Of all the sections I've written for this story I believe this one is my favorite, it just seemed to capture the moods I was looking for effectively. In this chapter we shall learn more about both Mia and Steven, and the players will have assembled for the final confrontation. Rest assured that no matter how it might seem this is not the end of the story. Please read, review, and enjoy...
Blood on Antiques: A Tale of Detroit
Part the Third: Rabbit Meets Wolf
She was dragged out of her chair. She felt strange away from it, suddenly weak, unable to escape. Did she want to? The hands were on her, she felt her soft pleated skirt shifting as hands roamed over, and under it. She blinked, her eyes wide. She weakly reached up, trying to get some space, trying to find room to think. The hands didn't stop, they were all over her, she felt her legs spread slightly as the hands pushed them apart. The hands were on her blouse too, buttons opening, soft material shoved aside. Sensible cotton undergarments moving away from smooth tender flesh. She gasped, gulping for air that didn't seem to want to come. She pressed harder at the shadows, they just moved in closer. Hands on her, gleaming eyes, glowing darkly. Something pressing.... inside her, something... Pain as it sawed in and out. She fought and twisted but it wouldn't stop. Flashing teeth, pointed and sharp. The laughter. The voice, it told her she was his. It told her to obey, obey and serve her master. She felt the fangs enter her, she felt the flow of pure pleasure wash over her from the tips of her toes to the tips of her...she felt....she felt....
She felt like hell. Mia lifted her head slightly, waves of pain greeted her. She groaned and rolled over in her bed. She didn't need this, she was sure of it. She glanced over blearily at the antique grandfather clock that ticked along merrily nearby. It was already half past three in the afternoon! Mia sank back onto the bed, these hours were doing stranger things to her then she had thought. Not that the alcohol from the dinner with Steven had helped. Her mind swam as she tried to recall last night clearly, she couldn't. She pulled some clothes out of her dresser and put them on slowly while waiting for her head to clear.
Today promised to be the death of her at this rate she thought with a grimace. She drooped and rested again, feeling almost already spent. A moment later she jerked back awake, flashes of blood and pain screaming behind her eyes. She glanced at the clock and groaned in despair. Now it was past six, the sun would already be down! This was truly pathetic, she couldn't even seem to get out of bed. She forced herself to sit up, ordering her body to follow commands it seemed uninterested in. Her arms shook wildly as she weakly pulled herself up from the bed and slowly slipped into her wheelchair. She gasped as she finally sank down into it. Her whole body feeling sore, as if she had been exercising madly.
"Early bird gets the worm, late bird gets nothing, really late bird gets fu-," an image of what Mrs. Tintagel would say prevented Mia from finishing one of Dr. Hibbert's more favored sayings about tardiness on the job. She shook her head, wondering what the others back at Tintagel's were up to. Then she shoved the thought aside, she had a job to do here and now. No time to worry about her old chores. She slowly wheeled out into the hallway, Scott was standing calm watch over her door. The big lug didn't even have the decency to appear tired from the even worse hours he must be pulling.
"Good afternoon Ms. Chasten," he said rather too cheerily for her taste.
"What are you doing here?"
"I work here," he replied gravely.
"No not the house, in front of my..." Mia paused to glance up at him through the wild fuzz of her hair. Almond colored eyes blinked slowly, then a smile crept across her face. "Why Scott, was that actually a joke?" He nodded seriously at her, his face stern.
"Yes Ma'am."
"Hmph, now I know I'm seeing and hearing things." He quickly stepped up behind her and began to push her along, she didn't complain. Her arms felt more like dead weight then anything else. "So what were you doing by my door?"
"You were pretty out of it, kept waking up screaming. I'd figured I'd keep an eye on you."
"You...you didn't need to trouble yourself," she gasped nervously. She couldn't believe that she had actually kept him up and waiting over her all night. "I can't imagine the trouble I must be giving you. I really..."
"Hey," Scott cut in as he paused and leaned around to look into her eyes. "It was my pleasure. Just repeat after me." She waited nervously as he just grinned. "Thank you Scott." He smiled at her as she cracked another small grin.
"Thank you Scott," she said with a sigh. "I'm sorry, it's just I don't like to have people fussing over me. Comes from a lifetime of trying to prove to everyone that you're self-sufficient. What you did was sweet. I think you're what Mrs. Tintagel refers to as 'the rare flash of manners from the crude youth of this country'." Mia sighed and leaned back, "I really don't feel that good...."
"I noticed."
"It's really pathetic. It's not even like the work is that hard, I even like doing it! I mean, that broadsword is exquisite, and the China? I could probably spend all week just working on fixing up that poor China and...well. It's just, I feel so spent. Like all my energy has just been....just been, drained away." She realized she was half babbling and quickly stopped. Scott was polite enough not to say anything about it at least. He wheeled her into the elevator and they rode down in silence. Mia clutched at her head and tried to gather her thoughts coherently. She remembered eating dinner, she recalled being brought back to her room...what else had happened? A strange image of blood and Scott's yelling worried face flashed in her thoughts as the elevator doors swung open.
"You better get something to eat, you do look a little pale." He wheeled her into the kitchen, on the plus side Phoebe was there, unfortunately so was Cook. Mia wasn't sure if she could take any more of the creepy servant, especially with how she felt. "I have duties to do still, I'll check in on you later," Scott said softly as he slipped away. She never saw the look of actual concern that lingered on his face as he backed away. The scowling dark form of Cook, however, did. A knife swished past her ear to thud into the door as it swung shut. Mia's eyes snapped wide as she froze in fearful shock.
"Damnit Cook," hissed Phoebe as she rushed over to the wide-eyed Mia. "Get the hell out of here!" Cook grinned and half bowed as he slipped out a rear exit. Phoebe turned back to Mia. "You okay?"
"F-f-fine, n-n-never better."
"Sorry about that, Cook takes some real getting used to." Mia nodded slowly as Phoebe patted her hand comfortingly. "C'mon, I'll fix you another of my famous sandwiches."
Mia was busy working on some tapestries, she had finally seemed to regain some of her old self as she again began working. Steven was in the kitchen with his servants. Only William wasn't there, having to keep an eye on Mia in case she hadn't recovered as well as they thought. "I believe that she has some good ideas about what that pot really is. But her resistance is surprising. She just isn't talking to me about it. Not in person and not during our sessions."
"Hmm, is that what last night was," said Malachi quietly as he crouched on the table.
"Last night," growled Steven, "was an unfortunate slip. It won't happen again, that desire has been filled to satisfaction." Scott looked away from Steven, an odd look on his face. Phoebe muttered something to herself under her breath. Steven didn't miss either of their actions.
"That Hibbert guy was by again," offered Mark, "came over with some punk kids for backup."
"That would probably be the shipping and loading staff of Tintagel's," muttered Steven. "They seemed to be fond of her as well."
"Yeah, I chased them off again. Took some fancy footwork though, I'm not exactly the best diplomat around. I think it'll be even harder next time. And there will be a next time."
"Right," growled Steven. He rubbed his nose in agitation. "Time grows short, I wish to know what she's thinking. I need a proper catalyst. Something to put the right fear in her."
"Why not just let her remember last night," Scott said darkly. The room went quiet. Malachi grinned to himself. Steven looked up into Scott's eyes, Scott quickly looked away again.
"Hmm, any other suggestions?"
"Yes," said Phoebe, a dark glint in her eyes. "I think I may know something. A bit of research would prove it quite easily."
Mia was starting to feel better. She finished cleaning up her work area and grinned satisfactorily to herself as she eyed the sorted pieces of China. She glanced over at the waiting cleaners and polish that lay next to the broadsword and then glanced at the clock. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized it was a little past midnight. She didn't even feel very tired. Crazy hours...she shook her head and almost opted to turn in for the night. Then she glanced back longingly at the broadsword.
"Well...I did get a late start," she finally rationalized to herself. She wheeled out into the hallway and towards the elevator. "I'll just nab a quick snack and then see what lies under all that grime," she said eagerly as she entered the lift. She paused as she eyed the buttons, her eyes locked on the button that would lead to the basement. "Wonder what he's got down there," she whispered as she reached out and lightly brushed the button.
It had certainly seemed odd to allow her total free run of his entire house besides the basement. She smirked, Steven probably wouldn't even bat an eyebrow to find her in his bathroom. But the basement? She resolutely turned away and instead hit the button for the ground floor. A snoop she was not, and she chided herself for even considering going to the basement. That odd tingle in her spine faded away again, and only then did she realize it had been happening. She considered what it could mean as she wheeled through the dining hall. She curiously eyed the 16th century French rugs, odd, she could have sworn last night they were 17th century German. She opened the door to find Phoebe and Cook talking about something.
"Hey guys, I see I'm not the only one burning the midnight oil," she cheerfully said as she rolled into the kitchen. Phoebe turned around to glance at her, the striking redhead's eyes narrowing slightly as she looked down her nose at Mia.
"I see you're feeling good, you have a nice...glow about you." Phoebe grinned at her. Mia didn't respond, she was a little too shaken. She couldn't ever remember feeling so frightened by such a pleasant greeting. Cook simply nodded his head slightly to her.
"Hello Ms. Chasten." Mia smiled at them and pulled her loose black sweater a bit tighter around herself. Something about Phoebe's look had given her the chills, and Cook had never been that relaxing.
"Don't mind me," she said as she wheeled forward. "I'm just going to grab a light snack."
"Yes, a snack. Good for keeping you strong, if not for overlong." Mia glanced up curiously at Cook. He looked blandly back at her. But she was certain she had heard his voice go raspy and mutter the oddly rhyming words as though a threat. She looked over to Phoebe, but the maid stood with her arms crossed and her face as icy as before. Mia began to put together a light meal of crackers and some bits of cheese and vegetables she was able to scrounge up.
"You actually don't look that well at all," muttered Phoebe as Mia turned to leave. Mia paused again, now, though the words had seemed harsher, the voice had been much kinder. Phoebe was watching her carefully, her face had gone a bit gray and worried.
"What are you talking about," chuckled Cook as he walked past Mia and patted her shoulder affectionately. She flinched slightly at his touch, his hands feeling primitive and rough against her thin shoulder. "Ms. Chasten looks just fine to me." She glanced up at him, though he smiled she felt as though it were the smile of a shark watching a fish.
"Yes, I'm fine Phoebe," assured Mia as she slipped from Cook's grasp and wheeled towards the door. "I'm just a bit worn from adjusting to this schedule. But I'll get it, just like you have." She pushed through the door and headed back for her workroom. Cook grinned and glanced at Phoebe.
"Yeah, she'll get it. Just like you have."
Scott finished stretching and walked out onto the practice mat. He watched as Mark did the same. Both wore loose exercise pants and white tank tops. They had just finished the bulk of their daily exercise regimen and were ready to practice their hand to hand techniques. As the elite bodyguards to the prince each of the four ghouls had spent years honing their skills in almost all forms of combat. Scott personally preferred his guns and markmanship training. After all, he didn't fancy his chances against any vampire in close quarters. He tried to convince himself this was his reason for not wanting to spar Mark, and not the fact that he had never beaten him.
"You're nervous cause you never beat me, right?" Mark grinned as he walked up, he hadn't even raised his hands into a defensive posture. Scott sighed.
"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if certain people weren't such assholes about it."
"Ooooh, your wit wounds me." Mark shrugged and held his arms out wide. "I'm ready when you are." Scott frowned, he swore to himself Mark would regret that one. He sprang forward, his large body moving far quicker then it seemed capable of. His hand swept out in a straight hard line towards Mark's face. But Mark suddenly twisted. His arms swung inward as he stepped back and turned to the right. The move caused his head to move away from Scott's blow while simultaneously putting Scott's arm inbetween Mark's own arms.
Scott cursed as Mark locked on and twisted his wrist painfully. He quickly rolled forward, un-twisting his wrist. Before Mark could react Scott rolled again, now twisting Mark's arm. Mark let go even as Scott spun and jabbed his other hand hard into Mark's gut. Mark gasped as he bent over, Scott quickly responded with a sharp rising knee to the throat and chest. Mark was hurled back onto the mat. He rolled with the blow and came up on his feet, but it was obvious from his bulging eyes and open mouth that he was fighting for breath. Scott almost allowed himself a grin as he closed in, now he could...
"Scott!"
The cry distracted him, he turned to look up, and then cursed as he remembered where he was. He spun back just in time to see Mark's hand coming in for his face. A quick series of painful blows followed as Scott tumbled off balance and collapsed to the mat.
"And that...is how we do things back on the streets," chuckled Mark as he stood over Scott.
"What streets would those be," muttered Scott as Mark helped him to his feet.
"Ah, I dunno, just the streets." Scott patted Mark on the back as he turned towards Phoebe who was standing anxiously in the corner. He walked up to her and waited expectantly, trying not to let his frustration at his loss show. Mostly he didn't say anything because he saw the worried gleam in her eyes, something was bothering her greatly.
"We need to talk," she said, "well...I need to talk...I. Look, can we just go to your room?"
"What the hell Phoebe," sighed Scott as she leaned against him sobbing a few minutes later.
"I....I don't think I really meant to give him that idea. It's not her fault he wanted..."
"No it's not her fault," Scott said as he gently patted Phoebe's head. Obviously she had come to him as probably the only other person she could confide to. Obviously Steven was out, and confessing anything to Malachi was like telling the devil your faults. Besides, as much as he hated to admit it to himself and despite his loyalty to Steven, he shared many of her concerns.
"Why'd she have to act so scared around them. If she hadn't I never could have guessed, but it was so obvious. She got so pale, started to breath faster. It's not her fault! It's just it got me so mad, that he would chose her instead of me!" She looked up, her eyes wide with fear, "you don't think I bore him now, you don't think I'm old and worn out to him!" Scott brushed her long red hair gently. He knew well the feelings she was having. The worried thought that Steven would turn his back on them and leave them alone without him. He too lay awake in bed and faced the same fears.
"No Phoebe, I don't. It was probably just an impulse thing," Scott's face twisted slightly at the words. Phoebe nodded, then she began sobbing again.
"Oh but I did it, the research checked out. I didn't really mean for her to have to deal with anything like what he has planned!"
"He'll make her forget it again, just like everything else he's done to her." Scott wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Phoebe, or himself. There had been so much blood, if the transfusion had been much slower....he remembered the torn clothes and her weak shivering attempts to keep their hands off her. He remembered what Steven had done to her before feeding. He remembered her frail and begging sobs and screams. He remembered her pale, fragile, and helpless face as she lay there coughing up the blood. He had never seen the boss like that.
"But what about those dreams you were telling me about? What if she does sorta remember it. Oh! Did you see her earlier tonight, she looked like if you just breathed too hard you'd blow the life right out of her! I didn't want to do it......I don't know what I wanted!" Phoebe's head sank into his chest as she sobbed. Scott patted her back gently, trying to calm her. As he did he spotted the dark shape that lurked outside of his now slightly open door. Malachi. He frowned, he hadn't even heard the door open, and he suspected he only saw Malachi because Malachi wanted him to. Sick freak.
"Hey Phoebe," Malachi half growled. "Don't worry, Steven won't let her die. He still needs her for....sessions." Phoebe turned, her eyes ablaze as she snarled at the lethal killing machine.
"That's not the point you....you!" Scott grabbed her and pulled her away to sit down in the chair nearby before she said something she'd regret. Which was probably exactly what Malachi wanted. Scott walked up to his door and looked at Malachi. Malachi's eyes locked with Scott's. He grinned wickedly at the ghoul, his face twisted into a dark leer. Scott slammed the door shut.
She was laughing, the wind ruffled through her hair as she ran quickly along the soft grassy plain. She looked up and waved at her brothers as they gave chase. Father had sent them to get her back, but she was having too much fun. She laughed again as they both tore after her. But she had a good head start, her long legs flashed in the dim morning light as she leapt down a small path. She heard them shouting and laughing behind her. But she didn't plan to make this easy.
She rushed over to the stables, she ran along between the rows of stalls. The horses shook and woke at her giggling passage. She stopped before Midnight's stall. The big black horse opened one eye and nickered softly at her. She smiled, Midnight had been her horse since she was a little girl, she grinned as she scampered over the stall and slipped into the back corner. She held one finger up in front of her lips, urging Midnight to secrecy. He shook his head, but didn't offer his opinion of her actions.
She heard her brothers, they were whispering her name and promising to catch her. She giggled. Suddenly their faces were peering over the stall, faces smiling as they discovered her. She stuck her tongue out, come and get me she sulkily told them. They opened the stall. One shook his head as he patted Midnight's flank. The other grinned as he reached in for her, she giggled and screamed while batting at his hand. Midnight's ears dropped back, he seemed to grow tense. Her brother stopped smiling and glanced at the big creature. She didn't notice and screamed at him again, still smiling.
The horse bucked, powerful rear legs slashing out to slam into her brother's back and head. He crashed against the wall and collapsed on top of her, his face now dripping blood. The crimson drops spilled down onto her. She screamed again, her other brother tried to calm the angered horse. It didn't work. Midnight reared, powerful forelegs lashing and stomping. She screamed as she struggled out from under her brother's terrible bloody face. Midnight stomped and pounded on the limp form in front of him, the young boy no longer moved. She screamed, she rushed forward, a powerfully muscled haunch thumped into her, spinning her back to slam into another wall. Rear legs kicked, hooves smashed into her back. She howled as she felt the pain and heard the popping splintering of bones. She collapsed gasping for air, but she couldn't seem to get any. Her mouth gulped, there was nothing to breathe! She closed her eyes and just began to cry, the massive and dreadfully powerful horse still bucking and snorting above her.
Horses bounded and pushed around her, she gasped in nearly heart stopping fear. They became more agitated, she desperately tried to push herself away. But a cold pair of hands held her there, a dark voice whispering and demanding in her ear. She cried and struggled, the horse's flashing eyes and flaring nostrils surrounded her. The powerful and lethal muscles pressed in on her from all sides. No room, no room to breathe! She gasped for air, breathing in the heavy scent of the horses. Their eyes flared, blood covered their legs. They bounced and jumbled around her. She clamped her lips closed, must be silent, noise angers, noise and death, death, anger. She shook her head wildly, the voice wanted her to talk, but if she talked then the horses...
A light was shining in her eyes. Mia weakly blinked and looked up. Phoebe was standing nearby, she had just flipped on a lamp. Mia whimpered and rolled over, it was way too early to get up. Phoebe patted Mia's damp forehead with a soft cloth, wiping away the sweat there. "Are you okay," Phoebe asked in a soft whisper. Mia groaned, she felt like she had been beaten half to death, she felt weak, drained, so very tired.
"Am I sick," Mia winced at the sound of her own voice, it sounded thin and strained. Phoebe forced her to sit up and then proceeded to force some simple soup broth down her throat.
".....Yes....you caught a very.....nasty episode of something."
"Ah," Mia looked over at the clock, it was half past midnight. For some reason she shuddered at the thought. Her entire body started to shake and shiver. Phoebe looked at her in concern as she pulled the heavy warm blankets further over Mia.
"You should rest....I....I'm sorry." Phoebe shifted nervously, looking at Mia with a mix of compassion and guilt. Mia shrugged and managed a weak smile.
"S'kay, you had to get some food in me sometime." Mia noted that Phoebe hardly seemed to feel better at the apology. She clasped her hands together, the fingers twisting and entwining with each other.
"You should be careful," managed Phoebe finally, "the boss, he's upset."
"I'd imagine so. I went and got sick on his time. He must be annoyed he's not getting his money's worth out of me." Mia sighed, she didn't feel like going back to sleep. Actually she seemed vaguely thankful she had been awakened. "Hey Phoebe, could you help me into my chair, I don't think I want to go to bed again." Phoebe didn't seem pleased at the thought, but helped Mia into her wheelchair anyway. Mia was shocked at how weak and strung out she felt. She shifted her nightgown around herself and had Phoebe wheel her into her workroom.
"I'll be real close, in case you need anything. Anything at all," Phoebe stammered as she backed out of the room. Mia shook her head, wonder what's gotten into her? Mia then wheeled over to the bookcase to continue some research. For some reason she figured it might help to just relax and read a book. It didn't. Next she tried to pay some attention to the next piece in Steven's collection, for some reason it just started to aggravate her to look at it. She moaned, she couldn't remember the last time her work hadn't infused her with energy. She needed some sort of rush, like when she had worked on the vellum restoration....Mia suddenly half grinned. Of course! She still needed to translate them! She hummed happily to herself as she carefully pulled out the soft golden sheets and smiled down gently at them.
"She needs rest," said Phoebe without hesitation. Scott nodded, as did Ivan. Steven frowned and ran a hand through his hair.
"I was so close, I know I was. Why won't she just talk to me?"
"I could make her talk," said Malachi softly.
"C'mon boss," Scott said, daring to slightly cross the line. "You saw how she was when you got her in there, she curled in on herself and would barely even whisper!" Steven nodded, it had been an unexpected response. Taking her into the stables had been such a good idea. He had hoped she'd say anything to get out of there.
"Obviously some facts of the event are unknown to us," he sighed.
"I could make her scream too."
"But," said Steven nodding to Scott, "I noticed she did desperately babble to you when you were putting her to bed."
"That was nothing, nerves."
"Hmm, perhaps." Scott turned away nervously as Steven quietly watched him. Steven smirked and nodded his head. "I think I have another idea for our dear Ms. Chasten."
"Could make her make all sorts of noises."
"She still needs rest," cut in Phoebe desperately, "if you push her again tonight it could kill her. She's not holding on by much."
"Very well," sighed Steven, "she gets a night of rest, then. But, tomorrow we shall see. Remember, if we keep her past the agreed upon time it could raise more problems. Her friends are persistant enough as is. I would hate to have to complicate things more." They all nodded. Steven turned and walked out, the others trailed after him. Only Malachi remained, still crouched on top of the fireplace.
"Oh I could make her sing....and I will," Malachi grinned darkly as he hopped off his perch and followed the others.
"I'm going to have to demand to speak with her," Hibbert growled for the third time. "I can't let them just shove me away like that again. I have to be forceful." Antonio and Carl watched as Dr. Hibbert paced nervously in his small and cluttered office. The walls were hung with dozens of items and photos from across the world. All collected and seen by him on his varied trips for Tintagel's. "I just need to see her, I'm sure she'd be happy to let me get her out of that damned house."
Antonio nodded, he didn't like the thought of poor Ms. Chasten in that house. There was something wrong about it. Hibbert had convinced him to help easily, Antonio cared deeply for her. Carl had been recruited because he too cared about Mia, and had actually even asked her out on a date once. A feat that had never been duplicated by any other of Antonio's men, much to their annoyance. Though from Carl's story she spent most of her time discussing history and artifacts over anything else. There came a knock at the door.
"If you really want to get her out of that house you will need help," said the deep and powerful voice. They looked over at the two men in the doorway. One was small, dark, and oily, seeming as trustworthy as a snake. The second was built like a gorilla. His dark and penetrating eyes skimmed over their faces, easily seeming to judge and evaluate each of them. He grinned. "If you would be willing to listen for a few moments. I believe I can arrange a mutually beneficial solution to our combined problem of Mr. Kleist."
"You are mine now, I take and claim all that you shall ever be bitch!" Mia gasped as the hand closed around her throat, choking off her air. The other hand pawed around her chest, running over her bare flesh. She gasped and cried in pain as she thrashed about weakly on the floor. Why was this happening? What had she done? Her mind seemed to drift in and out of focus, Mr. Kleist did the same. One minute smiling, gentle, offering her some wine. The next bestial, spitting, forced on top of her as he did what he pleased to her. Mia batted at him with her hands, she sobbed, she begged him to stop. From beyond the edge of her vision she thought she saw others. Watching. Some smiling, some frowning, others angry. At her, at him, at both? He smiled, fangs flashed in the flickering candlelight, he lunged down....
Mia jerked awake. She had fallen asleep in the workroom. She groaned and rubbed her sore neck. It was stiff from the bad sleeping position. It was sore...from other things. She couldn't shake the thought that there was something important she wasn't remembering. But she knew something was wrong. For the first time in what seemed like ages she actually felt half awake, half aware. She finally felt like her brain had caught up with her body. Something was wrong, very wrong. Why had the police been looking into Mr. Kleist's affairs. Why couldn't she remember so much of what had happened since she had come here? Why had she come here?
Mia frowned, she was usually too nervous to even accept lunch dates. Why had she agreed to spend a week in a mysterious house with a man she had just met? What had happened after that dinner? Her body shifted uncomfortably, all she could recall was him escorting her back to her room and her going to sleep. What then were these other half forgotten thoughts? Why the police? Mia knew something was very strange here. She wheeled over to her window and looked out of it. It was dark, the faint shimmer on the horizon told her the sun had just set. She paused in thought as a car pulled into the driveway. A man stepped out of it. This was the first visitor since she had come here. She wondered at the possibilities
She wheeled out into the hallway to peer over the balcony. Steven and his four guards walked up to the man and greeted him. The man however glanced upwards, almost as though he had felt her eyes upon him. "Excuse me Steven, but you seem to have a curious little bird perched in your house." Steven glanced upwards.
"Ah, Mia. It is good to see you are awake. I have plans for you later tonight." Mia shivered, something in his tone didn't seem so pleasant to her anymore. She noticed that her heart hadn't started beating like mad at his mere presence. "I would like to introduce you to a good friend. This is Octavian." The grim man bowed his head to her. He was dressed in a simple brown suit and black tie. A large overcoat was draped across his shoulders. But something in his eyes suggested there was more to him. Almost the same feeling she had felt from Steven. She waved slightly to him.
"Hello, nice to meet you."
"You do know that you're wearing a nightgown," said Octavian with a slight twist of his lips. In humor or distaste she wasn't sure.
"I, uh, of course I knew that. I was just.....going to dress." Mia nodded to them. Yes, the wild beating of her heart was gone. It's absence left her with a cold wonderment of her previous awe of Steven. He was still handsome no doubt. But now it was a cold and menacing elegance in his features and eyes. A menacing feeling churned in her gut as the buzzing raced along the base of her spine. She knew now, without a doubt, that something wasn't right here.
"Yes go shower and dress," urged Steven, "I will be about an hour here, but when done I would very much like to speak with you." Octavian glanced at Steven. Mia felt there was some judgment within that look. He glanced up and nodded at her again, she waved and smiled as she slipped into her room. She counted to twenty and then peeked out of her door. They had all headed into the sitting parlor. Time for answers.
"Don't go into the basement huh," she muttered as she swung into the elevator. She had to admit she felt some trepidation at actually pushing the button. Almost as though betraying Steven would be a terrible thing. She gritted her teeth, the buzzing increased in her lower back as a tingle filled her head. Then the tingle was gone and the buzz faded again. Mia blinked a few times and wondered at the strange sensations. She then casually pushed the button. She hoped she could find her answers down here. Or at the very least a reason to call someone. The police, Fiona, Dr. Hibbert, even Antonio. Someone who would listen and get her out of here.
The elevator ride was short and silent. The doors opened into a whole new level of the mansion. Mia peered through the darkness of the rooms, Steven apparently didn't leave them lit. She cursed herself for not thinking to bring a flashlight as she rolled down the hallway. The first few rooms appeared to be storage, containing large collections of ancient and old items. Mia shook her head in awe, Steven had enough stuff in here to keep her busy for months. Of course that might have been his plan, she thought with a frown.
The next room proved far more interesting. It was crammed with rows and rows of shelves, filled to overflowing with papers and files. Mia grabbed one of the nearest, a bank statement. The next was another statement, but a different bank, the third yet another bank. All under different names. Mia frowned, tax evasion? Was the monster who seemed to be taking over her dreams the big bad bogeyman of tax evasion? Mia frowned and returned the papers. She wheeled towards the back of the room, how far back did this nut keep his records? She paused in surprise and carefully pulled a file off a shelf. It was a bank statement, from 1893. The signature was the same as the more recent files she had looked at.
Mia blinked as she tried to assemble the evidence. It wasn't making much sense. Was Steven some sort of impostor, a con artist who had stolen an entire past? But the paper had really been old, and the signature appeared authentic to the date. Mia wheeled out of the room and proceeded deeper into the winding maze of dark rooms. The only illumination now was a few halogen bulbs set at wide intervals. Their stabbing flares of white light failed to properly dispel any of the gloom of the massive basement. She peeked into the other rooms as she passed. Most appeared to be simply more storage, a few contained collectibles ranging from art to ancient torture devices.
She wheeled into one such room to eye the pieces. Unlike so much in the mansion these items appeared to have been well maintained. If she hadn't known better she would have sworn the torture devices were only recently made. Still liking and maintaining them wasn't a sign of any true wrongdoing. She eyed some of the art curiously. It was all Germanic in style, and from the 16th and 17th centuries. She picked up a chalice and murmured in amazement. It was a piece with the crest of the Kleists. Obviously Steven had spent a great deal collecting up even apparently mundane items from ancient estates of his ancestors. But why only from this particular time period?
She turned and paused as she spotted a large painting prominently displayed in the room. She wheeled closer as she eyed it. The painting depicted a stunning young woman with long red hair and pale hazel eyes that almost seemed to tinge to lavender. Standing next to her was a handsome man, his finely trimmed black beard and hair framing his noble and stoic face as he smiled slightly. The inscription read "Cordelia Kleist, beloved of Steven Kleist. May our love be eternal. 1730". Mia would not have been so amazed had not the man so closely resembled Steven, and the woman Phoebe. She rolled back from the picture, it had looked authentic. Was then Steven a loon? Did he seek to recreate himself into the image of some long dead ancestor? She wheeled out of the room, her mind churning the evidence in her head.
Then she thought she heard the elevator hum. She paused to listen. It stopped. She let out a slight sigh and cursed her overactive nerves. Then the hum came again and grew louder. Then a new sound, the hiss of doors opening. Somebody had called the elevator up and come down to investigate. Mia almost slapped herself, she should have sent the elevator back up a few levels, to leave it in the basement would invite suspicion. She wheeled into the closest room and sat there quietly, barely daring to breathe.
"Come out, come out little mouse you louse," came the hissing echo through the halls. Mia's eyes widened in terror. There was no mistaking that cold voice. Cook had come after her! "I smell you ya know, I smell your fear. It's good that you're afraid. Shows brains.....maybe I'll show you your brains." Her eyes looked around the room for any sort of defense or place to hide. But the room was little more then a strange display room. And all it seemed to display was an open coffin. A finely furnished coffin, but empty and useless. Mia's eyes pierced further into the gloom of the chamber. There was also a large wardrobe nearby, open as well. Her eyes narrowed in wonder as she looked at the rich clothes filling it. Steven's clothes. Why have a wardrobe here?
Mia drew deathly silent as she heard the footsteps walk past the room she was in. She didn't move a muscle, she just sat there in dreadful, silent, fear. The footsteps paused, she heard a sniff, and then they walked on. Mia waited even longer before slowly letting out the breath she had been holding. She turned slightly, planning to peek quietly into the hallway. Cook was standing right there, inches from her. She managed one ghastly scream before he clamped his hand over her mouth.
"Shhh little mouse, don't want to worry the lion. He might remember the thorn, and then what fun would this be?" Mia reached up and grabbed at his hand, but his grip was like iron. She peered up at him, suspecting he had gone quite mad from the strange babble he was spouting. "I figured it had to be you. I knew you would eventually. You shouldn't be here. Naughty naughty mouse." His other hand slid up, in it he held one of the gleaming knives from the kitchen. Mia's eyes grew as wide as saucers as she looked in fear at the deadly and sharp implement.
"What should we do with a curious little mouse who has got the cheese?" He ran the knife down her cheek, then brushed it lightly along her slender throat. Mia sobbed in fear as she felt the point prod and almost penetrate her skin. She had little doubt that Cook would be more then willing to kill her. "They set out traps for mice. Snap! Then it's over.......Snap!" He reached down and brushed the knife along the soft cotton of her night gown. He smiled as he traced the small flower pattern embroidered over her belly. He slowly lifted his hand from her mouth. "Any last words mouse?"
"What the hell is going on here," she asked him coldly. He only grinned.
"Haven't you guessed yet?
"I...why should I," she paused her mind trying to retrace the past few days and nights. She looked uncomfortably at the coffin and dresser. "I...this."
"C'mon, you're supposed to be the smart one here," snarled Cook as he waved the knife in front of her. She forced herself to ignore him, forced herself to poke further into her dreams, into half forgotten thoughts. The blood, the late nights, the fangs, by God the coffin! She looked up at him, fear and terror once more in her eyes. "Bulls-eye," he smirked with a nasty look.
"I don't believe it, it's not possible!"
"Believe it little mouse. The predator smells your desperate fear, and killing you he sheds not a tear." He backed off three steps, she sat there quivering in apprehension of what he planned. His eyes seemed filled with a wild swirl of madness and evil. She shook her head weakly....he had been eyeing the patch of embroidery on her belly. The knife twinkled in the darkness. His face slipped from madness to a quiet concentration. Mia's eyes widened in fear as he flipped the knife over and held it by it's point, Cook's eyes locked on the small floral pattern. His arm snapped out, the knife hissed through the air, and slapped into the wood next to her ear. She gasped in surprise as she glanced over at the blade. "It all starts to make sense now, doesn't it?"
"No!" She forced her eyes off the knife and back to him. He leaned against the far wall, an odd grin on his face. "None of it makes sense. Why would he, you, why me?"
"Because you have something we want. And what we want we take!"
"This can't be real, you can't really be..."
"Why not!" Cook suddenly snapped forward till he was inches from her face, he never seemed to waste time covering the distance in between them. His mouth spraying spittle on her as he snapped out the words. "Open your eyes! Evil is here, and we have already won the war! Humanity lost, get over it!" He grinned at her. She could no longer ignore the gleaming fangs that flashed within his mouth.
"What....what are you going to do with me?" He smiled and pulled the knife from the wall, he held it in front of her and chuckled at the terror in her eyes as she looked at it. Mia cursed herself and forced the terror back. Forced herself to look back into Cook's wild eyes. He only smiled more.
"I'm going to be fair about this. I'll give you one minute to get away. Then I'm going to come and kill you. I'll rip your pretty soft skin up, peel it right off your helpless little mouse body. Won't that be fun?" Mia shook her head as she blinked back tears. "Ooooh but it will Mia. You'll scream, you'll beg. Then, and only then, when you're little more then a pathetic writhing bitch animal. Then I'll get the secrets the master wants out of you. And you'll be glad to tell me!"
"What secrets...I have no..."
"Clock's ticking Mia, better hurry up." She wheeled about and propelled her wheelchair into the hallway. Pumping it along as quickly as she could. Cook's mocking laughter echoing in her ears. She reached the elevator in moments, slapping the buttons madly as she sobbed in fear. In the distance she could hear Cook's cold voice loudly counting down. He had already reached thirty. The elevator hummed as it rose to the great hall. She quickly slapped the emergency stop button, freezing the elevator in place. Mia burst out, looking around desperately. The hall was empty. She frowned, only moments to choose. Should she shout for help, get a phone, get out of the house? Mia grabbed the nearest phone and quickly dialed 9-1-1. She dropped the receiver to the side of the phone as she sped straight for the front doors. The front steps nearly shook her from the chair as she bounced wildly down them.
She ground down into the gravel driveway and began racing for the front gates with all her strength. Police would be coming, people would be out and about. If she could get through the gates, out into public. Then she would be safe. She gasped in fear, trying to tell herself that this was just another nightmare. Soon she would awaken, soon she would be free of this terror. But....no, it continued. She heard the barking and howling, heard the distant pounding of sleek, muscled forms tearing along the grass and gravel of the vast yard. Cook had released the dogs, beasts that Phoebe herself had warned Mia of.
The fallen branch caught suddenly in her spokes. Mia managed only a gasp of surprise as she was hurled forward to land solidly amongst the sharp and hard gravel. She groaned as she tried to drag herself up, her arms were scraped and bleeding, her nightgown torn in many places. She sobbed as she tried to pull herself forward, she heard the dogs, they were very close. With a shuffle and swish the lead dog tore past her, fangs clamping on part of her sleeve and shredding it as he tore it easily off her. Mia screamed, the other dogs were on her!
The massive and dark rider burst from the shadows. The huge and powerful horse snarled and lashed out at the dogs. A snap of a long riding crop rang out as the rider too beat the dogs back. The deadly hounds howled in anger at loosing their prey, but recognized they could not prevail. They withdrew back into the dark night. Yet they stayed close, waiting for an opportunity to strike again. Mia's eyes clenched shut at the sight of the horse, she curled up, desperate to escape. Only wild and whispered mutters escaped her lips as she rocked side to side slowly.
She heard the rider dismount, felt the strong hands pull her up...up....UP! She was on the horse! He was behind her, his arms now like a prison holding her trapped within them. Powerful muscles churned beneath her. Sharp and hard hooves tore into the ground. Mia screamed, she screamed till her throat went raw and her voice failed her. The rider galloped along, rushing her back towards the stables, the small wooden building seeming to her to be the very gates of hell.
Then.....it was over. The rider stopped and pulled her off after him. Mark grabbed the reins of the horse and led it quickly away into the dark stables. Mia was lifted up in strong arms and turned away. She glanced up weakly at the man holding her, Steven's smiling face looked back at her. Her cheeks were stained with blood and dirt. Streaks formed in them from her tears of fear and terror. Her gown was torn and bedraggled, she clutched it about her as she shivered roughly. Her head cocked and turned about her, taking in the faces. They were all there, Phoebe, Scott, Mark, Ivan, William, Cook, and Steven. Steven, who still held his riding crop and was looking so compassionately at her.
"Here, I must say you had yourself a fright. Are you well?" He glanced her trembling form up and down, he still held her easily in his arms. "No, I suppose not, not at all. Come, let's get you inside quickly, you need tending to." He carried her as easily as one might carry a scared and wet cat, weak with exhaustion. Mia felt her head swimming, again felt the nearly irresistible urge to love and obey this man. She was so safe in his arms, so warm, so secure. She rested her head softly against his chest, certain that she could drift off safe and sound. Sound. No sound. Her ear rested squarely over his chest, yet she couldn't hear it. Couldn't hear a sound from it at all. None to be expected, from a heart that didn't beat.
Mia screamed again, she struggled, she clawed. Steven muttered a curse as she tore at his eyes and he dropped her roughly back to the hard ground. Sirens. She heard the sirens! Police, safety! She scrabbled and crawled along the ground, pulling herself along on bloodied and worn fingers. Steven cursed again, he was yelling. Scott was yelling, Ivan and Mark were running, Cook was laughing, Phoebe crying. The body slammed her hard onto the grass, a great weight on her. She couldn't move, it pressed down hard. No room to escape, no room to breathe. No air.
Cook grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up roughly, she would have screamed if she had the breath. But Phoebe was screaming and yelling for her. Scott said something loudly and stepped forward. There was a blur of motion, Scott staggered back from the blow. Cook striking quicker then the eye could follow. He leaned down and hissed in Mia's ear. She could only understand one word. 'Snap!' The knife swept across her throat in a smooth and elegant curving line. The rich red blood spilled out of it to coat her soft white throat fluidly. It soaked into her nightgown, the gleaming red mixing with the filthy off white.
Mia gasped, and tried to breathe in, she breathed blood instead. No air.....no....air. The flaring and excruciating agony from her throat and her befuddled senses from lack of air sent the world into a spin. She looked down at her blood sodden nightgown. The colors of the gown, the dirt, and her blood were mixing to create a lurid and gruesome purple shade. Mia couldn't help but half smile. Her thoughts danced in her head as her vision swirled away into empty darkness. Purple, the color of royalty in Rome and most Medieval era kingdoms. Known to Native Americans as a color of magic. The hardest of shades to create a dye for. First developed in....