Chap 6 part 1

His head hurt.

Peter felt the stone floor beneath him, that his hands were unbound, and that his mouth was clear. Goosebumps covered his bare back from the cool breeze sweeping through the basement.

He felt disgusting with his horrid body shown with all its stitches, uneven skin and bloody wounds. He lay on his stomach his arms laid out uncomfortably; but he didn't dare move. No doubt healing wounds would open and it might attract attention from the loathsome guards nearby.

He could hear them drinking nearby, the stench of liquor heavy in the air. He breathed, though it was hard to in his position. He wished he couldn't feel the cold blood beneath him, caking his body with it. He hated the feeling of dried blood. But that was nothing compared to the pain he felt from the guards' idea of amusement.

It seemed even after he passed out they continued.

Cowards.

If he could ever fight them properly…

No, he couldn't even think about what he would do, knowing the violent creature he was.

He opened his eyes and looked to see he was still in the chain room. How many times had he found himself like this, left on the prison floor after the guards were finished with him? Memories of being there came back and he shuddered slightly.

Peter shut his eyes tight and forced them away and thought of something more pleasant. He thought of gentle smiles, and a pleasant voice, Elizabeth, and her wondrous determination.

It was Gabriel who interrupted his thoughts.

"Ah look whose 'wake John."

The sound of footsteps approaching made it painfully obvious the men weren't done with him yet.

---

Elizabeth had heard the sound of the struggle and the ensuing sound of the whip along with Peter's screams of agony. But she couldn't move. Any bit of bravery dissolved with the sound of his screams and she found herself praying to God for those horrible men to stop.

She was a weak nothing of a human being. For heaven's sake she was too frightened to even open the door; too scared to bear the idea of watching knowing she was too weak.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered as she stumbled away from the door into the darkened hallway. The sounds of the party raged on not far away only enraging her pitiful sorrow. She went to the piano room and locked the door. She sat emptily at the piano bench not allowing herself to cry.

She drew in long shuddering breathes feeling even stupider by the moment. She should of slammed open that door and screamed at those men to stop. She should have strutted down those stairs and slapped them both. She should have…she could have…

But she hadn't. Instead she sat like the dainty woman she was trained to be behind a locked door.

She could faintly hear the drunken men in the basement and prayed to God above they would fall asleep or leave. But instead she heard,

"Ah look whose 'wake, John."

They wouldn't.

The shuddering breathes faded and her breath became short.

The anger finally showed and began to creep into her.

She stood and after unlocking the door practically ran to the basement door.

---

Peter felt himself back up against the wall trying not to look fearful. That always provoked them. John was closing in and soon he felt his hair being pulled, forcing his head up before they slammed him onto the ground. A foot soon replaced the hand, pushing his face into the stone.

"Stay beast."

The foot left and he knew not to move; even when he heard the sound of the chains clicking together and then wrapping around his arms and ankles. He didn't dare even twitch as he heard them click into place.

He was once again dragged across the floor, biting his lip hard enough to make it bleed, until he felt himself being pulled up against a wall. His arms were stretched up and out, like wings, tightly against the wall.

Then the left, leaving the cold stone to grind into his wounds and with the knowledge his good leg would give out and he would be hanging from his arms after a while.

He couldn't possibly want to aggravate them more so he only watched as the guards made their way over the one of the beds to down more liquor.

With a bottle of whiskey in each hand John and Gabriel clanked them together patting each other on the back with some sort of drunken congratulations. Peter couldn't be sure what they now celebrated but drunken men always had strange reasons. He was too tired and in too much pain to care to think of drunk men's reasoning though.

So he tried leaning against the wall as comfortably as he could and once again think of Elizabeth. The image of her angelic face helped sweep away the pain of the wall digging into his wounds and the thought of her voice almost made him forget everything else, even drunken men's reasons.

Though Peter stood in his tortured position he was able to smile.