Knowledge Quickening

Chapter 3: Knowledge Revealed

Chapter 3: Knowledge RevealedThere was no telling how long I'd lain on the mattress, whether it was day or night, or how many hours had passed. Since Armstrong threw me back into the concrete room, I'd had nothing to eat or drink. My throat was parched and my stomach rumbled ominously, aching with hunger. The room was still freezing and I'd spent most of my time trying to retain what little body heat I could manage.

I'd dozed on and off and when I woke, a bucket, which hadn't been there before, was sitting in the corner of the room. I investigated and discovered it was empty, and with a sinking heart, I realized this was my bathroom. This was where I was to apparently deal with physical necessities during my imprisonment.

Before falling into a troubled sleep, I'd spent a lot of time considering if what Armstrong had said could be true. Could Lucas and his friends be dead? Not only them, but also all those guests at the wedding? Whether it was wishful thinking or not, I discounted the idea. I'd calculated the number of men who'd appeared so suddenly at the wedding and came up with fifteen. Even if they were all werewolves and vampires, I didn't believe fifteen people could take on over two hundred people and kill them all. Someone had to survive, I was certain of it. I needed to believe Armstrong was lying and stubbornly clung to hope.

In the meantime, I needed to stay alive and that was looking increasingly doubtful if I didn't get something to eat and drink soon. I huddled in the corner, legs tucked up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. There was a good chance sustenance wouldn't be an issue soon, because in all likelihood I would freeze to death. This room was disorientating; trying to figure out whether it was day or night, or how much time had passed was hopeless. It was impossible to tell and the light over my head glowed constantly.

Like a mantra, I ran through the little information I'd managed to accumulate. As much as I loved Marianne, I knew her psychic power was haphazard at best and couldn't be relied on. Ripley might be able to hear my thoughts and it was the only hope I had. I didn't know the distance his mind reading could work across, but it was my only hope and I was clinging to it. For hours at a time, I repeated it in my head. Gerard DuBonet, Laurence Armstrong, Gerard DuBonet, Laurence Armstrong. I was certain if Ripley could pick up my thoughts, if they could track down Gerard DuBonet or find out about Laurence Armstrong, they might be able to find me. My rescue hopes relied on a lot of ifs and maybes, but it was all I had to cling to.

I heard footsteps approaching and listened intently. The door opened and one of the guards I'd seen upstairs came in, silently wrenching me to my feet and dragging me along the corridor. I was taken upstairs and into the living room I'd been taken to last time.

The guard shoved me down on a chair and I found Armstrong waiting for my arrival. He was seated opposite me, wearing black trousers and a sky blue shirt, his legs crossed at the ankle. On the coffee table was a plate filled with sandwiches and a pot of coffee; sugar and creamer neatly laid out beside it.

“You must be hungry,” he remarked quietly.

I eyed him suspiciously, wondering if this was a ruse. Was he going to allow me to eat, or was this his idea of a sick joke?

“Please, help yourself,” he said, waving his hand towards the food.

Snatching up a sandwich, I crammed it into my mouth, watching him cautiously as he poured coffee. He didn't speak again until I'd stuffed another half dozen sandwiches into my mouth, desperate to eat as much as I possibly could before he stopped me. The coffee was too hot to drink, but I grabbed the jug of creamer, gulping it down quickly.

Armstrong laughed; the sound cold and humorless in the room. “You are quite the little animal, aren't you?”

When I'd eaten every sandwich, I leaned back in the chair and eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“Now, Miss Duncan. You know exactly what I want. I want you to tell me how your gift works.”

“What gift?”

He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin. “I'd hoped you might have come to your senses by now. You've been here for three days and as you can see,” he waved around the room expansively, “nobody is coming to your rescue.”

I remained silent, watching him apprehensively. At least I knew now how long I'd been here, although it seemed much longer than three days.

“Alright, let me tell you what I already know.” He paused, staring at me with those intense brown eyes. “You have a psychic ability. I am aware of it because your little band of bloodsuckers attacked some associates of mine. They released two of them, and one came to me with information. He told me about you and it was a very interesting conversation. This particular associate overheard the discussion you were having with your mother. Imagine his surprise, when he discovered your mother wasn't in the house, yet managed to warn you of their impending arrival. Although he was too stupid to consider the possibilities, I did, and a little investigation confirmed your mother has been dead for two years. So, I asked myself, how does this girl talk to a mother who is dead and buried already?” He leaned forward, tapping his forehead. “She obviously has some sort of psychic talent, a very powerful talent.”

I continued to watch him, trying to keep my face neutral, wondering where this was going and how much he really knew.

“Still not going to talk? No matter. You will – one way or the other. For the moment, I will continue my little tale as you are listening with such rapt attention.” He settled back on the couch, stretching his arm along the back of it. “Now, I think to myself, what use is a girl who can speak with her dead mother? There is nothing to be gained from such ability. What possible benefit could it be? But I admit, I was intrigued, wondering just how much psychic ability you had. You were having a complete conversation with your dead mother. A two-way dialogue. In the interests of conducting a full and complete investigation, I decided to send another blood-sucking colleague of mine to the Tine home.”

“Gerard DuBonet?” The name slipped from my mouth unbidden and I wished I hadn't said anything. I didn't want to help him, no matter how close his conclusions were to the facts.

“Yes. Mr. DuBonet has a remarkable talent of his own. Through touch, he gets a snapshot of a person's history. Almost like flicking through hundreds of old photographs at once. And what do you think Mr. DuBonet discovered when he touched you?”

I didn't like where this was going. “I don't have a clue.”

“He tells me you have a remarkable psychic aura. The only trouble is, Mr. DuBonet couldn't access the information I wanted. He tells me you have a shielding ability which he can't breach.”

He stood up, walking slowly around the table to crouch beside me. I heard the odd clicking sound and enormous claws sprouted from the ends of his fingertips. He used one claw to stroke leisurely across my neck and I fought rising panic, struggling to remain seated and not give anything away in my expression. “That tells me you have something remarkable hidden in that pretty head of yours, but it seems I can't get to it. Which is why,” he pushed the claw against my neck, where my jugular vein pulsed rapidly, “I want you to tell me about it.”

My hands were shaking and I clutched them in my lap. I didn't know what he intended to do with any information I gave him, but I was certain no good would come from it. “I'm afraid you've been misinformed, Mr. Armstrong. I have no idea what you're talking about and I can only tell you what I've told you before. My name is Charlotte Duncan and I'm an artist. There is nothing unusual about me.”

He didn't use the claws. His fist rushed towards my face and I shut my eyes, cringing from what was to come. His closed hand connected with my cheek, slamming me back against the chair with enough force to tip it over, spilling me to the floor. Pain registered only briefly, before I slipped into unconsciousness.