Ch. 10: One small moment of clarity

Without the sun, they had no way to judge the passing time, even approximately. The day stretched mercilessly, with nothing to occupy their attention other than their conversations and the pattering of the rain outside. Was it hours since the food had been brought? Was the day almost over? It seemed to get darker, but it could have been an impression.

Every once in a while, somebody would pass on the other side of the wooden door and they would freeze momentarily, holding their breaths, waiting. Every time, the footsteps faded in the distance and they breathed again. At least nobody screamed anymore and Elliot refused to even consider that it could have been because they were dead.

Gilbert's insane idea wouldn't leave his head and, when Gilbert fell asleep against him at some point, he called up all the reasons as to why he shouldn't even think about it. First of all, his head still felt a bit sore from the time when he had been thrown into the cell the previous day. Having his head slammed into the wall afterwards or smashing his forehead against Gilbert's at night didn't help the slightest. The dizzy spells seemed to have passed, but he wasn't sure if he would even be able to stand up properly, since he hasn't tried it yet.

If that wasn't enough then surely the fear of hitting his head yet again should be more than enough to dispel the idea from his head. After all, if he tried to struggle, their captors would surely try to stop him and, in doing so, they would very likely hit him. He knew that, having suffered a concussion, he should avoid hitting his head again.

Then why was he still thinking about it? The answer was as simple as it was embarrassing.

It irked him to no end that the only thing he could do, realistically speaking, was to obey to the wishes of their captors, hoping that neither Gilbert nor he would get hurt before somebody can get them out. He should be able to do something more, shouldn't he? If not getting them out of the situation then at least somehow actively protecting the person who would, one day, become his lord.

However, no matter how desperate, they couldn't place all their hopes in a plan that was so utterly unreliable. From what Gilbert had told him, there was no telling when Vincent would dream about their captivity. Not to mention that the people that pushed them around could be perfect strangers. Even if they managed to figure out who held them and even if Vincent dreamt about it immediately, there was still too much time until anybody could come to save them. Too many things could happen in that time and Elliot knew that he would have absolutely no control over the situation.

Forget alive but beaten up: Elliot knew that their captors really only needed one hostage to get Duke Baskerville's cooperation. He shivered involuntarily as that thought crossed his mind. Gilbert mumbled something unclearly in his sleep.

Really, why was he still considering that idea? Even Gilbert had admitted that it was a stupid thing to say and that he had said it without thinking. Taking a deep breath, Elliot forced the thoughts out of his head, deciding to rather focus on whatever he would talk about with Gilbert, when the latter would wake up.

They have already exchanged countless little stories about their lives and Elliot had found out more about Gilbert than he had over the five years he had known him. Admittedly, they had rarely talked seriously in the manor. Even if they had wanted to, which Elliot supposed was not the case, it would have been impossible with Vincent and Alice around.

He didn't have much time to wonder, because Gilbert whimpered and, not waiting for the nightmare to evolve, Elliot shook him awake gently. He could always talk about school, he thought, smiling at the younger boy.

'Um, sorry,' Gilbert mumbled, looking away, rubbing his eyes. Elliot told him that it was alright and asked if he wanted to talk about it. 'Not really,' the boy replied, before snuggling closer again.

'Oi, don't get too comfortable,' Elliot joked, but Gilbert only giggled and didn't move. 'I wonder what time it is.'

'Past lunch time for sure,' Gilbert grumbled, making Elliot smile. It was amazing how easy it was to smile and laugh and pretend that they were alright. He wondered if it was a normal reaction. If Oz was there, he would probably be doing the same, because Oz believed that positive attitude could change the world.

He stopped his thoughts with a wince.

'Are you still thinking about my stupid idea?' Gilbert asked, sitting straight, a bit away from Elliot. He shivered slightly, probably from the cold. Now that Gilbert had moved away, Elliot could also feel cold where the other boy was previously. He almost laughed at how awkward he would have felt to think something like that just three days earlier.

'Not anymore, no,' he said with a sigh, shaking his head. 'However, I wish there was something we could do, other than sitting here and waiting.'

Gilbert didn't reply. They had talked about it already. They sat in silence for a moment, before Elliot opened his mouth and closed it immediately, hearing footsteps. His heart skipped a beat when the key screeched in the lock. In a flash, Gilbert was next to him and he hugged him protectively, wishing that there was anything more he could do.

The door opened with a creak and a figure in a red-cloak entered. It looked around wordlessly and then picked up the empty tray from the floor. How long has it been since that tray was emptied? The figure disappeared, closing the door and Elliot dared to breathe a sigh of relief. Next to him, Gilbert relaxed minutely, only to jump when the door opened again. This time, there was no mistaking of the intent of their captors.

Four figures entered the room swiftly and the fifth stood in the doorway, on the odd chance that they tried to run probably. Without any preamble and despite their protests, Gilbert was dragged out of Elliot's arms by one of the cloaked men. Elliot assumed they were men at least. While the one who grabbed Gilbert held his arms over his head, another wrapped a piece of black tissue over Gilbert's terrified eyes.

What the hell? Gilbert's words about Vincent came back to Elliot and he wondered if there was any possibility that their captors knew about it. Could they have overheard? Have they been listening to them the whole time? They surely couldn't have figured something like that out on their own.

'Long time no see, wouldn't you say?' asked the same man who had questioned him the previous day. Elliot gritted his teeth and pushed himself up against the wall. The man waved his hand and two of the others produced torches out of somewhere and lit them up, providing a bit more light.

'Back to the silent treatment, aren't we?' the man continued with a somewhat disappointed tone. Elliot felt nauseous as he wondered if the man was going to question them about something again. 'You're lucky that I don't need to you talk this time,' he added and Elliot almost breathed out in relief.

Rustling of the cloaks alerted him to the fact that the man standing in the doorway let through another one, who pulled the hood deeper over his head and stood in the farthest corner. Even without seeing the man, Elliot knew that it was the same one that has been present for their questioning. Was he their leader?

Gilbert's idea flitted across his mind and he forced himself to remember all the reasons as to why it was a bad idea. Not to mention that it could hardly work, now that Gilbert was blindfolded.

'Are you this comfortable that you're not paying attention?' asked the man threateningly. As though it was a cue, the man holding Gilbert kicked the boy in the back of his knee, provoking a shout of pain and surprise and then a whimper when Gilbert stumbled and the man pulled on his arms to keep him upright.

Feeling helpless and furious, Elliot glared at both men, wishing that looks could kill. The one talking to him laughed.

'That is better,' he said. 'Remember that your mistakes will be punished. The game is going to be simple this time again: I talk, you write,' he added. A piece of parchment and an old fashioned quill were provided, along with a support on which Elliot could put the parchment. 'Now sit,' the man ordered and, seeing no other option, he complied.

Somebody brought ink and Elliot dipped the quill inside. He wondered if there was a reason for using parchment and quill, but chased the question away as irrelevant. It was just a way for distracting himself from the fact that there he was: Elliot Nightray, son and heir of the proud Earl Nightray, listening to every wish of some despicable scumbag. It made his blood boil in fury, but he only needed to glance at Gilbert to know that he had to calm down and do as the cloaked men said. He promised himself silently that he was somehow going to make them pay eventually.

'Very well, my dear boy,' the man said.

'Would you like me to write that down?' he growled before he was able to stop himself. Even before the words left his mouth he knew that it was a mistake. The man in front of him stiffened and Elliot wanted to close his eyes to not see what would come, but he was not a coward. He could therefore see the foot that shot out and connected viciously with his side. He tried to bite back the shout of pain, but he was unable to prevent himself from losing balance.

The support, parchment and ink went tumbling down. The ink spilled everywhere, ruining the parchment, but Elliot couldn't care less. The sudden action of the man made the figure in the corner move abruptly and again Elliot saw something gleam under the cloak. This time, in the flickering light of the torch, he recognised the object: the outline of two silver wings on the background of a red circle.

He got up and crossed the cell, before really realising what he was doing. His mind blank, except for the identity of the man, he barely felt the pain from the kick. Everybody seemed to be beyond shocked that he had dared to move, because he made it to the figure and only when he reached out to remove the hood did somebody grab him from behind. However, the damage was done: the man pulled back and the hood fell from his head, revealing blond, messy hair and bright green eyes, now narrowed in anger.

He should have expected that, he knew. It was probably his father's first suspect. He even considered the possibility. Yet, faced with the fact, he was shocked speechless. He barely even noticed the man behind him, twisting his arm behind his back to control him, in case he tried something funny.

The man in front of him raised his chin a bit, as though challenging Elliot to speak, but there was nothing Elliot could say. He would like to ask why, but the answer was obvious. He could ask how, but it didn't really matter.

'So it was the Vessalius family after all,' he whispered finally. Behind him, Gilbert gasped and he remembered that the boy couldn't see anything. Of course: Jack would have known about Vincent.

Jack winced momentarily, then his face smoothed and a mocking smirk twisted the corners of his mouth. The real man behind the smiling mask, Elliot thought.

'Seeing me here, you brought upon your own death, Elliot Nightray,' Jack said in a cold and composed tone. 'Saying it out loud, you sealed Gilbert's fate as well,' he added. Shit, Elliot thought. 'It seems that my father will have to find another way of getting a hold of that diary.'

Something gleamed in the torchlight: Jack was holding a gun.