Page 56 of Taken By Raider Kings
She had other problems.
It smelled too horrible to be believed, and the thin thread of musk rising from her skin didn’t help, only accentuated the reek coating the back of her throat.Her mind kept supplying images to match—terrible, soul-destroying pictures of rotten flesh, skulls grinning through veils of rancid slime, bones dripping with decay, writhing worms, and?—
Through it all, the cricket-hum continued.Sometimes words came through, reedy little sounds shaping comprehensible syllables.The faces pressed close to hers, insubstantial smoke warming for just a moment, but they never stayed.
She lay very still, thought about it.If she was crazy?—
Zach swore she wasn’t.And therewerevampires, she’d seen them.Which was more insane, seeing spooky shit or denying it right in front of your own eyes?
She sought to breathe, working through the incipient panic attack.Her nose was full, her muscles cramping despite the faces crowded close, ghostly hands stroking her limbs, easing, drugging the pain.Tears leaked hot and soundless down to her temple, dripped over the bridge of her nose.
Where are my glasses?
She’d huddled on the floor so many times, trying to breathe through the sobs, her body on fire with pain.It never got easier to deal with.
Never becameroutine.
At first she’d tried to predict him, to be more pliant, more perfect.Tried to find out what on earth was irritating him so much, think of ways to soothe him, make him happy.Back when she still thought he loved her; back when she still thought love was pain, or pain was all right if you could just love enough.
Then came the survival phase, where everything began to seem like a dream.Just keeping her head above water was hard enough.Actuallythinkingabout what was happening lost out to just attempting to endure the next explosion.
After that was the most horrifying phase of all—being so trapped, so hopeless, that she began to think she deserved it.The world skewed itself a few degrees off, and she began to lose parts of herself.
If she had to get right down to it, she wasn’t really in school to become a social worker or therapist.She just wanted to understand how she worked, howpeopleworked, so she could put herself back together again.
And quit constantly, fearfully flinching, looking over her shoulder, anticipating the worst.
It was no use.The ropes were too tight, and the faces were contorting, some of them crying soundlessly.
Thank God Lucy’s face wasn’t there.Which brought up an interesting line of thought—were these dead spirits, or something else?Zach hadn’t said, and she hadn’t thought to ask.
Different sounds intruded—a squeak, a thump.Footsteps.Distinctive, the heels jabbing hard.
Sophie realized she was making a small whining noise, swallowed hard.The reek filled her throat; the footsteps grew closer.Themajirwhispered, and she caught enough of the reedy little syllables to guess who was down here, wherever “here” was.
Oh, God.I really didn’t ever want to see him again.
A final long scraping sound, and weak light fell into the closet.Itwasa closet, she saw, and its dimensions seemed more than vaguely familiar.He grabbed her ankles and pulled, fingers biting in cruelly, and if the spirits hadn’t been clustering around her, somehow ameliorating the muscle soreness, she probably would have screamed at the pain.
Sophie came to rest, blinking furiously as the light stung dark-adapted eyes.He walked behind her, heels still landing hard on the concrete, and she suddenly realized why.
He wanted her afraid.
Well, I am.But after the past few days whipsawing between terror, more terror, unwilling comfort, and weirdness, her fear-meter seemed to have busted.
For fuck’s sake, she was sotiredof being afraid.
“Hello, Sophie,” he breathed in her ear.The hot, meaty smell grew more rank, if that were possible.She had another sudden, vivid vision of canine teeth grown long, lips thinned out and flushed deadly cherry-red.
She found her voice.At least they hadn’t gagged her.“Hello, Marc.”Now that I’ve got a really sensitive nose, I just have to be stuck around hideously stinky stuff.Great.
It was a good thought, asanethought, and she clung to the grim almost-amusement—for whatever it could be worth.
“You’ve been a very bad girl, my dear.”He kept panting on her ear.Three days ago Sophie would have cringed.
Now she just wanted a bathroom, and maybe a bit more of Julia’s steak with caramelized onions.
So she just kept quiet.He was going to talk for a little while; she knew that tone.The falsely conciliatory cheerfulness, the lilting menace.
