleasure. Oh, Simon, I bet you would have loved the taste of your own sick brain. He closed his eyes, humming softly, his head feeling light as he rested it against the high back of the dining chair.

"Mark!–"

"What?" Olivia threw her arms around Mark's neck, beaming with happiness. Her sickly sweet perfume assaulted him. Mark froze.

Mark looked down at Olivia's twinkling green eyes, but then his gaze flicked up to the man ascending the stairs. Olivia noticed and then went to the man, Tyler, looping her arm in his.

"I hope you don't mind, I've brought a plus one tonight. I thought it was about time you two met." Olivia smiled up at Tyler, and Mark locked eyes with him to find not an ounce of recognition.

"We've already…" Mark trailed off. He looked down at his hands, then touched his mouth. He looked around the deck and heard the crickets in the darkening neighborhood.

"Mark, what's wrong?" Asked Olivia. "I know I should have asked you, but I knew you would have said no–"

"Stop talking…" Mark uttered, his mask slipping. The intoxicating image of Simon strapped to the butchering table entered his mind. Was he telling the truth? A time-traveller? No, this is just a dream.

Tyler shook Mark's hand, his grip strong. Tyler smiled, but it didn't reach his dark eyes. The back of Mark's neck tingled again, an identifying twinge of predators. He began to grow lightheaded.

Olivia walked ahead into the house, slipping off her heels and slumping onto the leather couch. Tyler followed her and sat down, looking at the high ceilings as he pulled her bare feet into his lap.

"What's for dinner?" Olivia leaned her head back over the cushion. "Please don't say–"

"No, it's not sous vide zebra tongue with cherry sauce," Mark said before quickly entering the kitchen. He heard Olivia gasp and say something to Tyler:

"No, he really served something like that once." To which Tyler chuckled in response.

Mark quickly served dinner.

"Mark…" Olivia said.

"Yes, it's brain," Mark said, smiling nervously. "Bison brain. It's good for you, so eat up."

"You weren't joking, huh, Liv?" Tyler chuckled, grabbing his fork and knife.

Mark's eye twitched as Olivia and Tyler played out the same scene from his dream. It was a dream, wasn't it? He stared down at his portion, their voices growing muffled in his ears.

"This is weird," Olivia's voice floated through Mark's head, "It looks human."

"It is…human," Mark mumbled as he took a bite. "Take a bite, Livvy."

Mark could feel Olivia's and Tyler's eyes snap over at him at the confession. He closed his eyes, groaning softly, his head feeling light as he rested it against the high back of the dining chair.

+++

A harsh wind whipped against Mark's face, jolting him awake. His eyes flew open, his head throbbed, and he quickly sat up, hanging his head between his knees. The cold seeped through his white button-up shirt and black pants, offering no protection against the biting chill surrounding him.

He stood up slowly, one hand still pressing on his forehead as he looked around. The sun had just set beyond the familiar slope of the bluff just beyond his house. The ocean was a dark road heading into the deep orange sky; the trees swayed loudly, unfiltered by the sounds of cars or city life. The sky was clear, and the air was sharp, clean in his lungs as he took a staggering breath. Earth and pine perfumed the land, and nearly calmed him, until he noticed that the houses that once clung to the hillsides below were gone. He turned around to see that a dark cathedral of jagged evergreen trees had replaced his house. Mark staggered backward, falling onto his backside as he stared at the massive trees. The back of Mark's neck began to tingle as his eyes adjusted and saw the whites of another man's eyes staring back at him.

Shadows separated, and two men emerged silently. Their long, dark hair was braided and fell over their neatly woven garments made from bark and animal hides. One man held a bow and arrow, while the other carried a long spear, its flint glinting softly orange in the glow of the setting sun. Their faces displayed calm yet intense, wide-eyed expressions as the sun dipped below the horizon of the sea.

Mark locked eyes with the man who wore a brown striped feather in his hair. An undeniable swell of fear clutched Mark's heart, but he stood slowly, his hands up. His heart hammered in his chest, beneath his useless clothes, his sweating skin.

Every instinct told Mark to flee. Mark's mouth twitched, his teeth clenched. The native American man's gaze pierced through him, as if sifting through layers of him, peeling back his flesh to discard his bones, to reach his soul.

Can he sense what I am?

An oppressive, quiet moment passed between them. Dread settled upon Mark as a strange reality set in the silence. For a brief moment, Mark thought of that time traveller who claimed to be from 1825. He thought of Simon's fearful blue eyes, his trembling frame.

How long did that lunatic Simon say he'd been alive?