Page 1 of Kept 3
1
“Whoever did it confused the hunter with Josephine, I’m sure of it,” I hear a deep voice say from a long, long way away.
“No, Gerald, that makes no sense. Yes, I’m on my way there now. No, I don’t know,” the last is said in a resigned tone, the frustration evident.
I concentrate on figuring out where I am. The world still seems hazy, my head is killing me, and the goddamned chachick, chachick, chachick that seems to rattle my bones is non-stop.
Slowly, frowning at the pain, I open my eyes. I’m finding it hard to focus. Everything seems to be foggy, squiggly, like right before the pain of a migraine hits, only the pain has already hit, hard, and I’m not sure if it is more my head, my body or my heart – must everybody I care for die before this is all over?
What I do know though, pain aside is that I’m on a train.
And I also know it must be night, because a few feet away, his back to me, staring out the window at the darkness beyond, stands a brooding vampire. I’d know those shoulders anywhere, hadn’t I spent weeks staring at them as I served him in the Parisian restaurant, and many subsequent weeks reluctantly dreaming about them, sans clothing.
Now though, this was no dream, it was a nightmare come true.
“Aghh,” I gasp, as my thoughts begin to race and collide, and I gingerly raise my hand to my head. I expect to feel a broken skull, the pain is so intense, maybe blood. After all, I’d tumbled forever down those fucking stairs. But my head is wrapped, and I can smell antiseptic.
‘Bandages? Of course, he would have tried to fix me – can’t have a broken Kept – isn’t that what he said? He plans to keep me?’
At the same time as I recall his words, I remember what I had seen earlier in the kitchen, right before my fall: Ricardo and Lucy, torn apart. Now, noticing I’m awake, the vampire turns to me, and I shudder, shrinking back onto the bed, willing it to swallow me up, to hide me from this monster. As he advances, I open my mouth to scream when another face, one I’ve never seen before looms over me.
“She’s coming around,” the face says, my eyes still not quite able to focus properly to ascertain who is speaking.
“Isn’t it a bit soon?” the melodic voice I know so well asks, moving closer.
I squeak and try once more to disappear into the bed.
“She needs to rest and remain calm,” the close face remonstrates, “you might have to stay back.”
“You said she would be fine when she woke.”
“I expected her to remain unconscious for at least another day,” the face frowns, “her skull has a tiny fracture, any over-exertion could cause bleeding on the brain.”
“Sedate her then,” the vampire says, his voice brusque now, angry, and once again coming from the other side of the carriage.
The face nods, and I feel a sharp prick in my arm. The world begins to swim, and my words slur, I want to shout, but they only come out as a whisper.
“You killed my friends.”
I see him turn back to me and frown. I think he is going to answer, but my eyes close, and I once again drift away.
2
Above me, brightly-coloured birds, roses, peonies and lavender frame tiny nude, cavorting cherubs.
‘Am I dead?’
I frown and concentrate harder. No, it is some kind of dome painting high above me. And the walls? No, it isn’t walls, it’s fabric with the same motifs; raw silk hanging in long folds and swathes. Four massive painted and carved posts hold up the dome, also featuring cherubs and flowers, and I can see I am high off the floor. It’s like I’m enclosed in a floating bower. I realise, after a few moments, that I am lying in a highly-decorated four-poster bed – the most elaborate bed I’ve ever seen, one I couldn’t have even imagined if I tried.
Wincing, I try to sit up, but a gentle voice urges me not to try.
“You have a broken collarbone,” a quietly spoken man says, walking towards the bed and looking down at me with a friendly smile, “and a concussion, a slight fracture to the skull, oh, and bruises the entire length of your body.”
I frown and look down, realising that under the rich brocade cover which matches the drapery perfectly, and the crisp white sheets beneath, I am naked. My face flames at the thought that someone or several ‘someones’ had undressed me while I was unconscious. The idea that it was Nicholas makes me cringe.
“Who are you?” I demand, my voice coming out as a croaky whisper.
The man smiles and reaches for a glass of water from a nearby side-table. Leaning down, he places a hand behind my neck to enable me to take a few sips from the glass. I am clumsy, the glass is at an awkward angle, and some water dribbles down my chin and onto the covers, staining the silk irrevocably.
