Chapter 17
THE CRYPT, BLACKWATER HOUSE
BLACKNESS. ALL WAS BLACKNESS, enveloping, absolute. It was so dark; Collingwood could not tell whether his eyes were open or closed. There was no difference between the two states. He was awake. He knew that, but only because of the agonies in his head. The ground was cold below him. He was spread-eagled on a stone floor, arms stretched out to either side of him. Crucified on stone. Cold. Dank. The cold seeped through his flesh and bones like probing scalpels. He shivered, the violent rattling of his skull sending a fresh wave of agony through his head. Groaning Collingwood rolled over to press his pounding head into the cool of the stone, but to little avail.
Time passed.
Slowly the agonies eased and he was able first to sit upright, fighting bac
