Chapter 18 – Lilith
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LILITH
I pace the room like a caged animal, wanting nothing more than to break free and hunt.
The hunger grows inside me. “I need to get out of here. I need to feed,” I gasp, clutching my throat.
Cara moves with speed and runs from the room, and I follow her into the hall.
“Wait, I didn’t mean I was going to feed on you!
” I yell after her, watching as her shadow disappears.
I sigh, feeling defeated, glancing left and right.
The urge to explore is strong. I need to find some food; even alcohol-infused blood would do at this point.
I try to make my way back the way we came, or so I think, but end up heading down a set of stairs that seem darker and narrower.
Nope, this is definitely not the way. Still, I continue to descend, figuring maybe they lead to a kitchen. Maybe there’s blood in the fridge.
I come to another long, dimly lit hall. The sound of crying—pleading—catches my attention.
I walk silently, my brow furrowed as the begging grows louder.
The stench of rotting flesh invades my senses.
I stop in front of a huge wooden door with black iron bars covering a small window.
Cautiously, I peer through. At first, I think my eyes are deceiving me, because what I see cannot be true.
There are at least a hundred of them. Vessels, chained up, their skin so thin it’s almost see-through, their eyes pained and pleading, clawing at their throats.
Hunger. The stench is almost unbearable, and I cover my mouth, slowly turning away, unable to handle it any longer.
Before I turn to walk back up the steps, I pause and give the door one last glance. How can Morbius sleep in luxury upstairs while these creatures suffer below? Suffering. Starving. Is that happening to Cara, too?
My mind is whirling with a million thoughts as I manage to find myself back in my room.
Within a minute, Cara comes in, dragging a man behind her.
He looks to be in his late fifties, and I immediately smell the alcohol on his breath.
He stumbles as she lets go of him. “Whoa, easy there, lady,” he chuckles.
He stands upright, his large pot belly overhanging his ripped and barely fastened trousers.
I can hear his heart beating, working twice as hard as a healthy one.
His breathing is labored, a rattle in his left lung.
He’s a dead man. He could drop dead at any point.
A grin spreads across my lips as I look to Cara.
She listened earlier. She knew I wouldn’t feed off someone so young and healthy, so she went and got me an old guy with health issues.
“You did well,” I praise before I bare my fangs and launch myself at the man, wrapping my arms and legs around him, catching him completely off guard as I sink my fangs into his neck, devouring his blood.
Liquid euphoria consumes me. His body crumples beneath me, but that doesn’t stop me.
I fed and fed until I couldn’t possibly drink another drop.
I pull back, panting, licking my lips, eyes hooded.
I look at Cara. Her eyes are pinned to the now-corpse.
I move off him and shuffle back. “Feed, Cara,” I gesture.
She launches herself, a feral growl ripping from her throat as she bites him everywhere, her savage hunger so desperate she’s draining him from every part of his body.
I get to my feet, watching her. When was the last time she fed?
Eventually, there is nothing left. She stops, sitting back, closing her eyes and licking her lips as that euphoria pulses through her. I smile, seeing the darkness fade a little from under her eyes. “When did you last feed?” I ask.
Her eyes spring open in shock as if she forgot I was there. She quickly scurries back, casting her gaze down to avoid me. Silently, she grabs the man’s ankle and drags him out of the room, keeping her head low.
I shake my head and walk into the bathroom, washing my face and hands.
I notice my blood-stained top. I walk back into the room and open the huge wardrobe; tops, dresses, coats, jumpers.
An entire wardrobe of brand-new women’s clothes.
My jaw drops as I pull out a plain black V-neck t-shirt.
I make quick work of removing mine and putting on the new one.
It fits perfectly. Did he know I would come?
The thought makes me angry; angry that I was so predictable to him.
The door opens, and Cara steps in, returning to her spot against the wall, not saying another word.
“I won’t tell, you know. That you fed with me,” I clarify.
I pause for a moment. “Cara, what’s down the narrow stairs?
” I catch her body tensing at my question.
“I went looking for food, not realizing that you had gone to get some. And I came to a door with iron bars. And I saw…” I pause, wondering how to word it.
“Well, people like you.” But they looked nothing like living people.
Death. Living corpses. “They looked and sounded in pain. Hungry.” My eyes watch her intently for any sign she’ll start talking, explaining that it was a prison for ones who have turned evil or something; not that it was just how they are treated, how they have to live and suffer working for the Dominion.
“Cara. Tell me,” I demand, hoping the request will force her to talk.
“I—” She pauses, her voice sounding dry and rough, like she hasn’t spoken a word in a hundred years.
“I am not allowed to say,” she chokes, her voice cracking.
My mouth turns to a thin line, not liking that answer, but I don’t want her to think she’s in trouble.
Nor do I want Morbius punishing her or them.
“I won’t ask you again,” I assure her. “I’m going to have a lie down.
Please, have a seat in the armchair. You don’t have to stand there the entire time,” I add.
Walking over to the huge bed, I pull off the throw at the foot of the bed and a pillow before returning and handing them to her.
She looks at my hands, then back to my face.
“Take it. Get comfy,” I gesture, lifting it closer to her.
Slowly, she holds out her arms and takes it.
I give her a small smile before returning to the bed.
I don’t bother changing, climb under the covers and lie on my back, looking up at the draped fabrics above me.
That gnawing feeling claws at my gut; the one I can’t shut out, the one reminding me that something isn’t right.
Something doesn’t add up. I pull the covers up over my head and pull out the cell to type a message to Silas.
L: Silas, I—
I pause, not sure what I should type. Am I being dramatic?
It’s a world I’ve never seen before, so maybe I’m being oversensitive?
Maybe those vessels are created like that.
I exhale a breath. Damn, why is this so hard?
If I were messaging Evelynn, then I would just type my thoughts without thinking.
The fact that Silas’s number is the only one other than my own that I remember, because it’s been the same for years.
Ironically, he would usually be the last person I’d ever want to call until that night.
I sigh. Memories flashing in my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Willing my thoughts to calm. I can’t lose focus now.
If there is a chance I can see my family again, that has to be my only focus.
L: Silas, just to say I’m okay.
I cringe and click send. Within seconds, the cell lights up with his reply.
S: What is it?
I frown, confused, and quickly type my reply, grateful the guy’s phone is fully charged.
L: Nothing, I said I’m okay.
S: Lilith, I know you. You wouldn’t message me unless there were something wrong. What is it?
Damn him. I hate that even now, after everything, he knows me so well.
L: It’s just a creepy place, is all. I’m going to turn the phone off now to save the battery.
S: I can imagine. Want me to sing you a lullaby? Turn it back on as soon as you wake and let me know you’re alright.
I roll my eyes at his sarcasm. This is probably the most civil we’ve ever been, apart from when he fucked me senseless. I shake my head and reply.
L: No thanks, I don’t want your singing voice haunting my dreams. And I will.
Once I’ve sent the message, I turn off the phone and slide it back into my pocket.
It takes me a while to fall asleep, my mind full of mixed messages: questions, so many questions.
Before, I so blindly followed Morbius, believed every word he said.
But that was twenty-seven years ago, and something my mum always used to say echoes in my mind: Actions speak louder than words.
Morbius left. He didn’t fight for me. He didn’t come back for me.
He says all the right things—the memories of what we had, what I thought we had—swayed my choice to be here.
I huff and roll over, angrily fluffing up the pillow, willing and praying my mind will switch off.