Page 91 of Vampires of Eden: Oliver
The squeaking sounds titter faintly all around. Both close by and at some inconceivable distance as I sit still, rubbing my shoulder in the darkness. When the pain diminishes, I reach over, examining what I hit.
Bars. Metal but rusted. Rough and frigid against my fingertips. I look up and the ceiling is low. The space I’m in is small, as if it were made for a large animal. There isn’t enough room to stand upright.
Still breathing, I set myself against the wall beside the bars. The ground feels filthy, gritty and damp. I’m glad I can’t see it and the scent is unbearable.
I’m sitting in a dungeon. He put me in an actual fucking cell. Absurdly, I chuckle through my nose. For years, I’ve been comparing my life to a prison. This feels like some kind of cruel karmic joke that’s finally come into manifestation. It’s right that I should end up in a literal prison at some point. Poetic, even.
How long can he possibly keep me down here? I can’t marry and bond with Alexander if I’m in a disgusting dungeon cell, can I? Does he plan to invite the other royal houses down here for the ceremony? A destination wedding no one saw coming.
I laugh to prevent myself from crying. Truly, my life has never felt so preposterous, and that’s saying a lot.
Unbelievable.
Clack.
Delirious, I start, and my eyes open slowly as a series of new sounds litter the black, mouse-ridden stillness. A door closing or opening. Heavy footsteps echo softly in the silence. I can’t tell if the person is coming toward me or leaving. I passed out again while leaning against the bars, as if my body had slipped into a state of self-healing torpor. I’m tired, but my nature is slowly regenerating and attending to the injuries and abuse that my “father” inflicted.
Breathing in the stale air, I concentrate. It’s not as terrible as it was before I fell asleep. When you’re in the farmhouse long enough, you cease to notice the animal-shit smell, I guess. I push past the traces of dried blood, rat feces, wet soil and mold to focus on whoever is coming or going.
It’s Hudson.
Without question, he’s coming closer.
I don’t know what to think. Part of me is relieved that it isn’t Lord Blakeley, because his face and essence are the last things I want to contend with right now. Seeing him would throw my body into a state of post-traumatic stress and shock while I’m still trying to recover.
But Hudson’s presence doesn’t put me at ease, because he’s the overseer’s enforcer. He administers whatever punishments or verdicts Lord Blakeley hands down.
Apprehensive, I scoot into the farthest corner of the shallow cell. I draw my knees up and wrap my arms around my shins, curling into myself. I joked and snickered earlier, but now, my pulse races and beats hard in my temples as he approaches.
I’m frightened. I don’t want to be hurt again, and being tortured by Lord Blakeley’s aura… It was crippling. Terrifying. No alleged “parent” should ever do something so cruel, dark and menacing to their own offspring. Or anyone, for that matter.
When Hudson appears on the opposite side of the bars, he’s too tall and I’m too far back in the corner, so he has to squat down to see me. I’m so tense I think I might snap as I stare into his eyes. God, I really don’t want him to hurt me. Please…
“Your grace, are you alright?” he asks, tilting his head. Unexpectedly, he produces a flashlight and shines it toward my face. The sensation burns my irises and I wince. “My apologies,” he says.
Keys rattle in the darkness. Then, there’s a distinctclick, followed by the groan of the metal bars swinging open. “Can you stand?”
Quivering, cold and mistrusting, I draw farther back into my corner. “I—” My voice comes out hoarse and dry because my throat is still wounded. I attempt to clear it and swallow, but it doesn’t help much. “Where are you taking me now? What’s happening?”
Hudson crouches down to my level. “I’m going to show you the way out of here. There’s a plan in place, but time is of the essence. Can you stand up?” He holds a large palm out in offering.
“A plan?” I ask, looking at his face, down to his palm and then back up. “What do—”
“Yes,” he says with urgency. “Will you trust me?”
I hesitate. I don’t know if I trust Hudson, but what other choice do I have? This might be another elaborate scheme that Lord Blakeley has cooked up, but I’ll go with it for now. I place my hand in Hudson’s palm. Carefully, he guides me out of the cell.
“How long have I been down here?” I ask when I’m standing and unstable. Thankfully, he keeps a firm hand wrapped around my upper arm. “What time is it?”
“You’ve been down here for two nights. It’s four in the morning on Sunday.”
Holy shit… Have I slept that much? Time flies when you’re half dead, I guess. “Okay, but what did you mean?” I ask, rolling my shoulders in a weak attempt to address the stiffness there. My brain is foggy and I have a pounding headache. There’s a slight, annoying tickle in the back of my throat. I need to feed. “You said that you’re showing me the way out?”
Hudson shuts the metal bars. “I’ll explain as we go. We have some ground to cover.”
“You’re going to let me escape? As in leave the castle altogether?” I ask, somewhat hysterical. “You’re helping me?”
“Yes. That is exactly what I’m doing. Come with me.” He turns, shining the flashlight down the path and stalking forward. Scrambling, shocked and confused, I follow him.
