Mark of Betrayal

Page 21

“No, I—”
“Yes,” Mike yelled, taking both my arms, the keys pressing into my flesh. “Listen carefully. I stayed while they were being fed. I sat there—” he pointed across from the cell, “—I watched the keeper drag a woman in—tied up, unconscious. He threw her into the cell, slammed the door, and the Damned did nothing. Nothing. Until the woman stirred.” He walked a step away, running a hand through his hair. “She started breathing heavily, panicking. Next thing I know, I hear this rip.”
“What kind of rip?”
“The Damned untied her, baby. They unbound her hands and her feet, and they let her run. They let her cower by the bars, screaming for help.”
“Mike, don't. You're lying.”
“I'm not lying,” he yelled. “This is what they do. This is not a joke. David, Eric, even Emily—what they are is not a joke. They kill people. Those Damned moved in on that woman—they ripped her clothes off, held her arms apart and fed on her, kept her alive, her blood warm and pumping until she was goddamn well dry as the Mojave Desert.”
I shook my head, covering my ears. “I don't believe you.”
“You don't? Fine.” He grabbed his phone from his pocket, thumbed it until iTorch came on, then angled it to the back of the cage. “See for yourself.”
I turned my head slowly, squinting at first, then covered my face, squealing as the last dregs of an image shivered through my spine. “That’s not real.” I looked up again at the naked woman, her body spread like a white, fleshy butterfly, glued to the back wall—her bones missing from her skin. “That’s not real.”
“It is real.”
My gut heaved as I folded over, gripping my knees.
“Do you see now? Do you take me seriously now?”
“But—” I walked slowly over to the cage and peered inside. I could hear them in there, playing, laughing, like that dead woman was just a bear-skin rug on the wall in their father’s study. “But, they play, Mike, and I talked with them.”
“I know. It’s a lure.” He dragged me away from the cage by the arm. “You open that door, they will take you apart.”
“I don't agree.” I pulled my arm free. “That boy held a civil conversation with me. If they were treated properly—fed and loved and—”
“Ara?” Mike pinched the bridge of his nose. “Really? You're too old for this. I can't keep chasing you around—trying to protect you from stupid things like this.”
“Then don't,” I said and grabbed the keys from his hand. “They won't hurt me, Mike. I'm not a kill. I'm not their next meal. They trust me. They want to be free, and I know they can behave.”
“Then open that door.” He presented it, conceit refining his grin.
I thrust my shoulders back, held my head high and jammed the key in the lock, but stopped before turning it. What if he was right? What if they really were monsters?
But David never believed that. He believed we could help them; he wanted me to help them—told me I wasn’t worth a damn if I didn't have the heart to help them.
“Ara?” Mike said gently. “Why don't we just sit down and talk about this?”
I turned my head to look at him. “If I do, will you—”
“Shit, Ara, move!” A breath of shock started my heart when he jumped toward me, my fingers scrunching together around the key as a small hand forced it in a turn. Mike grabbed my wrist, his fingers slipping along it as I jolted forward, landing on my hands and knees, the door hitting the wall with a loud metal echo. “Ara, run!”
I looked up from my dirt-covered fingers, wide eyes taking in the open cage for only a heartbeat before I sunk to the ground, covering my head as the force of twenty screaming children came down on top of me like racing horses. I heard Mike cry out somewhere under the terror of their shrieks, and then, like a storm passing in a whirlwind of racket and chaos, the noise retreated suddenly, leaving me alone on the floor, untouched, with only an eerie still surrounding me. I curled up as small as I could get, trying in vein to quiet my panicked breath.
Several seconds passed, counted out by the thump in my chest.
“Mike?” I slowly pushed up on my hands and turned my head to the dark space he’d been standing before. He was gone. “No.” A small cry of panic quivered in the back of my throat. I reached forward, my hands trembling so viciously my elbows shook, and felt for a wall or the bars—anything. But all I found was cold dirt.
The panic rose again; I shuffled back further into the cell, tucking my knees to my chest, seeing that dead woman in my thoughts as my eyes scanned the darkness.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered, my gut expanding then shrinking quickly back in when I saw a silhouette in the corridor; it stood there, three feet high, still as death—looking right at me.
A bubble of dread burst open in the middle of my chest.
“What do you want?” I asked in a small voice.
The thing stepped forward, its slow steps clipped, forced, a raspy, grating sound coming from its throat.
I jumped to my feet, squealing like a small child, and cupped the edge of the iron door, swinging it closed. The twang of metal echoed down the tunnel and its small hand shot in through the bars, the horrid creature spitting and growling at me like it was some kind of rabid beast. It pressed its cheeks against the cage, the skin on its face pulling its eyes into tiny slits, showing bared, bloodied teeth and a long tongue, licking the iron.
The ground stayed under my feet as I took a few slow steps backward, finding the wall with flat palms. But as I stopped, the child pulled back, turning its head slowly to look across from me, then disappeared.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I rolled my chin upward, pressing the base of my head into the stone wall, and let myself cry for a moment. Mike was gone. Who knew if he made it out to get help or if they bludgeoned him before he reached the end of the tunnel? Who knew if some of the Damned had escaped and were ravishing the manor as I stood here, crying tears of self-pity?
I wished I’d just waited. I wasn't going to open that damn door. I was just trying to make a point, and the worst part was, I couldn’t even remember what point I was trying to make in the first place. I wasn't even sure it mattered. Well, I guess it didn't matter now. I looked around the thick darkness, hardly able to see the red chipped paint on the bars, and certainly blind to the corners and deeper depths of this cell.
I wiped my face and ran forward, grabbing the bars, and shook them. But the door was stuck fast, trapping me in this cage with partially decomposed bodies, the scent enough to make me want to stick my fingers down my throat just be sure I hadn't swallowed any vestiges of rotten flesh. And somewhere under my fear of what was real, what was right outside this door, dangerous enough to rip me apart, I also wondered if the troubled ghosts of those who’d been killed so violently here haunted these cells.
But another thought occurred to me then; even if I did get this door open, how was I to know if the damned weren't just waiting for me—hoping I’d be smart enough to escape, so they could chase me, warm my blood with fear, then tear off my clothes too, and drink my blood. And maybe I wouldn't die from that; maybe I could be regenerated, but I wasn't too excited about being ripped apart.
Weighing options up in my thoughts, I paid no mind to the sound of a soft breeze, until it started to take shape, form into what I thought were words. I stopped thinking, my whole body going still as I listened. But the noise stopped, too.
Maybe it was just the wind. I had no way of knowing which sounds were normal down here, and which weren't. It made me think more about the Damned—how frightening it must be for new children to come here, be thrown away, out of sight, out of mind, never to be seen or heard of again.
I stopped thinking, my ears pricked; the sound of the whisper spreading through the darkness. I tried to focus on it, make out words, but it stopped. After a few seconds of silence, I walked slowly forward, seeing what I thought was an outline of a rock on the floor, and sunk to my knees in front of the bars. There hadn't been any rocks out there in corridor before. I wondered what that was, and as I looked closer, the object sharpened into a boot. A big, heavy, black boot. Mike’s boot.
The sound of my shock echoed around me in a breathy gasp; I covered my mouth, trying not to squeal, but the air came back into my throat in a quivering, high-pitched whimper. “Mike?”
I reached through the bars, my pale white arm stretching as far as it would go, yet not far enough.
“Mike?” I said again, yanking my hand back, checking the space outside the bars for a small hand or set of teeth that might grab me.
All was still. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. But I could feel things around me—feel eyes on me, prickling the hairs on the back of my neck. It didn't matter, though. Even if the Damned grabbed my hand and ripped my arm off as soon as I reached for Mike again, I still had to try—to see if I could wake him. Right now, with them out there and me in here, Mike was kind of my only hope.
After another few breaths, each one building confidence, I reached out slowly through the bars again, my shoulder pressing past the limits, my chin going with it, making my fingers longer. I held my breath, biting my teeth together, and finally touched the tip of his boot, celebrating a quiet moment of victory before getting up on my knees a little more. I sent my hand back out into enemy territory, the top of my arm sore, burning from the force of the metal, and this time, my nails caught the sole of his boot. I tugged a little, but my fingers slipped, falling to the ground as the shoe disappeared, leaving a trail behind in the dirt where something dragged Mike’s body deeper into the darkness.
I jerked my hand back, tucking it into my ribs as I landed against the wall, squeaking to myself. They were out there; the damned were out in the world, and they had Mike. I couldn't see him, or hear him breathing—tried to listen for the sound of vampires feeding, but it was like they’d just disappeared, locked me in and thrown away the key.
I rubbed a flat palm across my hairline, then looked up, eyes bright with new hope. That’s it. The key. Maybe it was still in the lock.
I got to my knees and sifted around in the dirt before heading to the door. It had to be there.
But my swift movement stirred something, woke something that had clearly been sleeping—something still in the cage, with me. It groaned, becoming a solid figure as it creeped out of the shadows, moving by its hands, like a dog with no legs, dragging them loosely behind it.
I sat very still, covering my mouth to block the scent of fresh vampire blood and urine coming off its body like heat.
Whatever it was hadn't seen me yet, but it would smell me soon enough.
My thoughts left my mouth in a whispering curse, and the thing turned its head, looking right this way; its dark eyes fixing on mine, growing wider inside its head as it hissed, shifting direction quickly, snaking toward me.
“Shit!” I jumped to my feet, leaped for the bars and climbed, hooking my foot in a hold on the second rung. But it slipped, sending my body into a spin, my toes nearly touching the ground again. I quickly glanced back at the child, but it was gone, leaving only a trail where it’d dragged its limp little body through the dirt, toward me—its next meal. My eyes darted across the floor, the world freezing around me when I spotted it, less than an arms-length away.
“No!” I squealed, pulling myself up higher, clutching the bars in a bone-white grip. “Mike! Get up. Please, Mike!” I grabbed the top of the cage, angling my head away from the stone roof, my shoulders hunched against it. When I looked back down, a small hand shot up at me, just missing my foot as I jerked away. The child growled in the back of its throat, the sound coming out through caged teeth, like it was smiling.
“Mike! Please!” I screamed over at him, aiming my voice down, as if mere volume could wake the dead. But my breath stopped short of my lips when several heads lifted from the aura of his body, smearing blood across their mouths. And under the dead silence, as each eye turned to find me, every fear I ever had—every creature under the bed, every man in my closet, became apparent in that one breath.
If I stayed here, my fingers wrapped around the bars, toes edged out into their world, they’d grab me. But if I dropped down—back into the cage, the demon at my feet would own me—rip me apart.
My limbs went tight with tension. I’d never been good at decision-making. But they were closing in—slowly walking toward the cage, while the demon under me fastened its fingers around the bars, pulling itself closer, its legs dangling behind it like dead meat.
“Get off!” I thrust my foot into its head, feeling its hair under my toes.
It went down, its tiny hand shooting up, catching my ankle.
“Please. No.”
“Get back in your cage!” A thunderous voice broke through the darkness, and like a dragon scorching the night sky, hunting for its young, the children shrieked, their entourage breaking apart, forcing the cage door open beside me.
I fell to the floor with a thud so hard my teeth knocked together inside my mouth, and the child’s hand locked around my foot. There was nothing to grab—no time to roll over and crawl away; it pulled me closer as the chaos of bodies moved past us, and opened its mouth, its tongue rolling out over my toes.
But my foot came loose suddenly, sending me, with all my fight, tumbling back on my hands—the keeper’s stick coming down, spearing the demon’s shoulder. It screeched, cupping its neck, scrambling around to find ground with its hands.
I couldn’t watch. I didn't want to see this again; I curled up on the floor, hands over my head, knees tucked to my chest, and cried.