Chapter 4
The Asylum
The dark cell was cold and damp. That incessant drip . . . drip . . . drip . . . cutting through the silence of the room. Renfield paid the leak no mind. His attention was fixed on the fly that had landed on the cement floor mere inches away from him.
His heart thrummed, and his hands trembled with anticipation as he watched on, hidden mostly in shadow aside from the strip of moonlight pouring in from the single barred window high above.
“Steady,” he whispered to himself.
He must not scare the creature in his haste.
Renfield dragged himself slowly across the cold floor, inching closer and closer to his prey.
In one swift movement, he cupped his hand over the insect, careful to trap it without crushing it.
A thrill ran through him, pulling a triumphant laugh from his throat.
“Quiet!” a voice barked from a nearby cell.
Renfield looked over his shoulder, peering into the shadows, worried that the man might somehow find a way into his cell through the stone wall that stood between their rooms. The villain wanted his collection, wanted to steal the life force for himself, but Renfield would never allow it.
He waited, listening for the sounds of approach, hearing only the buzzing of the fly beneath his hand. Moments passed, and Renfield’s racing mind eased. He was all alone, his collection safe from the others—for now.
The creature buzzed beneath his palm, its wings vibrating against his skin as it tried to escape.
“Shhh,” Renfield whispered into the darkness. “The others are listening. Always listening.”
Carefully, he used his free hand to drag over the small wooden box where the rest of his collection lay. If circumstances had been different, Renfield might have felt pity for the poor creature. But it was a worthy sacrifice—a necessary sacrifice—if he wished to please the master.
Quickly, before the others could slip free, he grasped the fly and shoved it into his box, snapping the lid shut.
“Ha ha!” he cried out in victory.
“Shut it, old man!”
Renfield jolted, terror coursing through him. They were coming to take his collection! He would never allow it. He grabbed the box, shoving it far beneath the metal frame of his cot, and climbed onto the bed.
Eyes wide, he looked around the dark room, waiting for any sign of intrusion.
He began to rock back and forth, back and forth, his mind racing.
“Soon,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Very soon.”