She sat stock still, listening to the clicking sound of metal chains.
The sound stopped.
Clink clink near her ear and she didn't move.
Clink clink somewhere directly in front of her face and she felt warm drops on her stomach.
Clink clink and her heart hammered inside her chest as something cold and hard and wet slithered up the inside of her thigh. She didn't move and it travelled up her stomach and across her breast and over her shoulder and disappeared.
The door shut and then she was left alone. She touched the liquid on her stomach and held it up to her nose: she smelled blood. The door opened again, sometime later. Several people this time.
She stood against the wall and listened to the soft footsteps. She could feel them surrounding her, could hear their breathing.
One of them moved closer and pressed the edge of something hard against her lips. She jerked her head and heard a splash of water.
'Drink,' a deep but muffled voice said.
'No.'
'You need to conserve your strength. To keep your head clear for the choice you are about to make.'
She clamped her lips shut.
'We could make you.'
Say something? No, not yet. Wait and see.
She stood, defiant, lips pressed together. If only I could see them, see how many there are…
Something was placed on the floor in front of her and she heard them retreat.
'You will learn to do what we ask,' another voice said, and then the door shut.
No, she told herself, I won't. She found what they'd left on the floor: a thick wooden bowl holding cold water. She rooted her fingers around inside the bowl, but felt only its smooth surface.
She lifted it up to her nose and couldn't smell anything. Didn't mean it wasn't poisoned. Anything could be in there. Drugs. LSD.
Or just water, her mind said.
She put the bowl back on the floor. Her tongue and throat swelling with thirst, she picked it back up and with two hands smashed it against the floor. Heard it split. She brought it high over her head and kept smashing it. All she needed was one piece with a pointed end.
She found one and scurried to the door to wait. They must have heard the noise and would come to investigate. Pray for one, she thought. Just one.
Nobody came.
She kept waiting and nobody came.
Sitting back against the floor, she inserted the jagged end of the piece of wood into the keyhole for the manacle around her left wrist. These locks had to be old; they wouldn't be complicated. A simple spring mechanism, she figured. She moved the tip around inside the keyhole until the wood snapped. She gathered the other broken pieces, sharpening their ends against the stone. Put one into the keyhole, took a deep breath and tried again.
80
Darby woke to the sound of chains. Hers. They were moving.
The metal shackles bit into her wrists as her arms were jerked above her head. The chains kept climbing and the chains attached to her feet were moving too, sliding down the tiny holes inside the floor.
She wrapped her hands around the chains above her head and pulled with all of her strength. Her fingers and palms, cut and tender from the long hours of trying to sharpen the pieces of wood and pick the locks, started to bleed and she couldn't maintain her grip. The chains kept rising, and, as she had been without food and water for days, her strength evaporated.
But not her will. No, her will to fight was still there. She had to conserve her strength for when the opportunity came and this wasn't it.
Her feet dangled above the floor, arms stretched high over her head.
She closed her eyes and breathed slowly to calm her pounding heart. Time passed and the muscles in her arms and shoulders and back strained and cramped, but she kept her breathing steady, her mind clear. Pain was created in the mind. Pain could be controlled. It could be managed.
The door opened and she kept her eyes closed.
A click of footsteps this time and they stopped in front of her. She heard a match being struck.
'What did you do with the bowl?' a muffled voice asked. 'We know you broke it.'
She didn't answer.
The footsteps left, stopped, then came back.
'You put them in your toilet,' he said. 'How ingenious.' Soft laughter. 'Open your eyes.'
She kept them shut.
'Open your eyes.' He stood by her side now. 'I shall not ask again.'
She didn't and heard another match being struck.
Clink clink.
She gulped air and her body stiffened with fear.
The pain can be managed.
A whistling sound…
I can manage the pain.
… and hard strips of metal were raked against the back of her thighs. Her eyes flew open and she hissed back a scream, shaking on the dangling chains and casting shadows in the flickering candlelight.
The person who stepped in front of her wore a black theatrical cape made of what looked like thick velvet over a dark suit with a silk crimson scarf. His face — his real face — was hidden underneath a white mask of wood shaped to resemble the devil, maybe a vampire. The mask was scratched and peeling in several spots, especially along the long wooden nose, and a couple of teeth were missing from its wide grin. False black hair shaped into a widow's peak on the top, and tiny black marble eyes. Grand Guignol at its finest, she thought.
A white-gloved hand with red fingertips sharpened into points held a carved wooden handle; at its end was an O-ring with three chains, each made of seven links.
'A chain scourge. A rather wonderful invention. The first time I used one was in a castle in Nuremberg and I fell in love.'
'Is that what you're doing here?' Darby said through gritted teeth. 'Creating your own little private Hitler- inspired army to take over the world?'
A tired sigh from underneath the mask. 'The time for creating war has passed. Unfortunately. I don't like it up there any more. The surface. I don't like what we created. It's become… evil. Unmanageable.'
'But you keep going up there to snatch children. Why?'
'Because I want to,' he said matter-of-factly. 'Because I can.'
He hit her again with the chains, this time across the shins. Sparks flew across her eyes and her body shook as she clamped down on a scream, refusing to give in to him.
'I can create a lot of pain,' he said. 'And pleasure.'
Darby didn't answer, concentrating on his voice. It was calm but she detected something else, something in his choice of words. He had said 'I can create'. Not we. I. The leader?
He traced his fingernails down across her stomach. 'You're very beautiful, and your bone structure is excellent. Good hips. Now that I'm seeing you in the flesh, I may have to reconsider my original intentions and use you for breeding.'
The nails moved up her stomach. 'We should start soon, as I fear my time in this body is limited.'
