Dispatched to Hell
Chapter Thirteen
Alone on his cot, the damp, oppressive walls of his cell a constant reminder of his bleak reality, Aramis contemplated Pellisier's first words to him; welcome to your new existence. Stripped of his freedom from the moment of his capture, Aramis realized his life no longer belonged to him. Once full of vitality, Aramis now lived solely to save d'Artagnan.
Huffing a frustrated breath, he rolled onto his side, mindful of where stitches held together the bruised skin of his right arm. After taking another dose of Pellisier's stimulant, his nausea had reduced to a tolerable level, his minute trembles had become controllable, but the substance still prickled his nerves, sustaining his aggressive tendencies with an alacrity he could barely believe, making him wish he had someone to hit.
While they were still present, Aramis had considered wreaking havoc on the robed men left in charge of his care, but while still recuperating from his injuries he had neither the strength nor energy to exact retribution.
And then there was d'Artagnan.
Aramis groaned, clenched his jaw. "You are making this so difficult," he grunted to the empty room. "Why did you have to get caught?"
It was a visceral response, Aramis knew his anger was misguided, yet he couldn't stop it from invading his thoughts. He rolled onto his back, stared at the ceiling. "If you weren't here, this would have been over long ago."
With a weary sigh, he closed his eyes in order to focus his anger where it truly belonged, Pellisier and his men in robes. They'd left a long time ago after stitching his wounds and binding his ribs, but although thorough with their treatments, they had proved loyal to Pellisier. Aramis had attempted to communicate with them, even guiding them in their skills in order to cause him less pain, but they remained tight-lipped while they worked on restoring his body.
Pellisier had called them 'students'. Aramis equated them to minions of hell, but as long as they continued to focus their attention anywhere other than on d'Artagnan, he would tolerate their presence, which was another painful reminder of how everything he was doing was for his young friend.
Unable to lie still any longer, Aramis stood with a groan then paced the width of his cell, vigorously flexing his fists to help dispel his bottled-up energy.
During the long spans of solitude between fights, boredom settled in, adding restlessness to his already tumultuous state. He tried occupying this time with sleeping, healing and dreaming of his brothers, but those thoughts only served to deepen the depression always plaguing his weary mind, and right now, Aramis did not want to be in that mindset.
He stopped beside the cot, bent over to brace his hands on his knees. Tilting his head to stretch the thick muscle on the right side of his neck, he winced, wondering if he required another dose. It hadn't been that long since the last one, but anything that kept the withdrawal symptoms, as well as his misery at bay, proved justifiable in Aramis' mind.
When his cell door opened, he stood, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips when he saw Pellisier standing there. His cheeks flushed red the instant he realized what he'd done. He swallowed and shook himself, blaming his shameful reaction to the stimulant still in his body.
"What do you want?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Pellisier said nothing for a long while as he stood in the hallway with one hand on the door, his body leaning into the cell as his feet remained outside.
Aramis fidgeted under his discerning stare. "Am I to fight again so soon?" he asked, hoping to dispel whatever beguiled his captor.
Pellisier stood back abruptly, then hooking a finger he beckoned Aramis into the dark hallway, a sagacious smile curiously spreading across his face. "Come with me," he said.
Aramis looked around, uncertain to whom Pellisier was referring.
Pellisier beckoned him again, this time with more enthusiasm. "Come."
Aramis studied his unshackled wrists then stared at Pellisier. With uncertainty, he took a step forward. As Pellisier continued to smile and nod, Aramis took another tentative step.
At the doorway, Aramis stuck his head outside, swept his eyes down both hallways, then noting no guards, he stepped out of his cell, his hesitation building with each foot he placed.
In the hall, Aramis didn't know how to feel, what to do. His instincts told him to return to his cell, nothing good would come of this, or to run, but he couldn't. Where would he go? What of d'Artagnan? Was he also being let out of his room?
Pellisier stood before him, quietly observing. Aramis looked again down the hallways leading off in both directions, wondering what awaited him at the end of the dark tunnels?
Pellisier turned to his right then starting walking. "There is something I wish to show you, Aramis," he said over his shoulder.
Something in his gut told him not to follow, but he really had no choice, so he fell into step behind Pellisier who was heading in the opposite direction in which Aramis typically went.
He'd memorized every inch of the route from his cell to the stable, so he knew this hallway did not lead to the arena where he fought. His curiosity now surpassing his unease, Aramis followed a few paces behind Pellisier, his eyes continuously scanning his surroundings as he travelled further into unknown territory.
Lanterns hung on the walls a few feet apart, emitting a soft, flickering glow that left everything in the near distance obscured in shadow. It would be so easy to grab one, he thought, as his hands twitched at his sides. Smash it across the back of Pellisier's head and run. But he kept his urge in check, not knowing if guards were waiting around the next corner ready to pounce, or even if d'Artagnan could survive anymore of his foolhardy behaviour.
The last Aramis had heard, his brother's life hung in a precarious state.
"How is… my friend?" he asked, deeming the risk of speaking autonomously worthy if it could appease at least a little of what he was beginning to feel was a perpetual concern for his brother.
"He lives," Pellisier answered over his shoulder. "That is everything you need know."
Actually it's not, thought Aramis, dragging a hand down his face. He needed to know a lot more, but d'Artagnan's ambiguous state made him hold his tongue.
"Did my students tell you anything?" asked Pellisier.
Aramis cringed at his captor's light, easygoing voice. Pellisier conversed with him like one would a close acquaintance.
Disgusted by the thought, Aramis shuddered, quickly composing himself before answering. "No," he replied, masking his contempt. "They guarded your secrets well."
Pellisier looked back at him over his shoulder. "They must remain quiet for our operation to succeed," he said.
Aramis was about to inquire further when he noticed a wooden door on his left. Heavy set and hinged on the outside, it resembled the one blockading his own cell. A few feet further along the tunnel he saw more similar doors on his right, evoking nightmarish images of frightened prisoners and battered fighters locked behind them.
He considered asking Pellisier about what lay on the other side of those doors, but held his tongue. He didn't want to compromise his current, albeit surreptitious freedom, by saying or doing something out of line with Pellisier's rules.
By the time they neared the end of the tunnel where the ground began to slowly climb upward, Aramis had counted six cells. Before following Pellisier up the dirt ramp, he glanced back over his shoulder into the darkness, wondering how many more prison cells existed beyond his.
At the top of the ramp stood a large, rickety door. Pellisier pushed it open with moderate ease, exposing Aramis to a wondrous sight.
Aramis dropped his jaw and blinked until the brilliant light of day no longer burned his eyes. On trembling legs, he took the last few steps out of the tunnel, his heart skipping beats with excitement, to find himself standing amongst a lush, green forest.
Pleasantly surprised, Aramis momentarily forgot all his troubles. He inhaled, long and slow, savouring the smells of pine and moss still damp with morning dew. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back to let the sun breaking through the canopy above warm his face as a soft breeze blew across skin, carrying deeper aromas of fresh earth.
Everything tickled his senses, cultivating a blissful calm that which Aramis had not felt in quite some time. A numbing haze saturated his mind, bringing a light-headedness that nearly dropped him to his knees.
"Take a moment," he heard Pellisier say.
Aramis spread his arms to let a cool breeze whisk away days old sweat as he breathed easier than he had in weeks. Exhilaration swept through him as he relished the outside world until he opened his eyes, his heart falling at the sight of armed guards standing a few feet away.
At the forest edge where the dark soil turned into a field of emerald grass, the armed men stood poised to charge at any moment. Aramis recognized their hardened stance, knew it well. He'd been that man before; on guard, primed to react, and he longed to have that feeling back.
"One cannot be too careful," said Pellisier, breaking Aramis from his musings. "But if you remain amiable, then we shall proceed without the shackles."
Amiable? That wasn't exactly how Aramis would put it, more like cautiously restrained.
Pellisier seemed to accept his silence as compliance, and strolled out of the forest onto the lawn of an expansive estate without making any further threats. Aramis followed, shielding his eyes from the brilliant sun as he quickly glanced back over his shoulder to take note of where they'd left the forest, land marking the cave's entrance with two towering birch trees.
When he returned his eyes forward, the guards were watching him carefully, so he watched them back while also surreptitiously scanning the property.
To his right stood a large stable. Aramis didn't need to imagine what lay beyond its walls so he turned his attention to the estate.
"It is rather large, but we require a lot of space for our studies," said Pellisier, nodding to his left toward the estate. "Alas, it has seen better days. But there is no need for repairs. Our stay is only temporary."
Busy looking upward in search of the window to d'Artagnan's room, Aramis heard only snippets of what Pellisier had said.
It frustrated him deeply that he had no idea where to look. Aramis barely had the chance to analyze anything outside his brother's window during the short visit he'd been granted. And knowing d'Artagnan resided on an upper lever wasn't much help. The estate stood over four storeys, there wouldn't be enough time to search all the rooms before being caught.
Pellisier stopped at a side door that led into the estate. "Many men live here, students and advisors alike," he said. "We're quite self-sufficient with bountiful gardens and livestock, but it still requires substantial wealth to keep this institute functioning. Most men aren't willing to work for free just to save a friend from suffering," he said with a patronizing smile. "So we have you to thank for our prosperity, Aramis. You have become our most popular champion yet. Never before have we acquired such wealth. With you continuously bringing in the crowds, our future here has become both lucrative and promising."
The muscles in Aramis' jaw twitched in anger as his teeth ground together, but fearing repercussions, he refrained from voicing his opinion on the sacrifice he and d'Artagnan were making so that these men could live so lavishly. Instead, he focused on something else Pellisier said.
"Institute?" he asked, to which Pellisier replied with a coy smile, causing Aramis to clench his teeth tighter. How could he be so proud and humble when there were men just beyond the trees, even upstairs in the estate, suffering and dying under his will?
"You will see soon enough," said Pellisier, then he entered the estate, motioning for Aramis to accompany him.
Aramis crossed the threshold only steps behind, the guards close on his heels as they entered into a busy kitchen. Aramis staggered as the heat of the room overwhelmed him, his strength quickly returning when the savoury aromas of chickens' roasting and fresh bread baking in large, stone ovens engulfed him. His mouth watered as they continued through the room, and he wondered if he'd ever get to indulge in such hearty fare ever again.
He glared at the back of Pellisier's head as they left the kitchen area, offended by the man's lavish indulgences when there were innocent people starving all across France, but also ashamed that he couldn't control his stomach from growling at the mere thought of indulging in a full meal himself.
As they continued around the corner into a long hall, he tried to distract his hunger by thinking about something else, like what kind of students resided here, and what exactly were they studying?
"I'm going to show you something, that in time, the people of France will greatly appreciate," said Pellisier, turning another corner that led into a long, grand hall.
It was filled with young men in black robes leaning against bare walls where it appeared decorative paper once hung, most carrying heavy books while others carried handfuls of strange metal instruments. Aramis looked around perplexed, pulling on his beard as he noticed more men in black robes sitting on benches, conversing quietly while they sipped tea and glancing pretentiously at him as he passed by.
Something niggled at the back of his mind, raising his hackles, which inadvertently made his limbs weak with worry. Something beyong the obvious was very wrong here, he just couldn't figure out what.
As they neared the front foyer, a gilded ceiling loomed above Aramis. A relic of time passed, the estate still held wonders for those not accustomed to grandeur. But even as a frequent patron of the extravagant Louvre, Aramis still appreciated the intricately carved mouldings and faded mural of the foyer ceiling.
Pellisier nudged his arm. "Are you a connoisseur of art as well, Aramis?"
With his head tilted back to admire the artwork above him, Aramis gently lolled his head to the side with a deceptive smile. "We are not friends," he said, with a sense of ease inspired by his view. "Please don't speak to me as such."
A short, quiet laugh escaped Pellisier's lips. "You may think otherwise when you see what I have to show you."
Aramis righted his head with a frown. He doubted Pellisier's assumption, but was willing to indulge him awhile longer if it meant spending more time outside of his earthy dungeon.
"When you told me the other day of your knowledge of medicine," continued Pellisier. "I thought… perhaps you might understand what I am trying to accomplish here."
"Death and despair?" asked Aramis, aware his voice carried a level of mirth under his distain. "The annihilation of a human soul? The destruction of a young man's control over his own destiny? Or perhaps you are trying to succeed at being the most detestable human being to ever grace France?"
Pellisier thinned his lips, his face turning red as he worked his throat. Aramis had hit a nerve and he wanted to savour the moment, but before he could, the backside of a hand smacked painfully across his cheek, snapping his head to the side.
His cheek stinging red, Aramis hid the smile playing on his lips as he bent over rubbing the welt. When he stood, Pellisier had composed himself, standing with his hands crossed in front of him, his expression neutral with only the slightest hint of anger showing in the corners of his mouth.
"Do I need to have my guards sent after your friend?" asked Pellisier, returning to his typical pompous nature. "Or are you to behave?"
Aramis shook his head. "No," he said, softly. He rubbed his forehead then ran his hands through his hair. Why? Why can't I control myself?!
Aramis had learned to mask his dispassionate brutality a long time ago, suppressing it through other means such as women and soldiering.
I used to have such control, he admonished himself.
With bitter resentment clawing at his soul, Aramis looked at Pellisier- the man who'd stripped him of everything he'd spend years constructing. He drew in a deep breath, held it for several beats then let it escape slowly through pursed lips. "I apologize," he said, the words killing him inside, but willing to endure the pain if it meant sparring d'Artagnan the backlash of his actions. "I will comply with your rules."
Within moments Pellisier was grinning and reaching forward to place a hand on Aramis' shoulder. "Since I am truly excited to share my enterprise with you, I am willing to forgive your insubordination this one time," he said. Then he leaned forward, his mouth so close to Aramis his hot breath tickled his ear. "Although next time, the repercussions will be so severe, even your prayers will not be able to save you… or your friend. Do I make myself clear?"
Beads of sweat covered Aramis' forehead as he nodded. He'd just been given his final warning. From now on, Aramis knew there was no room to manoeuvre, no place for belligerence, and certainly no excuse for allowing d'Artagnan to suffer further for his selfish behaviour. "I… I understand," he said.
"Very good," said Pellisier, as he stepped back. "Now please," he continued, gesturing down the hall.
Aramis started forward, his legs shaking from too much adrenaline mixed with abhorrence- at himself for his reckless behaviour, and at Pellisier for putting him in this position.
A moment later, they pulled up to a large entranceway on their left, the view inside the room blocked by a time-weathered double door. Aramis heard muted voices coming from the other side, so he steadied his still hyperactive nerves by drawing in deep breaths, hoping against all odds that d'Artagnan stood healthy and well on the other side. After all, Pellisier did say he would be pleased with what he saw.
A strident voice filled with anguish broke out over the quieter voices, making Aramis step back in surprise.
With a calming smile, Pellisier put a hand on his shoulder. "Rest assured, I believe you will be pleased."
Aramis stared into his eyes, hoping to glean a stronger reassurance than words alone, for what he'd heard did not sound promising in any way what so ever.
But Pellisier gave him nothing, so when he turned away and opened the doors, Aramis braced himself.
The sound assaulted him first; loud, indistinct voices resonating around a large overcrowded room. Aramis blinked, long and slow, letting his sensitive senses acclimate. When he could, he looked about the room with discernment, his breath catching in his throat when he realized what was happening before him.
Long tables, evenly placed row upon row filled the room, bodies laying on top half-naked or draped with blood stained sheets. Men in black robes hustled between the beds, some carrying bowls and rags, some carrying books with inkwells balanced on top.
Aramis' mouth hung open as his heart thumped in his chest. He could feel his throat constricting, he struggled to swallow down the sick sensation at the back of this mouth, but it only served to make matters worse as his stomach began to clench in defiance of digesting the bile.
"My god," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "This… this…" Aramis could not believe his eyes. The room looked like some form of strange purgatory where men existed on the cusp of death, their fates determined by the minions of hell moving purposely amongst them.
"What… what is this?" he stammered, stepping slowly into the room.
Pellisier joined him at his side and Aramis recoiled from his presence. How this man could sanction such degradation and human defilement was shocking. For once in his life, Aramis truly could not find words to portray his repugnance.
"This is a place of higher learning," explained Pellisier, his voice dripping with pride as he waved his arm slowly in front of him as if displaying a grand feast.
Aramis shook, then covered his ears when sudden sobs of misery belted out above the din of voices, making him aware that not all the men on the tables were dead.
He turned to his right from where the voice came from to see a man sitting on a table in front of a large window, bracing his own shoulder with a bloodied hand while men in robes probed his injuries without any regard to his pleas for them to stop.
Aramis' instincts to help kicked in and he moved toward the man until Pellisier stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
As Aramis turned to question him, he noticed pools of crimson blood under the tables; thick and gelatinous and spreading out slowly as more dripped from the tables above. He became mesmerized by the shear amount, the intensity of red and overwhelming scent of copper until the distinct clang of a metal instrument landing in a tin bowl broke him from his trance.
The sound resonated with him, bringing back memories of all the times he'd stitched his brothers and used tin bowls to wash the instruments.
My god, he thought, his mouth dropping open. These men were playing doctor, treating the bodies, both dead and alive, as cadavers on a mortician's table. It was the stuff of nightmares.
His gut reaction was to run, forget he'd ever laid witness to such an atrocity, but his knees buckled beneath him, the blood rushed from his head. He reached for the doorframe to stop his descent to the floor, but Pellisier grabbed his arm, suspending him on his feet until a chair appeared underneath him. He closed his eyes as he sank into the seat, blinding himself from the torturous scene.
"I'm responsible for this," he whispered, the shameful words tumbling from his lips when he realized what Pellisier had meant earlier. "I am to thank for sustaining this place."
A gurgling, sucking noise on his left forced his eyes open again. He turned away, covering his mouth when he saw a man pull bloody intestines from a person's body with pointy instruments. The robed man presented them to the group around him like a snake charmer dangling red, slippery snakes from a branch.
An image popped into Aramis' head, frightening him enough to momentarily forget what he'd just seen. He sat up quickly and swept his eyes around the room, his heart pounding against his rib cage as he searched for his brother. He tried to stand to get a better look, but his legs were still too shaky to support his frame. He slumped back into the chair, despair forming a thick, heavy lump in his throat.
Unable to find his full voice, but needing an answer to his burning question, he cleared his throat then spoke in a cracked voice that did nothing to hide his fear. "D'Art… d'Artagnan...?"
Pellisier spoke softly as he shook his head. "No, Aramis. And he never will be if you continue to do as your told. We need you Aramis, which means we need your friend alive to keep you in control. If you become of no use to us, both you and he will cease to exist. It is my responsibility to teach these young men about the human body and all its fragility. It is your responsibility to keep your friend alive by doing as I instruct. You belong to me now, Aramis. And your friend's life belongs to you. Therefore you duty is to me."
Anger rushed through Aramis like water bursting from a broken dam- fast and furious, fortifying his weak, trembling limbs and inciting the storm within him. "My duty is to France and its people!" he said, rising fast enough to send the chair behind him flying.
He lunged to his left, grabbing the first robed man holding a sharp instrument he could find, and was digging the pointy end of the tool into the young man's neck before anyone in the room realized what had happened.
Aware of the consequences of his action, Aramis couldn't control himself, nor did he want to. His ruthless desires had been awoken, and fuelled by the coca still poisoning his blood, Aramis couldn't stop himself from slowly pushing the impromptu weapon deeper into the young man's neck, a smile creeping across his lips as he felt the tip break through the surface of the skin.
"He'll be yet another body for us to dissect," said Pellisier, coming to stand calmly before him. "We prefer not to waste a good body."
Aramis seethed as he pushed the instrument deeper into the man's soft flesh, creating a warm flow of blood that seeped back along the metal instrument to coat his fingers.
"Go right ahead," continued Pellisier, his calm voice making Aramis' skin crawl. "I have more students. There's one over there… And over there…"
As Pellisier pointed out one young man after another, Aramis stabbed the tool deeper into his hostage's neck, the blood on his hand getting thicker as his victim's heart pounded faster.
"But if that is not enough," said Pellisier, taking a measured step toward him. "Then I have a healthy, promising lad waiting upstairs."
Aramis threw his hostage to the side to wield his weapon toward Pellisier. "I could kill you before you would even have the chance to give the order," he spat.
Pellisier smiled, instantly alerting Aramis to his grave mistake.
A wad of bitter smelling cloth was shoved over his mouth, his arms were wrenched behind his back hard enough to pull him off his feet. A hazy fog infiltrated Aramis' brain, immediately suppressing his ability to fight back or even think clearly.
"Perhaps," said Pellisier. "But not today."
Those were the last words Aramis heard before his legs gave way beneath him and he crumpled to the floor in a boneless heap, unconscious before his head hit the ground.
To be continued…