The Darkest of Dreams

by Emigh Cannaday

  “Here we are, darling…home sweet home,” joked one of the burly transporters as he pulled off the suffocating, heavy fabric. Talvi squinted painfully as he took in the sight of a weather-beaten stone fortress looming in front of him. It looked as if it had stood there for hundreds of years. Having been made out of the boulders that spilled into the sea all around it, Bleakmoor was meant to withstand hundreds more. The gated entrance was shaped like a mouth perpetually gaping in a state of misery, and so heavily coated in rust and salt that it seemed an impossible feat when the stiff gears gave a lurch and began to crank it open. Instead of quickly being wheeled inside, the guard holding the dolly tilted it back to an angle that forced the noonday sun to blind Talvi right through his eyelids. He grimaced at the searing heat, revealing a mouth full of metal. There were so many wires knitting his shattered jaw shut that it was impossible to see any of his teeth. He hadn’t been able to moisten his chapped lips properly in over a week, and now they cracked open and began to bleed.

  “You better take a good look while you still can,” his guard advised. “It’s going to be the last time you ever see the sun.”

  “He’ll get an hour of recreational time out in the yard every day, though,” the second guard pointed out. His co-worker shook his head.

  “Not this one. He’s going straight into the pit. That’s too bad. I’m sure the guys upstairs would love to see your pretty face every morning.” He looked down at Talvi and shot him a sadistic smile. “Speaking of pretty, I saw a picture of your hot-to-trot little modern wife in the papers—what a looker! And that ass! No wonder your brother gave her both barrels the second your back was turned. I’d break my knob off in that if I had the chance.” He leaned over Talvi until it blocked out the sun, shielding his prisoner from the overbearing light. “Maybe I’ll look her up now that he’s dead and you’ve had a permanent change of address. Being in solitary means no conjugal visits, you know. And no letters, either. I’m sure she’ll be needing a shoulder to cry on. Think I’m her type?” He laughed and waited for his prisoner to respond.

  Talvi was responding alright. Adrenaline surged through his blood, making his heart thump harder against his ribs. His wrists were strapped to the sides of the dolly, although that didn’t stop his hands from balling up into fists until his fingernails cut his palms. It would take him less than a second to grab that thick head by the jaw and the ear before wrenching it backwards. He’d growl in pleasure as it snapped at the neck. Maybe he’d gouge out the eyes first, or slam an elbow into his cheekbone until it shattered…just to prove a point. Every muscle of his body was tensed up and eager to defend his wife, but he didn’t say a word. The guard began to laugh again. “What’s the matter, Marinossian? Cat got your tongue?”

  Even if Talvi had tried to scowl, he couldn’t. The painkillers used during the emergency surgery to repair his broken jaw were going to leave the lower half of his face numb for another handful of days. It felt strangely unfair to be denied that physical pain, when focusing on it may have been the one thing to distract him from his emotional anguish. Every place that still had any feeling left now ached horribly. His head felt like it was being crushed slowly by a vice. So did his heart. In spite of his sullen glare, and amidst the constant pain, he forced himself to give an obedient nod. He hated to do it, to submit to such a foul creature, but he also didn’t want to risk being ‘accidentally’ dropped down another set of stairs. His transporters had already pulled that trick on him a few days earlier. It was clear that the more attitude he revealed, and the more he put up a fight, the clumsier they suddenly became around stairs and sharp corners. He was on their turf now…he was going to have to play by their rules if he was going to survive. He stopped glaring and lowered his eyes, then nodded again.

  Satisfied with his response, the guards wheeled him through the rusty-red prison gates, where the clean ocean air was shut out along with the sun and the sound of the waves. The stale scent of damp decay swallowed them up as the guards took him through what looked to be a medieval dungeon. Talvi had only heard wild rumors of this place, and they were quickly proving themselves to be absolutely true. It wasn’t just a term of endearment to call the prison on Bleakmoor Island the waiting room of the underworld; it truly was an abysmal place. Water trickled through the cracks in the stone walls, saturating everything with the dank smell of the prisoners’ waste and wasted lives. It was as though misery had found a way to physically permeate its way through the solid rock.

  The intake process was excruciatingly slow due to the fact that they didn’t receive prisoners very often. Talvi was made to wait until four extra guards were available to oversee the process. Apparently, word had gotten out that this particular criminal was a more significant safety risk than the others. After being strip-searched, hosed down with ice-cold water, and dressed in the dullest shade of grey clothing, he was shackled and chained at the wrists, which were then secured to a waist chain to stop him from raising his arms. Leg irons were attached around his ankles, and only then was he given a pair of flimsy grey slippers. The dolly was abandoned and he was made to walk for the remainder of his long trip down to the bowels of the building.

  Not even fairy magic could function in such a negative place like this, so gaslights were needed to illuminate the narrow stairways and tight corridors. The halls were lined with rusty metal doors that had only one slot near the bottom where the prisoners were to accept their trays of food. If anyone was actually living behind those doors it was impossible to know. None of them made a sound. An offensive, musty smell emanated from that entire level. The stone floor was cold under the cardboard-thin soles of his slippers, and his waist chain and leg irons jingled like a forlorn song with every step he took. His detail stopped at a door that had been left wide open. When he was pushed inside he felt his innards twist into an anxious knot. Talvi wasn’t claustrophobic by nature, but this was downright inhumane. It was as if the cell had been purposefully designed to break even the fieriest of spirits.

  The space was much smaller than he’d expected…grievously so. He would be lucky if there was enough room for him to stretch out his arms without touching the walls. He could only do it if he stood diagonally. A stained and threadbare excuse for a mattress lay on the stone slab he was expected to sleep on. A thick wool blanket was folded up at one end of the bed. There was no pillow. It was just as well. It would be a miracle if the bedding wasn’t crawling with bedbugs or infested with lice. Having a pillow would only make it worse. There was a steel commode in one corner with a sink built into the wall beside it, and a tiny window so close to the top of the high ceiling that it would be impossible for him to look out of it.

  So much for the ocean view that he’d dreamt of. So much for the sound of the ocean, either. He strained to listen for waves hitting the rocks or the birds that might be soaring above them, yet all he heard was the sound of his chains rattling here and there. All that sliver of a window did was provide a minimum amount of light for him to study the stains and gouges left on the wall from past inmates. There was nothing else for him to look at. Nothing to study. Nothing to read. Nothing to do. Nothing to engage his mind and keep him from going insane. The only other object in the narrow cell was a small pat of soap resting near the sink. Talvi sank down onto the mattress and focused on the blanket folded up at the end of it, being mindful not to look the guards in the eye.

  “Might I have a pen and some parchment?”

  “No letters in or out,” one of the quieter guards reminded him. “Not while you’re down here.”

  “I understand, but I thought I could get them from the trading post. I’m supposed to have funds available in my account.”

  The cruelest guard laughed to himself.

  “The trading post is a privilege, Marinossian. Until you earn that privilege with good behavior, you don’t get shit—aside from two meals a day. We’ll give you some time to settle in,” he jeered as the other guards unchained Talvi. Then the heavy metal door slammed shut f
or what may very well have been the rest of his life.

  7

  Trouble In Paradise

  Unlike the last time that Annika had returned home brokenhearted, she refused to numb her pain with alcohol. Instead, she took the advice of Tripp, and chose to fill her time by staying busy. Her very first task was explaining to her roommates why she now had bodyguards. Luckily for her, there was already a story concocted about Talvi’s high-level government job becoming more serious and negating protection for his immediate family in the meantime. Cyril had coached Annika and her protective detail well in advance, leaving Tripp and Adams available to answer all of the questions that inevitably arose.

  When Patti had asked why no bodyguards had accompanied Talvi on his initial arrival, Tripp blamed it on bureaucratic red tape holding up the process of including Annika under that umbrella of safety. And although James wasn’t particularly happy about acquiring two more roommates without any advance notice, he’d quickly changed his tune when they explained that they weren’t allowed to drink on the clock, which ran 24/7. That meant having a designated driver at their disposal anytime Annika was around. Not only that, but Tripp and Adams also covered a good portion of the bills and volunteered to be roadies, which was all Charlie needed to hear before giving his approval. Between his sister’s guitars and pedals, James’s huge keyboard, and his ridiculous drum set, having a crew to help carry their equipment around would be a huge bonus.

  Patti wanted to know how invasive it would be to have them around. “It won’t be a problem,” Adams had said. “We’re trained to blend into the background.”

  “Yeah, but where are you supposed to sleep? The only place left is the basement.”

  “Not a problem,” they said. Then they saw the basement.

  “It’s not that bad,” Tripp shrugged as he took in the sight of the crumbling stone walls and the uneven concrete floor. Adams picked a cobweb out of his dark blond crew cut and cast his partner a dirty look.

  “Not that bad? Compared to what? Sleeping in a barn?”

  “No,” Tripp laughed. “A barn is a lot roomier than it is down here. I was thinking it’s not bad compared to sleeping outside a vampire den.”

  “I’ve done protective duty for the heads of the vampire families. It’s not that bad,” Adams insisted. His partner knew better, and his bright white grin showed it.

  “Oh, I think I know what the problem is. You’re afraid of spiders, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not afraid of spiders!” Adams defended while folding his massive arms across his wide chest. “I just don’t like them…and I don’t want any crawling into my mouth while I’m asleep.”

  “That’s not even a real thing,” Annika piped up.

  “How do you know?”

  “I looked it up on Snopes when Patti didn't believe me.

  “Snopes?” he asked with a skeptical expression.

  “It’s a fact-checking website.”

  Adams frowned, not quite ready to concede his argument.

  “I don’t care what your Snopes says about spiders—it wasn’t enough to convince your brother to sleep down here, was it? That’s why he sleeps in the den. It’s not an actual bedroom.”

  “Either way, we have an expense account for making it cozy down here,” Tripp said, and took a credit card out of his wallet. “Do you know where we can get a couple of proper beds and maybe a rug for a decent price?”

  “We should go to IKEA,” Annika suggested, and the three of them spent the next few days turning James’s future wine cellar into a makeshift man-cave.

  Once the basement was dealt with, her next project was to purge her closet and decide what she could live without. James was all too happy to help her take everything out of her closet, although there was one garment that kept getting pushed to the back. Carefully tucked away in a zipped-up bag marked ‘Chanel,’ the dress Finn had bought her in Paris remained untouched. She wasn’t ready to revisit her ruined gown, or the memories that went along with it, and James wasn’t ready to remember what she’d done to the designer dress. Instead, he sat on the edge of her bed and watched her try on different clothes that she was ambivalent about keeping. After an hour, he was surrounded by three huge piles of clothes sitting on Annika’s floor and her bed; one stack was designated to keep, one was meant to give away, and the third pile was for items that were undecided.

  Annika frowned as she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on her bathroom door. She turned to the left, then back to the right, scowling at the pair of skinny jeans she had on.

  “What’s wrong with those?” he asked. “They’re really cute.”

  Annika sighed.

  “Do I have a flat ass?”

  James almost spit out his coffee onto Annika’s bedspread.

  “Do you honestly think I’m the best person to judge something like that?” he asked. Then he narrowed his eyes and focused below her waist. “Well, on second thought…turn around again.”

  “It’s flat, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe it’s just the Spanx you’re wearing underneath your jeans that are smooshin’ your tush in?” he suggested. Annika’s shoulders fell.

  “I’m not wearing Spanx,” she pouted. “Dammit! Even Charlie has a bigger ass than me!”

  “So what? You never cared what anyone thought of your ass before. Who’re you trying to impress now? Obviously Talvi liked it enough to put a ring on it. Shit, even Danny liked it enough to put a ring on it. Pretty sure he still does,” he added with a snicker. Annika continued to scrutinize the profile her backside.

  “I’m not trying to impress anybody…it’s just that someone said it was flat, and—“

  “Who said it was flat?”

  “One of Talvi’s cousins,” Annika mumbled, rolling her eyes. James burst out laughing. Luckily this time he hadn’t just taken a drink of coffee.

  “Seriously? Oh, he totally negged you!”

  “No, he didn’t!” she justified. “It’s not negging if it’s pointing out a factual statement. Even you thought I was wearing Spanx underneath my jeans.” James gave her an indifferent shrug.

  “Okay, well, if it bothers you that much you can always start running,” he said. “That’s why Charlie and Danny both have bubble-butts—it’s because they run up and down a soccer field twice a week. Whatever you do, don’t run on a treadmill. I’ve heard that it uses different muscles and actually makes your ass smaller.”

  “Would you wanna be my running buddy?” she asked with a hopeful grin. “It’ll help you stop smoking.”

  “Hey, I’m down to three a day, but I don’t think I’m ready for cardio just yet,” he joked. “Why don’t you ask Tripp or Adams? They’re always working out…jumping rope…doing squats…and pushups…and dead lifts. Maybe I’ll ask them to show me some moves. I won’t do them, but I have no problem asking those beefcakes to refresh my memory.”

  Annika gave it some thought. She hadn’t ever considered asking Tripp and Adams to pull double duty as her personal trainers. She could always ask to tag along instead of sitting at home with one of them while the other went for a run. The idea made more than a little sense. Sure enough, after proposing the idea to them she was quickly thrown into their routine.

  When it came to finding the best way to overcome her grief, it turned out that being active and productive was king. A tired body slept a lot better than a restless one did, and a busy mind wasn’t able to dwell on sadness for quite as long. She took yoga classes every morning, pilates classes every evening, and joined her protective detail on their daily runs around her neighborhood. They were surprised how quickly she adjusted to keeping up with them, although they knew she had the advantage of not being human like them. She learned to keep up when they jumped rope and lifted weights and did their dead-lifts and lunges and squats. More than anything, it kept her busy and it kept her asleep through the entire night, too tired to dream of anything at all.

  Along with her body, her mind was perpetually occ
upied with a list of endless tasks. When she wasn’t running with her bodyguards, running to the gym for her pilates class, or running band practice above the garage, Annika was running by the grocery store and then running home to get dinner started before James, Charlie, and Patti got there first. Sometimes she made them dinner and dessert. Sometimes she packed them lunches to bring to work. On weekends she made breakfast, and on Saturdays she brought snacks to Charlie’s soccer games. After abandoning her roommates and bandmates so many times without any notice whatsoever, it seemed as good of a place as any to start winning them over. The cooking, along with all the cleaning, went mostly without comment from Charlie, although James had noticed, and Patti had noticed enough to say something about it. One evening she set down her forkful of roast tomato and zucchini risotto after taking a single bite.

  “Does it need more salt? More pepper?” Annika asked. “I’ll go get both.” She leapt out of her chair and ran to the spice cabinet before Patti had a chance to say no.