Dark Night of the Soul

by Kitty Thomas

  The first crack of the whip across my back was like a sharp knife had ripped through the fuzzy dullness of reality. It hurt more than I’d expected. I’d thought I’d been wrapped in a sort of protective foam. It had seemed ludicrous that I could feel anything before this point.

  “Beg me for your life,” he said.

  “No.”

  Crack.

  The corded leather strip seared through me. It ripped me apart as if it was born inside me and was clawing its way out instead of being an external force. He wasn’t holding back. He wasn’t slowly building to anything. He would go full out until I died. Either he thought this would be enough to scare me and snap me out of my defiance, or he didn’t care.

  The next time the whip came down, I screamed. The tears started flowing down my cheeks. I thought I’d forgotten how to cry. It’s funny how a bit of real pain will make tears work again—how it can fool you into believing you still care about anything. But deep down, I knew I didn’t.

  “Address me!” he shouted.

  “No!”

  After that, I honestly can’t remember most of it. I think I might have blocked it out. Or maybe I blacked out. The pain got so sharp and intense for a time that I was almost tempted to give in and do what they wanted, but if I could just hold on—just a little while longer—it would all be over. A body can only withstand so much. People are so breakable. And this guy didn’t want to torture me. His dark urges were for killing. I couldn’t believe it had been so easy to get to this point.

  The door opened.

  “Stop. Leave us.”

  The man grumbled, but tossed the whip against the wall and brushed past Gabriel to go upstairs. If not for the shackles holding me in place, I would have crumpled to the ground by now. A sticky wetness slid down my back. Of course he’d drawn blood. We were so close to ripping the veil between life and death, and that stupid asshole had to come in here and stop it.

  “You motherfucker!” I wasn’t yelling at the man who’d whipped me but at the arrogant fool who’d stopped him.

  Gabriel ignored my outburst. “I’ve been standing outside the door listening to you scream and cry for the past twenty minutes. I didn’t hear you beg once. You just took it. You wanted him to kill you.”

  Gabriel was clearly the brains of this operation.

  I didn’t bother responding. I was so fucking livid that he’d taken this from me, that he thought he could ride in to the rescue and I would be eternally grateful when I was sure all I needed was to endure a few more minutes of agony. Then I’d be free, and neither Gabriel nor anyone else could chase me or touch me again.

  He stepped further into the room and shut the door. “If I offered you a quick death right now, would you take it?”

  “Yes.”

  I could tell from the expression on his face that he knew I wasn’t bluffing, and I thought he might actually do it.

  He tossed a white bag on the ground at my feet. I heard the pills rattling inside their bottles.

  “Are these yours? Are you sick? Is that why you want to die?”

  Fuck him. Seriously, just fuck him! Of course he would think I had some terrible illness that made me want to end it all. Of course it couldn’t just be the fucked-up world we lived in. It couldn’t just be fatigue of the struggle and fear. It couldn’t just be that I wanted to be free. For once. Like he was. And he took it all for granted—either too evil or too ignorant to see beyond his own comfortable life where he had the power. I wanted to reverse our positions and ask him the asinine questions he asked me. I wondered which choice he’d make in a similar set of circumstances.

  I couldn’t decide if it was better for him to think the pills were mine. If he knew about Simone, what would stop him from finding her and bringing her here, too?

  “Helene?”

  He must have gone through my papers. If he knew my name, then he had to know the pills weren’t mine. They were labeled for my sister. He was playing games with me. My mind raced as I tried to think of a way to protect her.

  “Who is Simone?”

  I kept quiet.

  “I know she’s related to you. Does she live with you? I can find out.”

  Tears started to slide down my face again. Fear, there you are.

  “My sister. Please don’t hurt her.” So stupid. I couldn’t just stay quiet? But he was right. Whether I told him or not, he had enough to find her connection to me and where she was. He could no doubt fight through our security. Simone had weapons, but would she be able to use them in time? Would there be too many men to fight?

  Gabriel stepped outside for a moment and returned with a white linen sheet. I could tell even from across the room that it was expensive. Not something cheap and rough from a discount bin somewhere.

  “She’s going to run out of medicine before morning, isn’t she?”

  He sounded like he cared. He was playing the kind and compassionate card, but I already knew he was soulless. Whether the law restrains you or not, you don’t do what he does unless there is nothing inside that can tell right from wrong or care.

  He moved closer and set the folded bed sheet on the ground beside me. I cringed as he stroked the side of my face.

  “I can take the medicine to her.” His voice was gentle.

  “Because you’re so magnanimous?”

  “I never said that. I want something. A trade. I want you.”

  “Am I supposed to be flattered by that?”

  He sighed. “You aren’t required to feel any particular thing about it.”

  How kind of him. He wasn’t here to micromanage my internal thought processes. He should be given a medal for such restraint. A parade.

  “I like a challenge,” he said. “Here is my offer. You will submit to me until morning at which time you will be released back to your home safe and sound. You will not be required to allow anyone else to touch you. Only me. In exchange, I will see to it that your sister gets her pills before they run out. I will of course need a certain time period of your obedience before they are delivered. I need you motivated.”

  “You vile piece of shit.” My body for my sister’s life. How unoriginal. At least I could be grateful that he wasn’t creatively evil. “How do I know you’ll even take the pills to her? How do I know you won’t rape or kill her? Send the other guy back in here to finish this.”

  Even as I turned away from him, I worried his offer might be genuine. What if it was? What if he would take Simone’s medicine to her and not hurt her? But what if he did hurt her? Wasn’t she better off just trying to make it without the pills? She might survive.

  “And if I don’t take your offer?” I asked.

  “I haven’t decided.”

  But he had. I could see it. It was me or my sister. Either he would gain my compliance and save her, or he’d do whatever he planned to do with me anyway and perhaps go get her and bring her here, too. He might do that anyway, but the only chance that she’d be safe was to try to appease him. Win his favor.

  “I want to call her to make sure she’s okay. She needs to know I’m okay. She’ll worry. She might forget to take her pills. And the stress isn’t good for her.”

  “And if I agree to your terms, you agree to mine?” he asked. He already knew the answer. He just achieved some sick pleasure in making me say it.

  I wanted to curse at him some more, to rail and scream. I wanted time to completely stop and never start up again. He had me, and he knew it. If there was any chance he’d spare and even help my sister, I had to give him what he wanted.

  “Helene, I will take your struggle away. I will bring you back to life.”

  There it was.

  That’s what this was about. Hanging in the shackles I’d been trying to figure out his angle. Why did he seem to want this so much? He could just kill me and find people desperate to survive no matter the personal cost to their souls. This was all about his fucking ego. Of course it was.

  “How can you live like this? Not just the terrible thing
s you do, but how can you be wealthy and happy and comfortable when all around you is suffering and fear?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and studied me. “And you think death solves this? You think because you walk off the stage the play ends?”

  “It does for me.”

  “But it’s not just about you now. Will you sacrifice yourself to me to save your sister?”

  I’d run out of stalling time. I knew it. He knew it. The only thing left was the inevitable answer. “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Yes, Master.”

  Gabriel retrieved a key from his pocket and unlocked the shackles that held me. I fell back and would have hit the floor, but he caught me. He wrapped me in the sheet and carried me out of the dungeon and up the stairs. All I could think about as he carried me was how he was ruining that nice sheet. Such an idiotic thing to be consumed with in light of everything.

  On the main floor, Santo spoke to a couple of men in the entry hall. His nostrils flared when he looked up and saw me, but he turned his attention back to the conversation. Neither of them was the man who’d whipped me downstairs. He was nowhere to be found.

  Off to the side, two women that I at first mistook for lifelike statues, knelt quietly. They were nude, and each had a black leather collar around her neck. Neither looked the slightest bit upset to be there, which I found extremely odd.

  Gabriel carried me to the kitchen, set me down on a stool, and poured a glass of water.

  “Drink.”

  I didn’t argue. My throat felt like sandpaper. I clutched the sheet around myself and drank. On the wall was a box-like object with a cord that went into one end and connected into the wall. He handed it to me, the cord stretching across the room.

  I stared. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a phone. Call your sister.”

  “I…but…no, phones are thin rectangles that light up.” This had some old numbered buttons on it, but that was all.

  “Just call her.”

  Where did one even acquire a phone like this? It matched the house, where all the technology seemed to be hidden. There had to be technology, right? Wood and paper and phones that attached to walls. I’d fallen into a parallel universe.

  I couldn’t believe the phone worked.

  “Hello!?” Simone sounded panicked when she answered.

  “Hey,” I said.

  Gabriel moved to the other end of the kitchen and watched me.

  “Helene. Oh my god. Are you okay? What happened?”

  I couldn’t tell her the actual truth. Her health was far too fragile for the truth. “I got caught out after dark. I’m staying with a friend until morning. They were closer. It was safer.”

  “S-so…no pills?”

  She tried to be brave, but I knew her too well to be fooled.

  “Someone will bring them to you before they run out.” I prayed I wasn’t unintentionally lying to her, giving her false hope.

  “Who? Why not now?”

  “Simone, I can’t get into it. I’ve arranged things. You’ll get them. I’ll call you when I can. Are you okay? Did you take your pill?”

  “I took it. I’m fine. But I’m worried. I’m trapped in here by myself. I can’t… Why can’t you come home?”

  I glanced over at Gabriel, who seemed to be able to hear my sister’s end of the conversation as well.

  “It’s not safe. S-someone might take me. Listen, we’re about to have dinner. I need to go. Everything will be okay.”

  Gabriel took the phone and put it back on the wall before I could give myself away. The longer we talked, the more opportunity she’d have to ask questions I couldn’t answer, and the more likely she’d suspect something wasn’t right.

  He led me back down the hall, past the statue-like women and the men speaking in hushed whispers, and upstairs to the room he’d offered me before. There was a large shelf filled with books and a fireplace and a bed and a small bathroom. I still couldn’t figure out where he’d gotten the books. I’d never even heard of people having books that were individual bound paper objects. It was almost too strange to contemplate.

  “Lie down so I can take care of your back.”

  Now that I’d passed up the opportunity to let the unnamed psycho kill me quickly downstairs, I was beginning to actually worry about my injuries. It wasn’t as if I wanted to suffer for the hell of it. I wanted there to be a point and purpose to the suffering—the release of death…or now, my sister’s survival.

  “I-I’ll mess up the bed.” I still couldn’t fathom why I cared so much about destroying all his linens. I should smear his whole house with blood and filth in retaliation for my enslavement.

  “It’s nothing we haven’t had happen before.”

  I hoped he didn’t think that was comforting. I lay on my stomach. Was he going to just break out the salve and bandages and act like he was being kind when he’d allowed this to happen to begin with?

  I expected him to go into the bathroom and get a first aid kit, but instead, he sat on the bed beside me. He bent closer and ran his tongue over my back. What the fuck was wrong with this guy? Blood drinking? Even the idea of it turned my stomach.

  I fought to get away, but he held me in place as if he were holding a small kitten. I expected him to be strong but not this strong.

  “I’m not going to let good blood go to waste.”

  What?!?

  There was nothing I could do but lie there, trying to hold my last meal down until he was finished. I had known there were a lot of freaks in the city, but I’d had no idea it got this disturbing.

  “You can go get cleaned up. I’ll allow you a robe for now, as long as you remember your place and address me with the respect I demanded earlier.”

  In my revulsion, I hadn’t noticed the pain had dissipated. That couldn’t be right. I stood, disoriented, and made my way to the bathroom.

  He watched me from the bed. “You’re as delicious as I knew you’d be.”

  I shuddered at that unnecessary commentary and shut the bathroom door on him as if that could erase his last words. He was going to give me God knew what kind of diseases licking open wounds. Even the thought made me want to vomit. I went to the mirror to inspect the damage, but when I turned and craned to look, there was no damage to be found.

  I wanted to confront him, to try to understand how this was possible, but I wanted even more to wash the memory of what had just happened off my skin. I would have been less revolted if he’d thrown me down on the bed and had his way. That was something I’d expected at least.

  The shower was hot and more soothing than it had any right to be. I cleaned up quickly and grabbed a robe off the wall hook, wrapping it around myself, and went back into the bedroom where Gabriel still lounged on the bed.

  “What are you?”

  “I’m the oldest and strongest thing in this city. Everything and everyone ultimately answers to me, whether they know it or not.”

  Sure they did.

  He couldn’t be that much older than me. Although few people made it to true old age here, it wasn’t as if I’d never seen someone old. Gabriel didn’t qualify.

  “W-what did you do to those girls downstairs? Are they drugged?” I couldn’t decide if my mind was trying to forget the last fifteen minutes entirely or if I was that distracted by those girls downstairs. Was he keeping them all the time? Surely they hadn’t just been brought here. They seemed too comfortable. They hadn’t appeared scared or self-conscious.

  “No. They’re not drugged, Helene. They don’t remember most of their previous stays, but there is enough that lingers and pulls them back. They were waiting outside the door when night started. They were begging to come inside. You will, too. I know your type well.”

  Why didn’t they remember? It sounded like drugs to me.

  Some of my earlier bravery deflated. I could imagine a run-of-the-mill psycho. I could mentally project myself into a future where said psycho might kill m
e. But I felt as if I’d spun out of my orbit with the blood-drinking thing. I couldn’t begin to imagine how my back wasn’t injured anymore, and I didn’t want to.

  Maybe I’d been the one that had been drugged. Maybe I’d been given hallucinogens. Maybe this was all just one big, long mind fuck. Stealing, raping, and killing had to get boring after a while when you had free reign to do it. Maybe they were getting more creative at night.

  “I’m not human,” he said.

  I hadn’t classified any of the men I’d met tonight as human, but it seemed Gabriel was being more literal.

  All at once, his eyes glowed orange-red like the fire downstairs, and sharp teeth grew from his mouth. I still wasn’t sure this was happening, but I moved closer, fascinated. I reached out and touched the tip of his fang with my finger.

  “I-I don’t understand.” I forgot to be depressed and hopeless and tired of everything because sitting before me was something so impossible that I felt short-circuited—the loop of my constant self-pity broken, however briefly.

  His face changed back to normal. “I drink the blood of your species to sustain me, but I can also heal myself and others. I don’t age. My house is run as a blood brothel for my people. It’s not the only one in the city, but it is the most popular.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Enough. Fewer than you might think. We don’t reproduce like humans, and it’s difficult to create another of our kind. Though some of the older ones like myself would prefer to keep our numbers small. Too many, and resources become scarce.”

  An intricately carved wooden box sat beside him on the bed. It hadn’t been there when I’d gone to shower. He opened it and retrieved a gold band. He took a matching gold key from the box and unlocked the band and put it around my throat.

  “Don’t remove your collar. It’s not like the ones some of the other girls wear. It will protect you. Those who come to this house will know you’re mine. They know not to touch someone with a gold collar.”