Maleficence

Jayne’s a born tracker. Born other things too, he reckons. Made bad from the start most like. He’s never been what you might call fussed on what’s his and what belongs to others. Nor has he cared much about which folks were good enough to stay in one piece. It’s a failing, his ma always said. Went against the good Lord and all she’d ever tried to learn him. Of course, her kind of learning was with the flat of her hand and a hefty switch when he got too big to go over her knee.

Still, tracking is what’s uppermost in his mind as he lays in his bunk and watches the footprints emerge through the wall and approach him from across the ceiling. He tries to think about other stuff--what the doc would look like naked is his favourite nightly fantasy--and he’s doing a fair job of it until goop starts dripping from them red imprints and lands, wet and icy cold, a slimy trail dribbling down his chest, finding its own path between the thick fibres of hair.

He’s coping with this nightmare until one of them droplets lands on his lower lip and, without thinking, he swipes his tongue out and licks at it. It’s blood alright, dirty old cold blood, and he would vomit ‘cept he’s too busy running, heading out to the cargo hold with just his skivvies on.

Pumping iron fiercely, he keeps his eyes tight closed, sweat forming pearls of ice on his forehead as he lifts and jerks weight upward, hoping just a little that the too heavy bar will fall and crush his windpipe.

~~****~~

Jayne’s becoming accustomed to the footprints -- has even discovered a method of dealing with it. He goes to bed later than everyone then as soon as he hears the first slap of bloody sole against metal panels he’s gone. Running off to fill his body up with muscle until his brain is overloading with the rush of the exercise. Tonight, though, he's humped for sure ‘cause whatever it is don’t wait ‘til bedtime to prey on him. A thing appears from nowhere and sits, mouthing obscenities at him from the other side of the table. While others are feeding their faces, he stares into hollow eyes and his plate remains as full as when he started. He thinks Kaylee comments on his lack of appetite, but he can’t hear nothing ‘cept foul words coming out from a hole that smells like rotting dead flesh. Cussing in Chinese sounds so much less filthy.

Jayne pushes his supper plate away from him and gets to his feet. He gazes blankly at the captain--who may or may not have been talking at him--then walks away. The creature don’t leave him alone though. Just follows him down to the hold, wet dead flesh making this slippery oozing sound as it drags behind him, angular and jerky.

“What d’ya want from me?” he yells, spinning in a half-circle.

“Just seeing what’s put my mercenary off his food is all,” answers a calm voice.

A body pushes on through that sloppy decay and Jayne shudders at the sight of Mal Reynolds covered in death. It’s his own personal curse and he don’t want no one else to touch it.

“Nothin’,” he answers bleakly.

“Ain’t nothing to my eyes,” persists Mal.

Jayne don’t mean to ignore him, it’s just that he can’t hear so good now that voice has started up again, nagging at him, telling him what he should do with himself. He considers things for a while then heads for his bench in the cargo hold. Working out gives him something to focus on.

“Jayne!”

He'd answer if he had an answer to give.

~~****~~

Later on that night it becomes a waiting game. Jayne lies sweating on his bunk, wishing he could beat off to pass the time, but subby Simon won’t perform in his head and his dick remains limp and lifeless. Temp regulator’s humped and it’s too hot to wear anything more than his shorts. He’d take them off too ‘cept he knows he can’t go running nekkid through Serenity. Anyway, it ain’t like he wants the devil to see him without his drawers.

Sliding a hand under the waistband he cups himself protectively, eyes burning from tiredness as he tries to keep them open. An hour passes and then another until he’s trembling from the need to sleep. Exhaustion becomes like a sickness spreading through his body and he finds himself drifting, fading out.

In his head he’s getting some. Simon’s on top of him, covering him like a blanket, only it ain’t right because the doc don’t smell as good as always. Plenty of times Jayne’s just stood next to the man and breathed in deep. Now, instead of that fresh spicy scent, there’s a sweet rotting stink of dead body.

It ain’t easy not to cry. He’s feeling the weight and he’s smelling the smell, but it’s best just to pretend he’s a young ‘un again, keeping his eyes tight shut when the bad things happen. Pain flares intense across his forearm and he feels a trickle down the side of his cheek that shifts course slightly as he screws his face up from the effort of not looking. When a cold wet splodge of slime lands next to the tear, Jayne retches and tries to wipe the filth away, but he’s pinned to the bed.

“You son of a whore,” the thing says in that scratchy putrid voice.

Jayne opens his eyes and watches in horror as it reaches out a clawed finger, digging deep into his bicep and gouging the flesh out.

~~****~~

He keeps his jacket on next day, wrapping himself up in it, huddling into a corner away from the others.

“Are you sick?” asks Simon, hunkering down in front of him.

He most probably is. He always took pride in being a sick man before and, even now, he’s thinking of how easy it would be to grab a hold of the doc’s squeaky clean hair and push that perky mouth down onto his crotch.

“’M alright,” he mumbles, itching to get far away from everyone.

“Thing is, Jayne, you’re not alright and you haven’t been for a while.”

Mal’s sitting next to him now and he ain’t never had this many people show concern for him at one time. It should feel better ‘n this.

“If you got yourself the clap from one of them whores of yours then you best own up and let Simon give you a shot.”

The captain’s looking at him, head cocked to one side and he’s smirking like he knows all the answers.

Jayne laughs and it hurts his sore tired throat. “I ain’t got a dose, Cap’n. Reckon I got me a curse instead.”

He thinks there’s laughter going on around him, but he can’t hear proper because the devil thing's here, standing behind Simon, blood puddling around its bony feet. Slime drips out the side of its rotten mouth and its tongue lolls a little, black and swollen, as words hiss out accompanied by flecks of green spit.

“Piss slut, cock whore, shit for brains, retard…”

And still no one can see it or hear it but him.

~~****~~

Next morning Jayne wakes up with a whole host of cuts covering his arms: claw holes, neat straight slices and more of them gouges like he’s being eaten alive by worms. He laughs at his reflection in the mirror--at the thing that stands behind him--because he’s won.

“Didn’t even feel it,” he says, mocking the creature. “Can’t hurt me.”

“You fucked your mother for money,” it replies.

He trims his goatee with nail scissors, wondering why it has this obsession with his ma who is the most sexless woman Jayne can ever imagine. Shaving carefully, he swipes the razor over the contours of his face then holds the blade against his throat and stares into the glass. Just one quick lunge from ear to ear and it could all be over.

“You’ll fuck her in hell.” The creature leans forward and hooks a chunk of flesh out of Jayne’s shoulder then puts the claw to where its lips would once have been and licks itself clean. “Tasty.”

With just a towel wrapped around his waist, Jayne charges out of the communal bathroom and he’s running as fast as he can because the devil really is on his heels. He pushes past folk and shuts the hatch of his bunk, bare wet feet slipping on the rungs of his ladder causing him to fall the last third of the way. A twisted ankle is the least of his worries.

There’s no safe place any longer. When he was young he used to crawl away into the dark corner behind the water tank in amongst the rafters. Sometimes, when things were real bad and there was no escaping it, he’d hide inside his head, but nowadays that’s so filled up with junk there’s no room for him no more.

He gets dressed, pulling on his pants and boots quick smart, following them up with a long sleeved shirt and that old combat jacket of his. No time for socks or skivvies because the thing has been staring at him and it’s looking like it’s hungry. At least moving around gives him some respite.

Tired as all gorram hell he limps his way to the main deck, jacket wrapped tight around him, then stops at the open hatch.

“What can we do for him, Simon?”

The captain’s voice gives Jayne the shivers.

“Nothing, except for rest and medication.”

Jayne feels sicker than ever ‘cause the last thing he wants to do is have bed-rest on this ship. Drugs might help though; as long as there’s a whole gorram lot of them.

“Why are you assuming this is a case of him being ill?”

Jayne leans against the wall, breath tight in his chest. Book’ll help him. He knows about this kind of shi.

“Well, shepherd, forgive me for using my reasoning head, but I’m more akin to believing in sickness over some gorram curse.”

“But Jayne thinks he’s cursed and belief can be a powerful thing.”

The thing stands in front of Jayne, slime dripping from its fingers. “Prick slut, cocksucker…”

“Bi zui!” he hisses. Mebbe it ain’t the done thing to tell the devil to be quiet, but he needs to hear what’s on the cards for him.

“So, what you’re saying is that this is all in Jayne’s head then?”

“In a way.”

Jayne shrinks back inside himself.

“He’s a simple man with simple thoughts. If someone says he’s cursed then he believes that to be true.”

“Can you talk him around, Book?”

“That’s a captain’s job. He trusts you more than anyone.”

“That mebbe so, but, in earnest, I haven’t the time for it right now.” Mal lets out this deep sigh. “There’s a job to be done in a couple of hours and I need you with me to take Jayne’s place.”

Jayne pulls himself together, trying to find a way to bluster through. He storms into the dining area as fast as his sprained ankle will carry him. “I ain’t stopping behind, Mal. Like the doc said I was just sickening for something. Had a fever. I’m all better now.”

He can’t stay on the ship alone.

“What’s this about then?”

Mal grabs his arm and pushes up the cuff of the shirt and the jacket to reveal an intricate pattern of wounds, some open and bleeding, some older and half-healed.

“Jayne!” Kaylee puts a hand over her mouth in horror.

“Bring him to the infirmary. Those need dressing immediately.” Simon’s eyes are fixed like glue to Jayne’s arm.

Letting himself be led through halls and down stairs, Jayne can hear a soft slap of bloody footprints behind him. He don’t look around until he gets into the sickbay.

“Take off your jacket and shirt please.”

Jayne’s unwilling but does as he’s told, sitting on the bed and looking from Simon to Mal, studiously ignoring the thing stood in between them that’s leering at him with half a face.

The doc examines him, delicate long fingers tracking gently across his skin. He can’t count the number of times he’s imagined the feel of that; the boy tending to him all soft and submissive instead of quick and business like the way he is normally when Jayne gets wounded. It don’t do nothing for him right now though.

“They’re on his back too.”

“How did you do this, Jayne?”

How did he do it? How could he do it? Why would he do it? He don’t understand the question and stares blankly at Mal.

“My best guess is some kind of long handled hook, but it would be awkward. Without doubt, whatever he used was dirty. These wounds are all infected.” Simon zaps him with med and then begins to clean the cuts. “Are there more in other places?”

Jayne shakes his head. “I didn’t do it though.” He raises his arm shakily and points directly at the creature. “That thing done it to me.” If they can’t see the devil then surely they can see the pool of slimy dead blood that it’s stood paddling in.

Mal looks to his right and steps inside the thing, looking out from behind that putrid mask like he’s been zombiefied. Jayne retches and Simon passes him a steel bowl.

“There ain’t nothing here,” says Mal and the thing moves its mouth in time with the captain’s words, adding a few of its own to the end of the sentence.

“You retarded fuck-hole.”

Thankfully, Mal moves clear of the corpse and comes closer to him, standing almost between his legs. “What do you think is doing it, Jayne?”

“Reckon it’s a demon called up from that bunch of old stones I was using for shooting practice last stop off at Blekinge. It started happening just after.”

“So, this curse of yours isn’t because you killed a person you shouldn’t, or rutted with some man’s wife, or boosted stuff that weren’t yours?”

“Don’t reckon so, no.”

“I am fast coming to the end of my thinking with you.” Mal’s hands are on Jayne’s thighs and he’s leaning in. “You get yourself sorted, or else-”

Jayne’s trembling from gorram fright because the end of that sentence is all too familiar. Most times when Mal’s threatened him with it he don’t care that much because he knows he’ll do fine on his own, but now things are different. All humped up. “Don’t put me off the ship, Mal,” he begs.

“Figure that’s up to you.” The captain’s got this unsure look on his face -- fear and compassion mixed in with frustration mebbe.

“When does this happen?” asks Simon as he finishes tying off the final suture.

“Nights mostly.”

“If I give you smoothers will that help?”

Jayne thinks about waking up with fresh cuts all over him.

“Don’t think so.”

“How about if you sleep in here and we keep you under surveillance?”

Jayne looks around. He ain’t certain of that either because it seems like there’s too many unfamiliar things to hurt him in the infirmary. “’D rather stay in my bunk, Doc.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him tonight.” Mal sounds resigned, like he hasn’t got a choice in the matter and Jayne hates that. “I ain’t taking you with us today though, Jayne,” he adds. “You just ain’t up to it.”

The creature smiles at him from behind Mal’s shoulder and Jayne knows he’s in for it with all the others gone, but he nods in acceptance. What choice does he have?

“You don’t need me for this job,” says Simon. “I’ll stay with him; he’s my patient.”

Jayne stares at the floor so no one can see how relieved he is.

~~****~~

Things go alright to begin with. He and the doc sit together in the dining area, sharing one of them companionable silences while Simon reads his book and Jayne does nothing.

“Put your slut mouth on him, you little cocksucker. You know it’s what you want.”

It's becoming easier and easier to ignore. Fact is, Jayne can block most things out if he has a will to do it. He sets to with pen and paper, trying to write a long overdue letter to his ma. All this talk from the devil has conjured her up in his mind and he’s been struck down by a case of the guilties. Next time they hit rock he’ll mail it and transfer some money home. She may not have been the best, but she had a hard time of it same as he did.

“You want him to suck you but he never will. Motherfucking, cock-sucking, piss drinking whore.”

Jayne scribbles on the paper and tries not to listen to what the thing is telling him. The hardest part of all is not answering back. If he does that then Simon’s gonna tell Mal he’s lost it and Mal’ll put him off at next port they come to, maybe sooner. He can’t have that happen.

“M gonna go workout for a while,” he says to Simon who looks up with an out-of-character expression of concern on that pretty boy face.

Shame the only time the doc has ever shown an interest is when Jayne’s parts are out of order.

“Will you be alright?”

“Sure.” Jayne manages a smile. He can switch off when he’s pumping iron.

He leaves the rest area, the limp almost gone now as he heads quickly back down to his bunk to get changed out of the long sleeved shirt he’s taken to wearing to hide his scars from the girls.

“Fucked your mother for coin,” says the creature conversationally as soon as the hatch slides shut.

“Y’said that before. Run out of insults, have you?” Jayne laughs. “I’m safe.” He points to his temple. “You can’t touch me here, you hundan.”

He strips off and watches in the mirror as a claw reaches around him and draws a red line across his belly. “It don’t even hurt no more.” He laughs again and the sound is a mite hysterical. Crazy one could say.

Pulling on a pair of khaki shorts and a muscle shirt he shoves his feet in combat boots and ties the laces then hurtles through the passageways of the ship, a new found spring in his step. Folk here might not believe him, but at least they know and that’s half the battle.

The hold echoes with emptiness and he picks up the ball and takes a few shots at the hoop. Sometimes it’s good to have the place to himself. The doc don’t really count being such a quiet little town mouse. A nice looking one though.

“He’ll never let you fuck him but you don’t care though, do you? You’d spread for the little pussy. Whore. Motherfucking whore.”

Jayne shoots a few more hoops, but it’s no fun without the others so he puts the ball back in its place and loads up a bar with too much weight. Lifting without someone to spot is crazy, but Jayne’s already partway there and, anyway, he’s been doing it most nights without trouble. Not that his safety matters much at present.

The first few reps are easy, but then Jayne starts to tire. Hitting that zone, he uses all his strength to force the bar up, pushing himself on, pushing away everything that’s haunting him. The weight against his legs is a lie. It’s not real. The others keep telling him it’s all in his head and they’re smarter than him so they must be right.

It don’t smell like sweet sickness.

It don’t taste of old dead blood and rotting meat.

It ain’t reaching up inside the leg of his shorts and curling a bony finger around his balls. It ain’t digging a claw into the base of his ji ba. It ain’t gonna fix him for good.

“Since when do you know about runes?” Simon’s looking down at him, all full of wonderment like he’s found a new toy.

Jayne just about manages to shift the bar back into its rest. He’s laying here with a dead thing crawling all over him, its motherfucking hands gripping his parts, and the doc’s talking lese.

“Since when have you took to reading my mail home?” he asks, because there ain’t no point in mentioning what’s going on under his unmentionables.

The creature cackles and leans in, hooking its other hand around Jayne’s privates. That open maw of a mouth is salivating; dripping blood, drool and slime all over his crotch. Claws tighten around his nuts and he wonders how the doc’s gonna cope when he has to deal with a case of spontaneous castration. It makes him laugh. He’s in danger of losing his balls and he’s laughing.

Simon comes closer waving that piece of paper at him, but all Jayne can see are some squiggles. “Musta been doodling,” he chuckles.

Simon shakes his head and wanders away and the creature releases him with a breathy cackle of delight.

“Shoulda let the pussy do you,” it says. “Like you let everyone else do you.”

~~****~~

“Kaylee needs to get the regulator fixed. It’s hot as all hell in here.”

“Huh?” Jayne’s laying on his bunk and he’s been concentrating so hard on thinking about nothing that he hasn’t even noticed he has a visitor.

“It’s hot.” The Captain’s sitting next to him, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead in snail trails.

“Yeah.” Worst bunk next to the engine is all he deserves.

“I’ll get the parts soon as I can.”

Jayne doesn’t reply because, for real, he don’t give a crap about how hot it is when there’s a pair of footprints squelching their way across the ceiling like it’s a swamp. Redness drips down and lands on his belly and Mal looks at it bemused like. Jayne can’t figure if he’s seeing the blood or just the old gouged out wounds. It ain’t worth the trouble of asking.

“Simon tells me you been writing stuff.”

“Letter to my ma.”

“And this.” Mal takes a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to Jayne.

Any minute now the thing will appear in the corner then jerk and stutter towards him, leering in that lopsided way it has. He cups his balls with his free hand -- gently though because they still hurt from earlier.

“Get your paws off your parts and tell me what kind of gou shi this is.”

The thing emerges from nowhere and creeps toward him, bringing with it a slick wet noise and a spatter of slime as it sits on the bunk, rocking like it’s in the bughouse.

Jayne turns away from his creature--because it does belong to him, don’t it?--and looks at the mess of pictures and lines and circles. He honestly don’t get what everyone’s so interested in. If Mal’d just be a little more interested in seeing what’s right beside him.

“I dunno. Am I supposed to?”

It sits next to Mal, mouth hanging open, black tongue flailing from side to side as it breathes. “Cock sucking whore. Gonna spread ‘em for the boss.”

“Jayne, listen to me a spell. Simon says this is some kind of dead language from Earth-That-Was. It means something, gorramit.”

“Spread ‘em, whore.”

“You trying to convince me I been cursed?” Jayne laughs and laughs and laughs as he holds onto his balls and his belly and watches through a haze of tears as the creature shifts and distorts.

“Open up that pussy of yours.” It grins, one tooth dangling on a thread like a young ‘un. “Open it.”

That gross body shimmers like it’s spinning in and out of reality and Jayne begins to pray in his head even though he’s still hurting from laughter. Let it go. Please God, let it go away.

“Stop cackling at me, Jayne.”

He can’t, even though he knows Mal’s fierce mad at his bout of hysterics. He can see that clear as day from the captain’s reddening face.

“Bi zui. Quit it, Jayne. Please.” There’s a too long pause then, “Shut your trap, you whore. You dirty cock-sucking whore.”

Right then Jayne hopes he’s going to die. Right then, when the captain’s body flexes unnaturally and he forces Jayne over onto his belly. Obscenities fall from Mal’s lips alongside a shower of spittle and when he rips the shorts away Jayne don’t fight.

It don’t hurt as much as it should, but it triggers something deep inside him until the smell of a real man’s body becomes worse than the stink of that dirty rotten creature that’s been haunting him.

“Spread yer pussy wide for me, you cock slut.” Jayne’s grateful that it don’t sound nothing like Mal’s voice. It’s someone else’s though.

Jayne can feel the blood dripping down his thighs and he knows it should hurt more inside and out. It should break him into pieces, but he reckons he’s been broken for a long long time. He just didn’t know it until now.

When it’s over, when it’s truly over, Mal collapses down across Jayne's back and there’s a pregnant to bursting silence.

“Jayne, I…”

The captain pulls out of him and there’s this squelching which reminds Jayne all too much of the bloody footprints on the ceiling.

“It weren’t you.”

“Laotian bu. You’re bleeding.” Mal gets up off him like he’s got the plague and begins pacing the small room, fumbling to fasten his pants.

“It weren’t you, dong le ma?” Jayne knows who it was. He turns over and pulls his shorts up, thinking 'bout how to tell Mal to go the hell away.

“Pussy,” taunts the creature from where it’s squatting in the corner.

“I’ll be fine,” Jayne says, trying to muster up a bright sounding voice. “You can leave now.”

“You gotta see the doc. I’ll go with you.”

Jayne shivers at the thought of being near anyone.

“Just leave,” he mutters and Mal surprises him by not arguing, near on running to get away and taking the ladder three rungs at a time. As the bunk hatch slams shut, the devil creature digs all ten of its claws deep into Jayne’s chest like it owns him.

Battling hard, he rolls to one side off the bunk then he’s up on his feet, fighting to get to the ladder so that he can lock that door and hide away -- just him and the badness.

He has the metal rung in his hand when the thing dig its claws into his calves and he feels, no, hears the ping as tendons are severed like bungees. Ain’t no way he’s going anywhere now. Toppling like a house of cards Jayne falls flat to the floor, forehead impacting hard.

“Born a pussy,” it says.

“Jayne?”

Hands touch him where he don’t wanna be touched, but he swallows down sick and what’s left of his pride and tries to find a hiding place.

“He’s bleeding bad. Wo de ma, Simon. I don’t even remember doing it. Is he gonna be alright? Laotian. Laotian bu.”

Words spill out from the captain’s mouth the same way the cussing comes out of the creature.

“Physically, yes.”

Gorramit to hell. This ain’t the way Jayne wanted Simon to touch him there.

“Turn over for ‘em, whore. You cock slut.”

The thing that was once… The creature flips him over as if he’s lightweight letter paper, pushing aside the doc in the process.

“Jayne! Listen to me.”

Simon’s leaning over him and he can smell the goodness even though the devil’s closer still with all his putrid stink.

“Can you hear me?”

He nods.

“The words you wrote are an ancient curse brought here by settlers. But it’s coming from you, dong ma?”

Jayne nods again and smiles because it’s funny. Or ironic maybe. As if he don’t know all that. As if he don’t know who’s doing it to him.

“Born a pussy,” it says dipping a finger into an open wound on Jayne’s chest and stirring like it’s a spoon. “S’why I gave you that pussy name.”

Then it leans in and digs its index claw deep into Jayne’s throat, carving through skin and bone and muscle like hot wire. It don’t finish cutting until it reaches the base of his cock.

Blood and guts spill out and, all in all, it ain’t as painful as Jayne thought it were going to be. The smell is the worst thing about it. He hates the smell of innards.

“Ye su! Jayne. Simon, do something.” Mal’s words are muffled by a hand over his mouth.

“What can I do?” The doc is pale like death as he tries to push Jayne back together.

The creature that made him turns to ashes in front of Jayne's eyes and he smiles as the badness that’s inside seeps outwards in a huge pool of red.

Doc’s looking down at him all wet eyed and Jayne regrets not getting to kiss that pretty mouth just once. And Mal Reynolds, who’s angry and sad and hurting? Well, Mal he loves ‘til the end.

DONE