The good news: I escaped the Dracula wannabe’s lair. The bad news: I had no idea where I was. After the one I’d learned was called Harding stepped out of the room, him and the one from the diner returned and knocked me out with something. At least this time, it was with drugs and not a fist. When I woke up, I was in a different room from before with no idea how long I had been out.
Before I could even discern my surroundings, Norman came in holding a plate of food. He sat it on a nearby table without saying a word before turning to leave.
“Wait,” I hastily croaked out. “Where am I?”
He halted, but didn’t bother answering my question. “I left some medicine next to your food. That concoction we gave you has been known to cause nasty headaches.” Then he walked out, closing the door. That’s when I realized there was no door handle on my side. Damn it, not this bullshit again.
There wasn’t a clock or a window in the room where I was being held hostage, so while I have no actual idea, I counted at least five hours had passed by the time my jailer returned.
“If your plan is to fatten me up to serve as chattel, I’d like to inform you that it’s a waste of time.”
“As tempting as that sounds,” he smirked while setting down the new dish and retrieving the old one, “I am under strict orders to keep you safe.”
“He smiles, and I was beginning to think you were just one of those broody handsome ones.” When out of options, flirting is always a reasonable solution to reach your goals. Especially when those goals are fleeing for your life.
“Who says I’m not?”
“Ok, broody one. Can I ask why I’m being held hostage?” If I could keep him talking, maybe I could get some kind of information that would help me escape or at least leave this confined space.
“I believe Harding has already been over all of that. We can’t let you return to Sarah. Even if you don’t remember what she has commanded you to do, the triggers are still there. I’ve seen this multiple times.”
They really had no idea who I was. More importantly, there had been some kind of witch-vampire war going on for gods know how long, and I only heard about it because I got cocky and didn’t think to keep a lookout for additional threats. This wasn’t unlucky. This was just stupid. My dad would be so embarrassed right now. He probably had no idea I was missing. It had only been three, at most four, days since I was taken, and it wasn’t uncommon for us to go months between check-ins.
“The times before, what happened?” I should at least know what a crazy witch had been doing.
He stared at me a moment, probably assessing my level of brainwash and if this was a tactic before stabbing him in the heart. Although where he thought I was hiding a stake was anyone’s guess. He’d taken my shoes and jacket, and I was still in the same skimpy dress from the night of the diner. Not to mention, this room was barren. I hadn’t even been given a blanket and pillow.
“Sarah has become crafty during her many years on this planet.” It looked like it pained him to remember. “She wasn’t always like this. When she first began her revenge crusade, it was solely targeted on those who had wronged her. But when we continued to elude her attacks, she became more cutthroat, and the collateral damage no longer mattered.”
“That’s when she started making human bombs,” I interjected.
“There was a time when that very thought would have broken her heart so deeply she might have never recovered. The Sarah today is only interested in blood. Interesting since that’s why she despises the ones she hunts.”
“I think I’m confused. Witches are magic, but they’re still mortal. You speak about her as if she’s been around as long as you.”
“Because she has. And what would you know about it? I thought you had no idea what was happening.” He smiled again this time triumphant like he’d caught me in a trap. Although what other trap I could get caught in at this point was beyond comprehension.
“You’ve been very quick to assume you know what I am,” I smiled back, “but neither you nor Harding took the time to ask me anything about myself. You only asked questions you already thought you had the answers to.”
“Because we know whatever you say will be a lie to protect her plans.”
“If you say so,” I said exasperated with the loops this conversation kept taking. I laid back on the empty mattress, giving my kidnapper permission to leave.
~
I’m not sure if our conversation the night before helped my case, but Norman at least brought me some clean clothes and basic toiletries with breakfast this morning. They couldn’t have come at a better time because I was ripe. If there were sheets on the bed, they’d need to be burned from the reek. I didn’t even bother taking a bite of the food but ran immediately into the conjoining bathroom. I’ve had long hunts before, but even then I always found time to wash up. A shower never felt so good, and my teeth, which had long felt fuzzy, couldn’t remember what it was like to be plaque free.
The clothes Norman left weren’t exactly flattering, but they surprisingly fit and made me feel more like myself. That renewed headspace had me determined to get out of this room today.
So far, broody Norman only unlocked the door at meal times. He provided three, roughly five to six hours apart, and then left me alone the rest of the time. It would have been very ironic for him if he was trying to save himself from a madwoman only to create one by keeping her in isolation. Nope, that was not going to be me.
The problem I was having was a plan. I didn’t have one. There wasn’t anything in the room besides a mattress and the plastic table where all of my meals were served. The bathroom was equally as bare. Unless, I considered the potential hidden weapons.
~
“What the bleeding hell?” approximately three and half hours that shriek was music to my ears. I had managed to rip out not only the plumbing under the sink but also made a nice hole in the floor where the pipe traveled to really demolish the line and flood the water into the two rooms. By the time Norman realized there was a problem, the space was already more than a foot under water.
He ran directly to the bathroom sink to assess the damage and attempt to turn off the water before locking the door or determining where I was, which was behind the door. Hey, it’s a good hiding place for a reason. I saw my chance for freedom and took it. Unfortunately, I quickly realized it wouldn’t be that easy.
The hall outside the door led to a staircase (another similarity between vampires and serial killers; they’re both fond of basements), which I immediately darted up. I was all the way to the landing and could see what appeared to be the front door directly in front of me. My glee, however, was short lived. By the time I had grabbed the doorknob to freedom, two pale hands wrapped around me, locking my arms in place.
“Let me go!” I screamed. “You can’t keep me here forever!” I kicked and thrashed as hard as I could. It’s my damn luck I was being held by a several centuries old vampire. In a fair fight, I might have a chance. Although under normal circumstances, I would never give him the opportunity to fight fair.
He grip pulled me back down the stairs and toward the flooded room. “You’ve got to be kidding?” I yelled some more. “Just let me go. I’m not brainwashed. I don’t even know a Sarah.” He threw me onto the soaking mattress brushing off my violent protests. I ran but was too slow to catch the door shutting me back in this prison. I beat my hands against the door yelling, “Find Aaron Cassaway. He’ll tell you.”
I don’t normally play the daddy card, but desperate times and all. I needed my wild card to come to my rescue. While my dad wasn’t a match for Norman or Harding, he could advocate for me.
Thank you for continuing to read Edge of Darkness. I haven't really had a plan for this story more of a loose plotline I'm following in my head. I assume Trembley's story will continue to twist and evolve as the writing progresses. Harding will not be the only character to have a secondary focus. If you've read this far, I'm sure you can guess whose head we'll be in next.
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