Chapter 14
Elliott | Highlands, present day
Everything aches. After a dreamless doze, I awake in gloom, sprawled on hard slabs.
Groggily, my eyes lift to the small barred window high above my head letting in a smidgeon of light.
From where I’m lying, I can see the outlines of rough-hewn walls.
The space isn’t large, but it’s compact and empty apart from me.
I’m in a dim stone chamber. A dungeon cell.
The ground is strewn with straw, but the cold still seeps through my hips and butt.
Shivering, I shift position and become aware of a heavy weight on my left arm.
An iron shackle is clipped tightly around my wrist. Fuck, seriously? I mean, is that really necessary?
I yank at the short chain that’s attached to the wall behind me and call out weakly for help.
No one comes, and I lie back, feeling exhausted even from that short burst of activity.
I’m determined not to give in to my fear, but it’s difficult not to.
What does Alexander want from me? It can’t be simply that he’s hungry, or he would have drained me. There must be another reason ...
Fuck, I’m going to die in this pit, and I’ll never see Sadie again. Why the hell didn’t she turn me? It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for the last forty years.
I try to feel annoyed at her, but I can’t.
It’s not her fault that Alexander’s kidnapped me.
I mean Sadie’s done her best over the last century to help Floss and Hester evade this dickwad.
But if I were a vampire, things might be different.
I might have been able to fight him off or, if not that, at least communicate with her.
I try yelling at her in my mind that I’m alive, but there’s no reply.
I don’t expect one since we can’t speak to each other telepathically.
And what use is it anyway if I don’t even know where I am?
The memory of Sadie’s terrified face floats into my mind as I was dragged kicking and screaming from her bed.
Thankfully, I was fully clothed in a T-shirt, jeans, and trainers.
I shudder to think what would have happened if things had been further along when Alexander strolled in.
It would’ve been a case of lying in the back seat of his car butt naked.
I was barely conscious and weak after Alexander dragged me in there and continued sucking on my neck from the holes he’d opened in Sadie’s bedroom.
After that, he hopped in the driver’s seat and took off.
I must’ve passed out, but I came to briefly when he was driving along some motorway.
Alexander had switched on the radio and was flipping around the stations.
He settled on a U2 song and sang along loudly with Bono about still not finding what he was looking for—making me wince and wish I had earplugs.
He truly is a crap singer. I hope he doesn’t frequent any karaoke bars. He’d be booed off the stage.
The hinges of the iron-studded door in the corner of the room creak; and I tense, struggling upright, straining to see in the dim light.
‘Hello? Is anyone there?’
Tentative footsteps ensue, and a young woman in her twenties shuffles into the room with a tray of food.
I sigh in relief. Thank God, another person and something to eat at last!
But as the woman inches closer, I get a shock.
She’s a walking corpse. Her long shoulder-length brown hair is lank and tangled and frames a thin pale face, large haunted eyes, and hollow cheeks.
What’s even more disturbing is that she’s wearing a saucy French maid’s outfit: a short ruffled black silk dress with a low-cut neckline.
Not that she has any breasts to speak of—her body is skin and bones.
Her bare feet scuff along the straw, and they’re filthy.
The young woman bends, knees creaking, and deposits the tray wordlessly next to me.
Close enough that I can reach it, but not so close that I can grab her.
‘Thanks,’ I say, but she doesn’t reply. I look up at her, attempting to make some sort of eye contact.
But her grey eyes are glazed over. Great, she’s completely in thrall to Alexander, which explains a lot.
I spot two blood-encrusted wounds on her neck where he’s been feeding.
I feel like showing her mine. Look, matchy-matchy.
She shuffles back over to the door. I think that’s it for her visit, but then she’s back again, with a wooden bucket dangling from her fingers.
This is placed next to the tray, I assume for my ‘ablutions’.
Shitting in a bucket and having to lie next to it.
Great, just how I like to spend my dungeon day.
There’s more shuffling, and she’s heading out the door. The hinges creak.
‘Wait!’ I cry.
The girl halts. Slowly, she turns her thin form and waits as I’ve instructed. OK, if she’s being dutiful to me, maybe I can find out some information.
‘What does Alexander want with me?’
There’s a pause. Then the girl hitches a shoulder and intones in a flat voice, ‘I don’t know.’
I try again.
‘Are there more women like you here?’
She nods once.
‘How many are there?’
‘Many.’
‘Like ten or twenty?’
She hitches a shoulder. ‘Many.’
OK, I’m not getting too far with that line of questioning.
I hold up my iron-shackled wrist. ‘Can you get a key to unlock this?’
‘No, I only do my master’s bidding,’ she intones lifelessly.
I run my eyes over her skimpy French maid’s outfit. I can imagine what he bids her to do in that. The fucker. I mean, I know I’m in thrall to Sadie, but at least she doesn’t make me dress up like a male stripper. She’s sensible with her demands.
The young woman (I’m starting to think of her as Agnes for some reason) lifts a bony finger and points at the wooden tray, which has a white bowl of brown lumpy soup and some hard-looking sourdough bread sitting alongside.
No butter. ‘He says eat ... Please.’ I’m not sure if that last word is solely hers or Alexander’s attempt at conveying some manners.
Agnes shuffles out the door, and it clangs shut and locks.
I sigh and drag the tray closer, dip in the bread, and take a bite. It’s canned stew. Barely warm and not great. Sadie would be disgusted. I get a clear image of her rolling her eyes in mock disdain and saying, ‘Quelle horreur, Elliott. What izzz that sheet?’
I grin. We’ve certainly come a long way from those early days when she made me peanut butter sandwiches and I flung them against her bedroom wall.
I can still see the look on Sadie’s face as a sandwich stuck to the pink paint, then fell off, leaving a poo-like stain.
It was very satisfying at the time. Of course, I wouldn’t do anything like that now.
But it’s a funny memory, and I laugh to myself as I eat.
It makes me feel better—like she’s here with me.