Chapter 7 The Purgatory
Daphne
The Purgatory
I couldn’t tell what was worse—the blinding headache that sent ripples of agony through my body, the dryness of my mouth and my swollen tongue, or the biting cold.
The room spun, and I thought I might throw up.
My limbs were stiff, and when I tried to move, I discovered that they were bound to the bed’s metal frame.
Flashbacks of how I ended up here flooded my mind, and I pulled on my restraints, panicked.
With no success. I caught my racing breath and looked around.
Gray, bare walls, symbols and random words scratched into the grime.
Scarce daylight filtered through the tiny window without glass, but the night still lingered in the corners.
The room was empty except for a wooden chair next to the bed.
This must be some nightmare. I wiggled again, hoping to wake up.
Alas. Arthur had buried me alive in this tomb.
There must be a way out of here, I thought. Maybe I could convince that diabolical doctor that I was no lunatic and had murdered no one. All I needed was a strategy.
Fortune favors the bold, Grandfather always said when telling me stories of his adventures. I’d talk to the nurses. Get them to let me speak to Doctor Vexley.
The turn of a key snapped my attention to the door. The heavy, iron-clad thing groaned open. The younger nurse who’d put me in the restraint jacket walked in.
“Aye, she’s awake. Alice!” she called behind her. “Come on, dear. It’s time to get you cleaned up and fed.” She walked to my bed, followed by another nurse I hadn’t seen yet.
“I need to speak to Doctor Vexley,” I said in the most polite tone I could muster, considering my situation.
Some na?ve part of me still believed this whole thing was a temporary punishment, that Arthur would enter with his thin smile and beat me up like in the good old days.
But no Arthur. Only a third nurse glancing at me with curiosity.
“We’ll untie you now, sweetheart. You won’t be difficult, right?” the older woman asked, pulling on my restraints.
Oh dear. If there was anything I absolutely could not promise right now, it was that.
As soon as my limbs were free, something primal kicked in.
I bolted—tried to. But the drugs Vexley gave me, coupled with hours strapped down, had drained every last ounce of strength.
I collapsed in a pathetic heap on the floor.
“Told you she’d fight, Anne. Now, pay up.
” They laughed as Anne dropped a coin into Alice’s open palm.
Two other nurses appeared, grabbed me under the arms, and led me to the door.
The floor was cold and sticky beneath my bare feet.
Someone had taken my clothes off and stuffed me into a discolored, stained nightgown that scratched my skin.
My headache exploded again, brutal and blinding. Bile surged in my throat.
For now, I had no choice but to comply. To play their game and wait for an opportunity.
“I need to speak to Doctor Vexley,” I slurred, trying to control my shaking.
“Sure, dear,” Alice cooed. “But you can’t go looking like this, right? You’re a lady!” The others cackled like a swarm of crows, and I didn’t like this one bit. “Come on!” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s get the bath ready for the lady!”
They laughed again, and I took a mental note to be careful with Alice. She was the one in charge here.
“Release her!” she barked to the other nurses, slung an arm around my ribcage, and helped me up.
“If you try anything stupid,” she hissed in my ear, “I will make sure you won’t be able to walk for a week.” And she’d hold on to that promise. I knew that in my bones.
“Off you go, Lady Draymoore,” Anne crooned.
I let them guide me—or more like drag me—because my legs felt like jelly.
Sweet Lord, what kind of purgatory had Arthur locked me up in? The endless dark corridors echoed with screams and the howling of the icy wind. We passed by a young woman cradling a headless rag doll, staring out of a window, her forehead pressed against the metal grid.
They led me along dark corridors lined with endless rows of closed metal doors. The stench made me gag. It was the reek of misery and neglect. Nobody reacted when we passed by; nobody looked at me. They were all caught in their own little worlds.
The smell of disinfectant made me cough when we stopped before a rusty door.
“It’s the new one’s turn now,” Alice declared, confirming my guess that she was in charge. “Becky, bathe the lady. We’ll be here if you need help!” That laughter again made my stomach lurch. What were they up to?
“I’m perfectly capable of bathing myself, thank—” the air left my lungs, and someone roughly shoved me into the room.
“What—” Another sentence I couldn’t finish as Becky, a young woman with a flat face and low brow, grabbed me by the hair. Laughter echoed behind us as she dragged me deeper into the dark room.
My bare feet slipped over wet, chipped floor tiles. Water dripped somewhere in the dark depths ahead. The sense of dread was enough to awaken me from the stupor; my reflexes sprang back to life, and I clawed at the nurse, ripping her bonnet off.
I’d taught myself to remain quiet and motionless when Arthur was hitting me; it was over faster that way. And he was controlling himself; I was his prized possession that could secure him income when the trust fund of my parents ran dry.
But this monster with that thin smile dragging me across the floor—was not stronger than me. She cursed as I sank an elbow into her ribs. Pain exploded up my arm. Damned corsets. Before I could swing again, she slammed my head against a stained marble sink. Warm blood filled my mouth.
Laughter and applause exploded as Becky held me down, my face pressed against the cold, wet surface. A loud snip made me freeze.
“Well done, Becky! Now—into the shower,” Alice shouted.
The nurse released me, and I raised my fingers to my head to confirm what I feared.
A sob shook my body.
“What do we do with it?” Becky held my long braid in her hand. She was dangling it like a trophy, grinning like a butcher.
“It’s not lice-infested like our other guests, yet brown is really not my color,” she mocked, raising my hair and draping it over her blonde strands.
“I know a wig maker that would pay some good penny for this,” Alice said.
Sobs still rippled through me. My beautiful hair.
I hadn’t cut it since my parents’ death, and it had grown so long I could sit on it.
Mother’s gentle touch still lingered there.
She loved brushing it every evening and telling me a story.
Now, it was gone. Taken away from me by these monsters whose only purpose was to turn me into something… not human anymore.
White-hot, blinding rage rose inside me. It made its way up through the ruins of my dignity, through layers of painful memories.
For years, I was suffering my brother’s abuse. But I didn’t have to do it anymore. He buried me alive here.
I was as good as dead.
Becky was still holding my braid in her left hand and the rusty scissors in her right; her back was turned to me as she asked Alice about the wig maker and whether he’d agree to buy such a mousy brown color.
Something inside me snapped. I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. The scissors were in my hand before I even realized it.
Some wild, primal triumph washed over me as I sank the scissors into her shoulder. The sickening crunch, the way Becky screamed—it was like shattering glass. Then came the blood, warm and wet, spilling over my trembling fingers.
I froze. The scissors slipped from my hand and clattered onto the tiles. For a heartbeat, I stood there—paralyzed—watching the red bloom across her apron.
The nurses rushed to restrain me. Becky sank to the floor, screaming, her eyes wide, blood trickling between her fingers.
Sweet Jesus, what had I done? How old was this girl? Eighteen? Nineteen?
My knees gave in just when the other nurses swarmed me, and the beating began.
Then, the world faded.