by Amy Cross
“You have my word,” Quillian continued, “and you have hers. Now, Edgar, you must make your decision.”
Edgar paused for a moment. “I have made it,” he said finally. “I had made it before I even walked through the door.”
“Then kneel,” Quillian sneered. “Let it begin.”
Edgar stared at him for a moment, his eyes filled with rage, before slowly getting down onto his knees.
“Quick,” Quillian said to Estella, “put the chains around his wrists.”
Hurrying to a nearby table, Estella grabbed a set of chains and then made her way toward Edgar. She stopped for a moment, seeing the pure hatred in his eyes, before making her way behind him and starting to fasten the chains in place.
“This is your fault, you know,” she whispered. “You could have had a happy life. We could have had a happy life, together, but you had to ruin it all.” She pulled the chains tighter. “Do you know what really hurts, Edgar? You're willing to give up your life to save Madeleine and Kate, but you were never willing to do anything at all to help me!”
“Go to hell,” Edgar spat, while keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Quillian. “You had -”
Before he could finish, he let out a gasp of pain as Estella pulled the chains again and the metal dug into his flesh.
“So you do feel pain,” she whispered into his ear, “and I can deliver it to you. I was worried that only Quillian could make you suffer, but it seems that I might be able to enjoy this too.” Reaching over his shoulder, she grabbed the front of his shirt and then tore it away, revealing his bare torso. After letting the fabric fall to the ground, she ran her right hand over his chest. “Yes,” she added, clearly lost in thought for a moment, “I think I shall enjoy this a great deal.”
“Is he restrained?” Quillian called out.
She paused for a moment, before heading back over to join him. “He's ready.” Slowly, she turned and looked back at Edgar, watching for a few seconds as the flickering candle-light danced across the muscles on his chest. “How should we begin?”
“The way we mean to go on,” Quillian replied with a smile. “By inflicting immense pain.”
Part Forty-Seven
I
“I've never heard a man scream so loud,” Joshua muttered, sitting in the doorway and staring out at the sea. For a moment, he watched as early morning sunlight rippled across the Mediterranean, and then he turned to look back inside, just as another scream rang out from the room below. “Then again,” he continued, “maybe scream is the wrong word, maybe it's more an angry howl. Either way, Edgar's got some lungs on him, huh?”
Placing several herbs on a wet piece of cloth, Estella tried to ignore Joshua's words. She took a knife and cut the stems away, but after that she seemed unsure about what she should do next. She just wanted a job to do, something simple, something that would allow her to ignore the sounds coming from the basement.
“What are you messing about with over there, anyway?” Joshua asked. “You've been very quiet since Quill went down to spend quality time with Le Compte.”
“I'm busy,” she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she arranged the herbs. She muttered darkly to herself as she tried to remember the correct order, but her mind was spinning and she could barely concentrate. For a moment, sh felt as if she might be about to break, but somehow she was able to stay strong. “I'm busy,” she said again, with tears in her eyes. “That's all.”
“I get that,” Joshua replied, “but what are you busy doing?”
“A healing solution,” she told him. “It'll heal even the deepest wounds and take away the sting. I don't know if it'll work on a vampire, but I suppose there's a chance.”
“Seriously?” He waited for her to reply, but she was clearly too busy with the herbs. Getting to his feet, he wandered over toward her. “Let me get this straight,” he continued with a grin, “you helped old Quill get Edgar here, you crowed over him and literally helped secure the chains, you're doing nothing to stop Quill and you've even been talking about joining in with the party, but...” He paused, staring at her for a moment. “But you're also working on some kind of balm to reduce Le Compte's pain? Don't you think those actions are a little contradictory?”
“You have no idea what you're talking about.”
“So are you going to help torture Edgar? Or are you going to just hang around, listening to his screams?”
“I'll do what I need to do.”
“But if -”
“Enough!” she hissed, turning to him. “Don't you have anything better to do? Are you really going to spend your morning hanging around here, irritating me with your incessant questions? Again?”
“I'm just trying to figure you out,” he replied. “If you don't like my questions, then maybe I should just cut to the chase and ask the important one. Do you love Edgar Le Compte?”
“Of course I do,” she snapped.
“But you're okay with letting him get tortured like this?”
As if on cue, Edgar cried out again from the basement.
“Edgar has done some wicked things,” Estella replied, “and he's hurt a lot of people. That can't be allowed to go unpunished, but I'm hopeful that eventually he'll see the error of his ways and perhaps he'll change.”
“You think a man like Edgar Le Compte can change?”
“Any man can change.”
“Even a bad man? Even one with the darkest of souls?” He paused, waiting for an answer. “Are you sure you don't enjoy the torture, Estella? I mean, you've been torturing yourself for long enough, so maybe you've got a taste for it. Are you sure you don't get all tingly when you think about Edgar's skin being split open, and about blood running down over his big, manly chest? Maybe there's a fine line between pain and desire.” He paused again. “Think about him down there right now. Naked, sweaty, covered in blood, his every muscle straining as he -”
“Do you want to die?” she hissed, turning to him with a knife in her hand. “Right now, do you want me to cut you down and gut you like a fish?”
“With magic?”
“With this blade,” she said firmly, taking a step toward him. “Sometimes the simple ways are the best.”
“Huh,” he replied with a grin, “so you have got a taste for blood. I remember you back when we were all kids, Estella Graves. You were always so prim and proper, so reserved. A little bit full of yourself, to be honest, like you thought you were better than everyone else, but I certainly never expected to see you threatening someone with a blade.”
“I don't have time for you,” she replied, her voice trembling with anger. “You're nothing, you're just -”
She stopped as Edgar cried out again.
“Gonna run to him?” Joshua asked. “Gonna get a bucket of nice hot, soapy water and go wash him down when Quill takes a break?”
“You should leave now,” she said darkly, “while you still can.”
“It's always the quiet ones, eh?” he replied, turning and making his way slowly toward the door. “I always felt there was a glint in your eye, Estella. Like a hint of something cruel. I never thought it'd come out like this, but I had you pegged, even when we were in the schoolyard all those years ago.” Stopping at the door, he turned back to her. “But I'm confused about one thing. If you're in love with Edgar Le Compte, how can you also be in love with Doctor Lassiter?”
“Go to hell.”
“Do you even know what love is?” he asked. “Or is love, for you, just about finding the man who'll make you the woman you always wanted to be?” He paused. “Standing there with that knife in your hand, with screams coming from below, I think you've finally found the man who'll be the making of you, Estella, but it's not Edgar or Lassiter. It's Quill. He's teased out the real Estella. Maybe he's the one you should marry.”
Trembling with rage, she watched as Joshua sauntered out of the lighthouse. For a moment, with the knife clutched in her shaking hand, she thought about running after him and plunging the blade into hi
s chest. She knew she'd feel good, that killing such a weak and pathetic man would almost be a service to the life of the island, but at the same time something held her back. Cold-blooded murder was still a line she wasn't willing to cross, and after a moment she turned and looked back down at the herbs, and she tried to focus on calmer matters.
A few seconds later, she heard footsteps below, and she turned just in time to see the hatch opening in the corner.
“You have no idea,” Quillian said, leaning heavily on his stick as he climbed up and then pushed the hatch shut, “how long I have waited for this moment. I thought I would celebrate when I finally heard Le Compte's screams again, but the truth is, I feel rather somber. It's as if, after all this time and after all my travels, I have found my true church. Ashalla aside, of course.”
Making his way over to her, he took a towel and began to wipe blood from his trembling, slightly swollen hands.
“Is that -” Estella began, before holding back.
“Is it his blood?” he replied with a faint smile.
“It was a foolish question,” she whispered, shocked by the sight but unable to stop staring.
“He does bleed,” Quillian continued. “There were times when I doubted that, when I thought he might somehow be apart from the rest of us. He certainly walks like a man who believes he can't bleed. Fortunately, he not only bleeds, he heals too. I can push him to the point where pain will drive him insane, and that'll only be the first step.”
“But when you're done -”
“Done?”
“When you're finished with him, I mean...”
“I'll never be finished with him,” Quillian replied. “Le Compte's suffering won't end. Others might come to Thaxos and help with the torture, I might rent his carcass out by the hour to anyone else who has been wronged by him over the years, but I'll never release him and I'll never let him die. He will spend eternity down there, paying for his sins.”
“What if he repents?” she asked.
“Repents?”
“What if he realizes his mistakes and says he wants to put them right? Everyone should be given the chance to repent.”
“Are you serious?” Quillian replied, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “A man like Le Compte will never repent.”
“But if he does -”
“Impossible,” Quillian said firmly, “and even if it happened, it would never be enough.”
“I see,” she said, looking down at the herbs, which suddenly seemed so paltry and useless now.
“It was all worth the wait in the end,” Quillian continued. “None of this can make up for what he did to the children in those nests, but when cold-blooded vampires around the world hear that Le Compte is facing justice, there will be a new dawn. My species will rise again and take its proper place in the world, a place of strength and power, greater even than we enjoyed in the days of old. There'll be no more cowering at the margins. The wrongs of the war will be corrected.”
Folding the edges of the cloth over the herbs, Estella tied the pouch together.
“Did he...” She paused. “While you were torturing him just now, did Edgar... mention me?”
“Do you care?”
“I'm curious.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Your name didn't come up,” he said finally. “Another did, though.”
She opened her mouth to ask who, but she already knew the answer.
“I promised Edgar that I wouldn't hurt Kate,” Quillian continued, “and as much as it pains me, I'm afraid I'm a man of my word. I cannot break that promise, even if it was made to my mortal enemy.”
“I understand,” she replied, her voice tense with anger.
“You made no such promise, though,” he pointed out.
She turned to him.
“You're free to do whatever you want with Kate Langley,” he continued, allowing himself a faint smile. “I'm not telling you that you should go up to that mansion and wipe her miserable soul from the face of the planet, but there's nothing to stop you.”
“That would be cold-blooded murder.”
“So? Don't act all dainty with me, Estella. You've come damn close to the act already. I know what happened when Kate fell from that window, and I know why Emma Lowndes became so ill and then recovered so suspiciously quickly. You might think you wouldn't cross the line, but the truth is, your toes are already over it.” He stepped closer. “A good person can become a bad person, briefly, if she is the master of her own soul. If I were you...” He paused. “Well, let me tell you one thing, Estella. Revenge, when done well, is the greatest feeling a living creature can ever experience. Greater than love, greater than hope or desire. Revenge. You've never lived until you've felt it coursing through your veins. But if there's someone you really want to kill, make sure she's not your first victim.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you want to kill Kate, kill someone else first, just to remove the doubt from your mind. Just find some lowly, worthless piece of scum and cut his throat. Then, when you go after Kate, you'll be stronger.”
Staring at the pouch of herbs in her hands, she paused for a moment, before turning to him.
“I should go to Edgar,” she said finally. “I should clean him up a little.”
“And I shall rest, ready to go down there later and tear him apart again.” Leaning heavily on his stick, he turned and began to make his way across the room. “Think about what I said, Estella, and take this advice from one who knows. Revenge is sweet and beautiful, but it's an art and it must be crafted carefully. One does not simply plunge the dagger into the bosom of one's enemy. One drives it in slowly, enjoying every moment.”
“I believe you,” Estella whispered, swallowing hard as she turned and looked toward the hatch that led down to the basement. For a moment, she imagined what it would be like to look into Kate's eyes and see nothing but cold, glassy death staring back. “I believe you,” she said again, with a faint smile, “and I look forward to the day when I possess the necessary strength.”
II
“Careful,” Nixon said as he propped a pillow behind Kate's back, before helping her to ease back down. “Doctor's orders, Kate. Just because you're all sewn shut again, that doesn't mean you can go running around. You need to rest.”
Wincing as she felt pain throbbing her chest, Kate let out a gasp as she tried to sit up a little further. She paused, before trying again with the same result.
“Don't make me strap you down,” Nixon warned her.
“Where's Edgar?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“I'm not sure right now,” he replied, with a hint of concern in his eyes. “Don't worry about that, though. If Edgar walked into the room right now, he'd tell you that you need to rest.”
“Something doesn't feel right,” she continued, pulling the top of her shirt aside so she could see the stitches that ran down the center of her chest. Thick pieces of wire had been threaded through her flesh, pulling the skin tight and leaving the edges red raw. “Whatever Quill's planning, I don't think it's quite what Edgar thinks it is. The whole trip to Raven's Briar was -”
Gasping suddenly as pain struck again, she lay back and took several deep, heavy breaths.
“I hate this,” she whispered, between deep, heavy breaths. “It's been one injury after another lately.”
“I don't suppose,” Nixon said after a moment, “that there's any point in telling you not to worry?”
“None at all,” she stammered, taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment before trying, yet again, to sit up. She got a little farther this time, before falling back down with an exasperated grunt.
“Edgar's a big boy,” Nixon continued. “I'm sure he can take care of himself. He'll do whatever's necessary, and if nothing seems to be working, he'll just rip everything apart. That tends to be how things end up most of the time, anyway.” Pausing for a few seconds, he finally frowned. “Actually, I think I get why you're worried now. I wouldn't give that lighthous
e much chance of still being standing by the end of the day, although -”
Glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner, he couldn't help but note that Edgar had been gone for a long time now. He didn't want to admit that he was worried, but in the pit of his belly there was a strange, snaking feeling of concern.
“Do that one last thing for me,” he whispered, remembering Edgar's final words as he'd left the room a few hours ago. “One last thing.”
“What are you mumbling about?” Kate asked, still trying to gather her strength so she could try once again to sit up.
“Just thinking out loud,” he replied, reaching over and checking the temperature of her forehead. “You've got a bit of a fever, Kate. We need to watch that, or it could get a lot worse. I've managed to stabilize you for now, but you're most certainly not out of the woods, not by a long shot. You really mustn't strain yourself, there's nothing you can do anyway, not if Edgar's -”
He caught himself just in time.
“Not if Edgar's what?” she asked.
“Not if Edgar's not here right now,” he replied. “In fact, he specifically told me to look after you. I suppose he's relying on me to get you up on your feet pretty soon.” Looking over at the grandfather clock again, he couldn't shake the feeling that his worst fears were about to come true. He'd always relied on Edgar, always known that no matter how bad things seemed, Edgar would come to the rescue. Now, for the first time, he was starting to truly believe that he was alone.
“You're lying to me,” Kate said suddenly.
He turned back to her.
“Tell me what's really going on,” she continued. “Nixon, I need the truth!”
“So do I,” he replied. “Kate, I've been patient for long enough, but you have a great deal of relevant information in your head about the future, and we can't pussyfoot around the damn thing any longer.” He took a seat next to her. “Forget about being scared to affect things, forgot all those worries about time-lines and fate, just tell me... in the year you come from, is Edgar still here on Thaxos?”