by Clara Cody
"Here, take these," Mrs. Callowell said, placing a set of keys in his hand. "And Maggie, give me your keys."
Maggie looked between her and McGregor.
Mrs. Callowell sighed. "The key to the cellar is on that set, but we will also need keys, in case something happens."
Maggie glowered at her but retrieved her keys and tossed them onto the table. Mrs. Callowell snatched them up in an instant.
McGregor turned his scowl towards the door and made his way over, Maggie following behind. They left without another look back.
Twenty minutes had passed since Maggie and McGregor left and Stephanie was beginning to worry. Charles paced the floor, lost in his own thoughts, while Mrs. Callowell sat in her chair, waiting.
"It's taking an awfully long time," Stephanie said.
Mrs. Callowell looked over her shoulder to the clock on the mantel. "Indeed." She rose from the chair and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. "I will go see what is keeping them."
"No," Charles cried, lunging towards her. "You can't, it's too dangerous. We don't know if something happened to them."
Mrs. Callowell shrugged off his hand. "All the more reason to go, Charles."
"But you can't!"
"And who will go instead?" she asked accusingly. "You've already stated quite clearly that you won't leave Stephanie, as though she's an infant or invalid, and I won't be left here alone, locked away. She isn't the only one at risk, Charles."
Charles turned towards Stephanie, his eyes sad and downturned. "She's right. I'm sorry, but she's right."
Mrs. Callowell sat down in her chair again, folding her hands in her lap. She raised her chin to meet Stephanie's stare.
Stephanie looked back to Charles. She could see how the decision pained him and couldn't bear it. So she nodded.
Charles walked over to Mrs. Callowell and knelt down beside her. "Ellie," he whispered. "I will go, but I need you to promise me something first." He took her hand between his.
"What is it?"
"Promise me you'll protect her as though she were me."
Mrs. Callowell's look softened as she stared back at him with eyes that were no less intense. Stephanie thought she saw her lip quiver before biting down on it. Mrs. Callowell looked down at their clasped hands and then away.
"I promise."
With that, Charles went to Stephanie. He started to say something but stopped himself. Instead, he placed a hand on Stephanie's cheek and kissed her. Soft but strong, the sensation lingered on her lips long after he pulled away again.
She watched him as he walked to the door, a torrent of emotion welling up in her. He unlocked it and as he slipped through and disappeared, she wondered if there would ever come a time when they weren't saying goodbye.
Stephanie sniffed and blinked away the tears before she turned back around in her seat. She was startled to see Mrs. Callowell standing directly in front of her. Her stomach and heart leaped together.
At the same moment, Charles cried out from the foyer. A loud crash and thump followed in rapid succession.
"Charles!" Stephanie leaped up, pushing Mrs. Callowell aside and ran to the door. She pulled and shook it uselessly against the lock that held it.
She turned back to Mrs. Callowell. "Hurry! He'll kill him."
Mrs. Callowell was terrifyingly calm.
"What's the matter with you? Hurry!" Stephanie flung herself against the door, pounding with her fists.
"No, he won't."
Stephanie whirled around. "What do you mean?"
Mrs. Callowell began towards her. "McGregor won't hurt him."
"Charles," she cried out again as Mrs. Callowell swooped down on her.
Stephanie's hands were bound behind her back. Mrs. Callowell hadn't bothered with a gag; there wouldn't have been a point. Who was there left to hear her? Mrs. Callowell dragged her up the stairs as quickly as she could move.
"I didn't want to do it like this, Stephanie. You didn't give me a choice. It's the only way."
Stephanie had stopped trying to plead with her. She knew Mrs. Callowell's resolution would never allow her to even rethink what she was doing.
"As McGregor said, we'll be waiting in the hall for when he reappears. You'll be perfectly safe."
Stephanie rolled her eyes. She certainly didn't feel safe. "What have you done with Charles and Maggie?"
They reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner into the North wing. The door to Victor's room waited.
"They are fine. As soon as we have Victor, we'll let them out."
"And if he kills me?"
"He won't."
As they approached the door, Stephanie's stomach sunk lower and lower. She began to resist Mrs. Callowell's momentum. "Please," she pleaded, pulling back.
Mrs. Callowell pulled her arm harder, increasing the pace. She unlocked the door and dragged Stephanie into the center of the room. The bed sat empty and filthy, a stark reminder that Victor was somewhere else, unrestrained and searching for her.
"Please, don't do this!" she begged. She held out her bound wrists. "At least untie me."
Mrs. Callowell turned away, her mouth a hard line, and shut the door behind her. The click of the lock chimed.
Chapter?
Stephanie
STEPHANIE PULLED HER legs in close, slipping her arms over her knees. The rope bit and scratched at her wrists.
The room seemed to close in, dominating her completely. It was dim and lit with a lantern by a chair in the corner of the room and a white candle on the floor by the bed. If the idea of being hunted by a crazed murderer wasn't enough, the room around her was a nightmare. Chains and ropes hung lamely from the bed, like rags on a begger. The walls were decorated with crosses of different sizes and forms—silver, wood, paintings, sketches. Vials of what Stephanie could only imagine was holy water lined the surfaces of furniture about the room. Resting in the corner chair was a thick, dog-eared bible flanked by two large vials and topped with a rosary.
Stephanie swallowed hard. Staying in the room would either kill her or drive her mad. She pulled and twisted against the rope around her wrists. The coarse, biting threads burned and gnawed at her skin. She managed to loosen ropes but not enough to extract her hand.
The thud of footsteps moving down the hall caught her attention. They were heavy footsteps—a man. He stopped in front of the door.
"Is she inside?" McGregor asked.
"Where did you put the other two?" Mrs. Callowell asked.
"The woman's in the cellar and Charles is tied up in the closet."
"He shouldn't come around for a few hours anyway."
"Do you think this will take hours?" McGregor asked.
"It will take as long as it takes."
"And what about food and water?"
"We'll worry about that when the time comes."
Stephanie renewed her efforts in freeing her hands. The skin around her wrists was raw and sore but she pushed it from her mind. But it was no use. Her skin broke and bled before she made any sort of progress against her binds.
She pushed herself to her feet and looked about the room for anything that she might use to free herself. She had the faintest hope that there might be a knife or something made of glass around the room. She was wrong.
Except for the window. She might also use it to escape the terrible room. She raced to it and peered down the thirty-meter drop. She momentarily entertained the idea of breaking the glass and using it to cut the rope before scaling down the side of the building, but it was a futile fantasy. They would come running as soon as they heard the glass break and she wouldn't have time to cut the rope.
She continued to scan the room, her eye landing on the white candle several times before she admitted to herself that she had no other options. She picked it up off the floor and placed it on the window sill. The glowing yellow light reflected her pale, thin face in the glass.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to steady herself. She lowered her bound wrists over
the flame, her hands shaking as the fire licked and blackened the rope. She pried her hands as far apart as possible but the heat scorched her skin. She stifled a pained gasp as the flame crawled up the side of the rope, catching. The fire ate away at the rope and bit her skin until, finally, the rope fell apart, dropping to the ground.
She leaped to her feet, stomping out the flames. When the fire was properly stifled, the searing pain in her wrists finally registered. She ran for the closest bottle of water and poured it over her wounds. The water was cool and sweet but stung at the same time. Her burnt, angry skin glistened under the thin layer of water. Small price, she told herself. Scars will heal.
Gripping the empty bottle in on hand and taking the chair in the other, she went to the door. With all her strength she threw the empty bottle at the window, shattering the right side.
On the other side of the door, McGregor yelled something and rushed to the door. Stephanie pressed herself against the wall behind the door as it flew open. McGregor rushed into the room, searching wildly as Stephanie swung the chair around, cracking it over his back. He crumpled to the floor.
Now in front of the door, Stephanie saw Mrs. Callowell standing in the threshold, her eyes moving between Stephanie and McGregor, who didn't move.
Stephanie held the last broken piece of wood outstretched before her—a warning. "Don't come near me."
Mrs. Callowell looked down the stake she held, to Stephanie's wrists. "You're hurt," she said in her most soothing voice. "We have to clean you up." She held her hands in front of her.
Stephanie waved her weapon. "No! Back out of the room."
"Put it down, Stephanie." She stepped into the room, her hands still up. "Stephanie, you have to listen to me. I was just coming to release you."
"You're lying."
"No, Stephanie, I'm not." Her look was soft and sincere as she took another step. "We've found Fredrick. He tried to attack Maggie but she beat him over the head with a shovel."
Stephanie shook her head as she circled Mrs. Callowell. She wouldn't be pulled in again.
"I'm sorry for what I did to you, Stephanie." She stepped forward again. "But you don't want to be like me. Put the stake down. Please, you don't want to hurt people, do you?"
"You're just like him! You're never going to stop. Never. You'll just take and take and take until we're all dead!"
Mrs. Callowell lunged for her. Stephanie swung the heavy piece of wood, connecting with the side of Mrs. Callowell's head. She stumbled momentarily but righted herself, lunging at her again and knocking the broken stake from her hand. The women fell to the ground, Mrs. Callowell fighting to restrain Stephanie.
Stephanie tried to wrestle from her grip, rolling over and clawing for the wood that had fallen from her hand.
Mrs. Callowell grabbed Stephanie's hand, holding it behind her back. Stephanie looked frantically over her shoulder long enough to see a long syringe poised in Mrs. Callowell's hand as she towered over Stephanie, straddling her. Stephanie made one last attempt, throwing her weight behind her as she lunged for the plank. Her fingers wrapped around the square edges just as a sharp prick broke the skin of her restrained arm.
She tore her arm away from Mrs. Callowell and spun underneath her, swinging the block of wood with all her strength. It met Mrs. Callowell's head with a crack that sent her flying to the side, collapsing to the floor.
Stephanie looked down at her arm. The needle hung from her arm, the plunger half-submerged into the barrel of the needle. Stephanie removed the needle and dove across Mrs. Callowell's body, plunging it into her arm and forcing the rest of the liquid into her body.
Stephanie pushed herself away, falling back across the floor. The wooden planks across the floor seemed to writhe and wave. She turned over and pushed herself to her feet, stumbling like a baby deer. The door hung open before her but seemed to be growing more and more distant.
Stumbling forward, she fell against the doorway. She pushed herself off and into the hallway, steadying herself against the opposite wall. She took a few uneasy steps before she became cognizant of the steps lurking behind her. She turned and whimpered falling along the wall.
Victor walked with cold, calculating steps, his eyes and thin-lipped grin blazoned with blood lust. "Such a sweet girl. So sad, so helpless." He lunged towards her, wrapping his hot, sweaty hand around her mouth and his other arm around her arms and chest. "We're alone now," he whispered. "Just like it should be."
Stephanie tried to fight him but her muscles wouldn't cooperate. Her vision dimmed as she felt Victor hauling her upwards. Her last thought was the realization of where Victor was taking her.
The attic.
Chapter 45
Stephanie
STEPHANIE SLOWLY CAME to. She couldn't focus. There was nothing but blurry shapes all around. Her head fell from one side to the other as she tried shaking off the feeling that her senses had gone numb. Soft music played in the background. She rolled over onto her belly and pushed, propping herself half up with her arms.
A dark, blurry figure invaded her vision accompanied by a cackling laugh. "Welcome back, my dear. Terrible stuff, isn't it?" Victor laughed again. "I should know. They've been pumping me full of it for months."
Stephanie tried to speak, tried to form the words. It was useless. All that came out was disjointed mumblings.
Victor stood, removing himself from her line of sight. Stephanie felt a foot between her shoulder blades and was pushed back down, her head bouncing off the floor. Pain blasted through her brain.
"Stay down," he spat.
She felt her locket fall along her neck as she rolled to her side, pulling her knees up to her chest. Squeezing her eyes shut, she listened to Victor shuffle from side to side, his feet sending rough vibrations like echoes through the attic floor.
Grabbing her legs, he flipped her roughly onto her back. "I've waited so long for this moment. Your face has haunted me." He crawled over her, straddling her waist. His hand, filthy and stinking, smothered her mouth as he leaned in, centimeters away.
She recognized him now. Gone was the man she'd seen in the photo with Mrs. Callowell or even the man strapped to the bed. The greedy, hungry look in his eyes, the hard line of his mouth; she'd seen it before.
Fredrick.
Stephanie was utterly alone and helpless. This man, this crazed savage, was both bigger and stronger. She didn't stand a chance pinned to the floor. When she'd left the Burbanks' house, she'd promised herself that she'd never be in this situation again, at the mercy of someone who wanted to hurt her. But here she was. Tears poured down her face, her chest heaving with sobs.
"How I've longed to touch you," he said, his fingers stroking the side of her wet, tear-streaked face. "So like your mother."
Her stomach twisted into knots at the sound of his voice. She touched her shaking fingers to her chest and followed the chain to the locket. A sudden calm came over her, blanching out the terror she'd felt only seconds before.
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, giving the feeling full access to herself. Warmth and love moved through her as she lay on the floor and her tears subsided.
"I wonder if you'll scream like her." He knelt down beside her, stroking her cheek. "Her lip split just a little with the first scream I wrenched from her. A little rosebud on her pale, plump lip. The first bit of blood in a long night." He chuckled. "Her voice was hoarse by the time I put an end to it." He sighed. "She screamed so prettily, I regretted having to do it."
He tilted his head as he gazed down at her. "You haven't even tried to scream yet. I can't help but wonder why." He dug his fingers into the remnants of the bun that held her hair together and yanked her to a sitting position.
She cried out, following his hand to ease his grip. He smiled down at her and flung her hair aside. It fell out, falling around her shoulders. She replaced her hand over the locket against her chest, savoring the rush of security. She could feel her mother's presence, with her, holding her like Maggie had sai
d. If she was going to die, at least she'd see her mother again.
His dark eyes followed down her neck to where her hand lay over her locket. "What do you have there?"
She lifted her chin to him.
He snarled at her. "She used to look at me like that." He seethed, breathing heavily through his nose. "Insolent little cunt." He pulled his hand back and whipped it forward, slapping her.
She flew to the side with the force. She thought she might puke from the pain pounding in her head. Cringing from the strain, she righted herself again, meeting his gaze.
His lips curled, revealing teeth that were almost too white for an animal such as him. Stephanie reminded herself that the man was not the same as the monster. He spat on the floor and stood, his waist centered before her face. She turned away, looking down.
Again, he clenched a bunch of her hair and forced face upwards. "Your mother thought she was too good for me, too. Until she had to clean my chamber pot. Then, she knew."
"She was too good for you."
The back of his hand struck her face with a crack, sending her to the floor. His foot swung through the air and into her stomach.
"Ah," she cried, folding in on herself.
"Provoking me won't speed things along, my dear." He turned his back a moment, walking to a nearby table with a candle burning on top. As it flickered, bits of light bounced off several glimmering...instruments.
Gasping for air, Stephanie reached into her pocket and clasped her mother's wedding ring, hiding it behind her back. Quickly, she slipped it onto her other hand and closed her eyes. She hadn't been sure if it would have the same effect as the locket, but it did. The same warm, calming feeling crept from her finger, up her hand, her arm and over the rest of her body. With the same hand, she clasped the locket.
Stephanie inhaled sharply at the sensation coursing through her. She felt like the air had suddenly been sucked out of her body, but not like when he'd kicked her. Every fiber of her being seemed to pulse and buzz with electricity.