They Call Us Monsters
by K. Stonham
first posted October 1-31, 2022
"This wasn't supposed to happen."
Douxie had lost count of the days. In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that he was what he was, he wouldn't even know there were days. But whatever innate instinct it was that dwelled within him had never yet failed him, and he clung to it now against the incessant buzzing and glare of fluorescent lights.
Now it was night, blessed and cool.
Now it was day, full of warmth and life and danger.
Not that it mattered inside this steel-walled hellhole he was in. Neither sunlight nor moonshine was ever permitted. There was no clock, nor even any handy guard station so he could see a rotation of people.
His captors had learned their lesson on that front. He'd been so close to escape and freedom...
The guards never looked at him anymore. Never talked to him. And they wore earplugs.
No, the closest he ever got to human interaction these days was when the slot on his door was opened and a cup was shoved through, as it was now.
Laying on the hard cot, trying to make the speckles on the ceiling into constellations, Douxie didn't bother watching as the guard moved away. Eventually, though, boredom and hunger overtook him and he sat up, swinging his legs down to the ground. It was, unsurprisingly, cold under his bare feet.
He crossed the room to the cup and picked it up. A fat straw poked out the top, like the beverage within was a milkshake or Slurpee.
It wasn't.
Returning to his cot, the only piece of furniture in this bare white room, he sat down and took a moody sip.
Blood, thick and sticky, filled his mouth. It was, as always, laced with something.
Oh, go on and think it, he told himself. Not "laced." "Drugged."
He could taste the chemicals; he just couldn't identify them. A sedative? A poison? Something addictive? Who knew.
Every once in a while, he woke sore and disoriented. So he was pretty sure that whatever got put in his drinks was sometimes a tranquilizer that worked on vampires. But it wasn't like he could not eat, either. Vampires weren't able to survive starvation any better than normal humans. So every day, every cup, was Russian Roulette.
His only consolation was that Archie and Zoe weren't in here with him. If Area 49-B had captured them too... well, Douxie didn't quite know what he would have done. He glanced reflexively at the plain metal band, a cool metallic silver, that had been welded to his left wrist, replacing his vambrace. He didn't know where his spell bracelet was, what his captors had done with it. With its replacement, however, they'd effectively neutered his magic. He could still feel it buzzing under his skin, an imitation of the fluorescent lights, but he couldn't reach it.
Which certainly implied he wasn't the first wizard who'd been held within these walls. Not if Area 49-B knew how to deal with them.
He raised his drugged cup in a mockery of a toast. (He was quite sure he was monitored at all times.) "Cheers," he said, as much to the cameras he couldn't see but knew were there, as to himself or his absent family.
I'm sorry, Arch, Zo'. This wasn't supposed to happen.