Quicksand

Chapter 6: Guidance

"Miles...?"

"Mm?" Miles was snapped out of his reverie by the soft voice of his lover. He looked up at her, lying on his back while she lay beside him on her side, her hand resting over his heart. She looked concerned as she had since he'd won his way back into the manor. She'd even insisted on cleaning and bandaging those deep scratches on his cheek, and she hadn't once mentioned their origin, or anything else that had gone on back at the office after she'd left. He supposed she didn't want to think about it anymore than he did, and he was grateful that she hadn't brought it up.

"...What were you thinking about?" Franziska asked, pressing a kiss to his uninjured cheek. "...You zoned out for a good half hour..."

"Ah... just... remembering, I suppose..." he murmured, averting his gaze for a moment. He wanted to sleep, but so far he just couldn't manage it; he had far too much to think about...

Franziska bit her lip lightly, reaching up to brush his bangs away from his eyes. "...You shouldn't dwell on such things..." she murmured, now taking to coursing her fingers through his dark gray locks.

"...I know..." he replied, closing his eyes to try and relax in this comforting treatment. "...It's just... difficult... With everything that's been happening... it's all I can think about..."

She was silent for a long time, and the next time she spoke, it became apparent that she couldn't stop thinking about any of it either. "...I guess I still just... don't understand..." she began, looking away. "...Papa was always one to scorn such things... I mean... he was always irate upon having to deal with two people of the same gender that were... involved..." She had no idea how to phrase this sensitive and awkward subject; there probably wasn't a correct way.

Miles understood this, not that he wanted to talk about it. However, he knew that he wasn't the only one dealing with hurt at the moment. "...He did a lot of things he scorned..." he muttered, trying to give her the best response he could while referring to the conditions of his torment. "...such as murder... But... it wasn't about... intimacy... It was... about control... about power... I was just an... an easy target... I suppose..."

She hated that he was the only one who could answer her questions, because she didn't want to bother him with them... upset him further. "...And what about Isold?" she asked, dropping the formal address after having learned that woman's true nature. "...Were she and my father...?"

"...No..." Miles replied, shaking his head slightly. "I mean... they had a lot in common, but they were traits that allowed them to work and scheme well together... Nothing more could have possibly worked out... because they both needed control and dominance, and neither would've been willing to give it up. She seemed fine with working as his subordinate, but... that was because she got basically whatever she wanted simply as a result of her affiliation with him..."

Franziska was listening intently to his words, wanting to know and understand all the things she had been oblivious to when she was a child... when it had all occurred. No, she couldn't ever imagine her father with someone like Isold, or really with anyone that much younger than himself... but then again, he had been fine with taking advantage of Miles... She supposed she needed to stop looking at that as an actual relationship, because she knew her father hadn't cared about him at all, and Miles' words had only given her a reason to put that in a totally different category.

"...Why were those videos made...?" She felt her questions were getting more and more uncomfortable for him, but she just had too many to let them go.

"...I don't know..." he replied, swallowing hard to try and keep his composure. "I suppose to... to keep me in check... u-under the threat of releasing them if... if I didn't cooperate... That's the only reason I can... think of... I never heard them talking about it prior to... that... first one..."

She still had questions, but she could see how upset he was getting and decided that now would be a good time to leave it alone. "...I'm sorry, Miles..." she whispered, moving her arm over his chest in a slight embrace and resting her head in the crook of his neck. She placed a kiss there, and then closed her eyes. "...I won't ask you anymore... Please, try and get some rest... We both need it... I love you, Miles."

Miles exhaled deeply, trying to relax and let go of all of the tension that refused to go away as of late. He slid an arm underneath her to pull her closer, to hold her and provide security for the both of them in preparation to sleep for the night. "...I love you too, Franziska..."

ooooooooooooooo

It was dark... The middle of the night, and all were asleep... except for him.

Miles found himself standing just outside the door to the bedroom he and Franziska were sharing. The door was closed... He must've already walked out and shut it... He didn't remember doing so, but he hoped he hadn't awakened his lover...

Every light in the manor was off, but even in the dark, he knew his way. He began to walk, slowly, steadily, his footsteps creating some sort of strange echo as if he was walking along the hardwood floors of an empty concert hall. He reached the top of the stairs and began to descend, placing his hand on the railing as he went. It was dark; he didn't wish to lose his footing and fall.

When the banister ended, he knew he'd reached the ground floor, so he took a left turn, making his way through the darkness to the closed door of the library. It creaked as he opened it, causing him to flinch at the unnaturally-loud noise. Surely someone would wake! He never remembered it creaking that loudly! He made a mental note to tell someone to oil the hinges when morning came.

When he stepped over the threshold and onto the plush carpet, his footsteps died away. He left the library door open, for closing it just... felt a little unnerving somehow. He made his way through the dark and silent room, past many shelves lined with books, the only sound now his breathing... It was a bit labored, for the atmosphere was making him tense... anxious...

Finally, he reached the last door. He reached out and touched the handle. It was cold... and the door was locked. He knew where the key was; he was one of the select few who did... He went to get it, able to find the right books to move aside, the right compartment to open, and the key all without a single beam of light. With the key in his hand, he went back to the door and unlocked it.

He pushed the heavy door open slowly, but this one made no sound. Odd... this door was hardly ever opened; logic said it should be the noisier one. Putting this out of his mind, he stepped inside. He had no intention of closing this door either, but as soon as he let go of the handle, it swung shut of its own accord. He stood frozen for a moment, but shook off his fear. It was just heavy, and there was no reason to fear being here with the door closed...

He was dwelling too much! He had a mission, something to find, and he needed to stop hesitating! Still without a light, he walked forward a few paces, and then around the obstacle in his way, to the opposite side of it. He leaned down, grasped a handle, and pulled, sliding open the drawer the metal piece was attached to.

Here was where the lack of light affected him. He couldn't see what was in the drawer, if what he was looking for was present. He bent down a little closer, trying to strain and see if it was there...

A blinding flash of white light erupted from the darkness below him, causing him to recoil. A terrible lurch of surprise in his chest and then... darkness again...

ooooooooooooooo

His eyes flew open with a gasp, and Miles stared up at the ceiling... or where it should've been. It was pitch black in the room, and there were little stars dancing before his vision, created by that startling flash of light from what he soon realized had been a dream. Panting, he lay there for a few moments, trying to calm down, to relax and recover.

….What had that been all about...? What an odd dream... and yet it had felt so real... What had he been looking for, and had he really been... where he thought he'd been...?

Curiosity got the best of him, and slowly – still breathing a little too quickly – he began to get up from the bed. This caused the woman lying beside him to stir.

"Mm... Miles...? Where are you going...?" she mumbled groggily, reaching out for him in the darkness.

"...I'm going to... get a drink of water..." he told her. "...don't worry... I'll be right back..."

She seemed to accept this, not making another sound and probably going right back to sleep. He stood up and left the room as quietly as possible, closing the door softly behind him.

So... here he was... where the dream had started. As he began to walk, he recalled that his footsteps had been much louder in the dream, as if he'd been wearing shoes instead of just socks. Now they could barely be heard. He wasn't nearly as confident as he'd been, trying to feel his way through the darkness. He nearly stepped off the top stair without realizing it, but grabbed the railing to regain his balance. He took one step at a time, his pace slow and deliberate until he reached the bottom and took that left turn, found the first door along the wall, and opened it.

The door didn't creak like it had in the dream, and he laughed to himself and shook his head. His mind had probably been trying to make this place seem spookier than it really was. He was now in the library, padding along the carpet with his hand on the wall, trying not to trip or bump into anything. For some reason, he hadn't even bothered to turn on a single light, as if the dream had mandated his actions, shown him the exact way to go about doing this.

...Yet, he still didn't know what he was looking for...

He reached the far wall and moved along it until he found the door, then felt for the handle. He found the cold metal object and gripped it, and while doing so, cursed himself. In the dream, it was locked! So, why had he gone straight to the door only to have to go get the-

...It opened...

Miles stood there for a moment, a little taken aback. Okay, so maybe one of the maids had just forgotten to lock the door after cleaning; he knew that this door was supposed to be locked all the time...

….for this room was no longer in use.

Perhaps it was the late hour, perhaps it was because he wasn't fully-awake or because of his blind curiosity, but only now did Miles realize where he stood. It was... freezing in here... like it had always been... only now – in the dead of night – that chill felt so... eerie.

He had a sudden urge to leave, but he didn't. Miles stood still, bracing himself with his hand on the door handle. He pushed it open a little wider, trying to get it far enough back to prevent it from closing. However, just like in his dream, as soon as he released it and stepped forward, it closed...

...slammed... as if someone had pulled it shut and trapped him.

His throat was closing up, and Miles now remembered how much he hated being closed in completely dark areas. He felt as if the walls of this horrid room were closing in on him, but he scolded himself for it. It was just an old study! No one was here, it wasn't getting smaller, and there was no reason to be frightened!

So, what was he doing here again...? The desk... He'd walked to the desk, and walked around it. This was what he did, moving forward until his fingertips brushed the polished mahogany. It made him shudder: how many times had he been pushed onto this desk, or been ordered to climb on himself, or been picked up and placed atop it? How many times had he felt the cold, unforgiving wood against his bare skin? How many bruises had it left on him? Too many; that was the only answer he could come up with, because he couldn't count them all, even if he wanted to.

He forced back the memories and steeled his resolve, moving around the desk to the side where the large office chair sat, and where all the drawers were located. Now... which one had he opened...? Why was he so curious...? He hated it in here, and yet... he was about to go through the dead man's possessions. Oh well... It wasn't like anyone had to know he was in here, and all he needed to do was open that drawer, discover that it was either empty or just full of miscellaneous papers and files, and then laugh at himself and go back upstairs to rejoin Franziska and sleep for the rest of the night.

So, with this thought in mind, he leaned down to where he remembered finding the drawer in his dream, grasped the handle, and pulled it open. Sure enough, he couldn't see what was inside, and he was extremely annoyed at himself for not thinking this out. He should have turned on the-

…..light...

Slowly, he looked up, his gray eyes wide as he stared at the halogen lights above, glowing brightly and casting light throughout the entire office. He could now see everything: the desk he stood behind, the couch, the bookshelf, the display cabinet, the various decorative valuables that hung on the walls...

….the closed study door...

"...Hello?" He hadn't heard a sound, and as his gaze darted a few more times around the room, he saw no one. No one had come in here... so who had flipped the light switch to illuminate this horrifyingly-familiar study? He felt the fine hairs on his body standing up, prickling with nervousness and anxiety.

His heart was now pounding, and slowly, he peered down into the drawer he was still gripping, hoping to finally discover its contents and then get the hell out of here.

What he saw sent a wave of nausea through him. In the drawer lay an assortment of familiar objects, things he'd never wanted to see again. A black riding crop, a couple of thick, stainless steel chains, a roll of latex tether... and a black leather dog collar...

...how was that possible...? He'd destroyed his... Had Manfred been keeping a spare for some reason?

Wait, why did that matter? Why was he even in here looking at these horrible objects? He was being overwhelmed by flashes of memories, old pain coming back to him as it had been so often lately. He needed to get out of here and never go back in, forget about that stupid dream and the strange occurrences.

But as he was about to close the drawer, something else within it caught his eye. He debated for a moment whether or not to investigate, then decided to just let his curiosity get the best of him one more time, and reached for it. What he found was a small slip of paper, and after pulling it from where it was stuck in the drawer, he recognized the neat, perfect handwriting with a hitch of breath.

"Did you honestly believe you could escape me, my pet?"

It was as if someone had shut off the oxygen. He felt suddenly light-headed, like all the air pressure had been sucked out of the room. He couldn't breathe, and he could feel a weight, upon his shoulders, pushing him forward, forcing his petrified body to move.

Had he been breathing, the wind would have been knocked right out of him as he hit the desk, the pain indicating that his ribs would certainly be bruised. But he didn't fall to the floor... No... He was pushed up, up until he rolled onto the wooden surface, now fighting for air and control of his muscles. Panic in its purest form, and he was alone, couldn't call for help, couldn't fight the blackness.

The carpet and the wood blurred together, swam before him, and faded. A faint ringing in his ears was the last thing he heard before unconsciousness swallowed him up and the tension finally left his body.

Miles lay still and silent, the lone occupant of a room that had stood empty for three long years.