Chapter Seven
1550 Words
My body wakes, though my mind still seems to be in a slumber. I’ve never slept so well before, yet I know in my soul that the stagnation I feel isn’t natural.
Someone is drugging me. Does he want me as some sort of s*x slave? Scientific research where he needs a human to run tests on? To use for his mad scientist experiments?
“You’re only half right,” a familiar voice sounds from across the room. His tone is filled with laughter, which has me struggling even more to grasp reality.
I try to focus, to fix my gaze on him, but my eyes continue their blurry state, clarifying and then distorting all the features surrounding me. All I can see is a dark figure huddled over a table, but what he is doing still eludes me.
I smell a fire… wood burning but not overwhelming like it used to be back when we had the occasional campfire at the orphanage.
Kat!
“What have you done with Kat?” I ask, my vision still trying desperately to grasp onto something.
“Calm down, child. I didn’t do anything with her,” he explains, humor still laced throughout his words. It’s as if he knows calling me child will amp up my anger even more. I want to call out and scream at him that I’m not a child, but his words cut me off. “What that dominant vampire did with her though, I can’t say.”
This man is clearly out of his mind.
Then it hits me like a brick to the head…
The mention of a vampire has memories flooding my mind.
I drank blood.
I drank the blood of an enemy.
I killed a man.
It’s all too much for me to handle. Too much for me to take in at once. My mind can’t absorb the flickers of memories bombarding me.
I try to breathe.
Panic consumes me.
Finally, my vision focuses on a knob… on a door… the surface like logs stacked one on top of the other.
I lunge for the slick surface, a curved hunk of metal protruding from the wood, in the hopes that I can escape and get some answers. I need this exit to save me now more than ever.
Each step is labored, as if my feet are sticking to the floor with an invisible glue, yet I still manage to make my way to the door and swipe at the knob.
And swipe.
Swipe again.
My hand keeps going through the silver-looking hunk of metal, passing through it like it’s actually not a tangible object I can even attempt to get my hands on.
Or I’m…
“Am I dead?” I ask, my voice echoing all around the room. My eyes dart everywhere, but I can’t seem to center on any one particular thing aside from the knob that is still out of my reach.
A low chuckle rebounds around me.
“That’s the question of the century, dear Tesla,” the man says. “Of course you’re dead. You’ve been dead.”
I try again, my vision clearing just a bit more as I reach toward the knob once again. Still, my fingers pass right through it as though it’s nothing more than a figment of my imagination.
Or I’m not really here.
“Haven’t you figured out by now that you can’t escape?” the man says, and my vision, though slow and jumpy, skitters around the room to find his figure once more.
I can see more of him now, yet his features still elude me.
“Let me go,” I demand, which elicits another laugh from the mystery man.
“That won’t work on me either, little bloodsucker,” he says, his words slithering like a serpent between his teeth.
I still can’t see his features, but I can hear him clearly.
He’s evil incarnate. No doubt.
And it’s not the catholic orphan talking through me either. That girl died a long time ago.
Just as I can make out enough of his form, I start toward him, needing answers and not caring what it takes to get them.
He doesn’t budge, doesn’t move to dodge my advance on him, and it doesn’t take but a few seconds before I realize why.
My body slams into a wall—an invisible wall—a force field?
The new chuckle that leaves the man just fuels my anger even more. I can’t manage to advance the last few inches to attack him, to get answers, and he knows it.
“Damn right I know it,” he says. Clearly he can also read my mind, which is unnerving and all around insane.
Before I can argue any further, make another step to grab the man who is holding me captive, he barks out commands.
“Sit,” he calls and points. Against my own free will, my body sits right there on the floor in front of him. My mind is screaming to refuse the demands of this stranger, but my body has other plans, and I’m too weak to refuse.
I want to speak, to argue, to tell him he needs to release me so I can go find my friend.
“Don’t worry. It’ll wear off eventually,” he says, his explanation vague and causing my head to spin even more than it was a few moments before.
What wears off?
“You need to let me go,” I request, my voice coming out much weaker than I want it to.
I can see him a bit clearer now, clear enough to notice the shake in his head. “Can’t do that, Tesla. I’m saving you.”
He’s making no sense, but the first rule I learned in self defense was to keep the captor talking.
“Saving me from what?” I ask. My vision is still blurry. Still, I know he hasn’t moved from his hunched spot at the table, and whatever barrier he has manufactured is still keeping me from moving any closer.
Without glancing in my direction, he stands with his back to me, never answering.
“Did you hear me, motherfucker?” I scream, my fists pounding on the invisible barricade separating us. “What the hell are you saving me from?”
His shoulder twitches, yet he doesn’t move, doesn’t advance toward me or give any indication he plans to answer me.
I want to run… want to get as far away from this creep as possible, but I still can’t figure out a way to escape.
I’m in a super small room—a cabin of sorts—with a fire burning and a small loveseat in front of it. The door is behind me. The table is in front of me with a small cooktop stove sitting near a dingy, overwhelmingly unkempt sink. Yet still, I’m stuck here, stuck waiting for the infuriating bastard to respond.
I try to blink, to straighten my vision so I can find a way out, yet the room continues to flicker and warp, like every surface before me is nothing more than an image projected for me to see.
The man still doesn’t say anything, but my vision becomes clear enough to notice he’s the man from the parking lot… and not the man who had his hands on Kat. The other one with white hair. What’s his name? Rune?
“Good job, little leech,” he says, his back still to me as his shoulders continue to twitch, his actions somewhat abrupt and harsh.
I struggle to rise and gain my footing, yet I won’t allow my weakness to show.
“Quit calling me names and face me like a man.” My words are forceful, at least to me. As I stand there with my arms crossed over my chest, I feel nothing but vulnerability… a disadvantage I never plan to let him know about.
“You should feel weak,” he says, responding to my thoughts.
The man is a mind reader.
I’m f****d.
I have very little control over what comes out of my mouth, let alone what pops into my head.
Finally, the man turns to face me, looking like just what I remember from the parking lot mere minutes before.
Has it been minutes?
Hours?
“Try days,” he mutters, his eyes boring into me as though he’s able to see the real me deep beneath my makeup.
What he said finally registers.
Days.
Now I’m really f****d. If my life is any indication, I know I’m not important enough for anyone to raise a stink about my ass going missing. Maybe Kat, but I still have no idea where she could be or if she’s even alive.
He laughs, clearly aware of what I’m thinking, and his humor about the situation makes me want to actually bring harm upon this infuriating man.
My arms are no longer crossed over my chest. Instead, they’re by my sides, my teeth clenching and my fits balled in knots of fury.
I want my friend back.
But before I can voice it, he steps toward me, the item in his hand finally coming into view.
A knife.
- Writer
