A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1)

by William Scott

Despite the seemingly comfortable surroundings, Drummond knew that his future would be anything but comfortable. He was also not fooled by the innocent looking single bed he was sitting on, or the simple desk and chair he was staring at. He knew all too well that these few pieces of furniture were bolted to the ground and made of strong steel. Standing up he slowly paced the small room, staring at the only thing on the beige coloured walls, a giant mirror. He snorted at the idea of anyone being stupid enough to believe it was a simple mirror. He knew firsthand that it was a two way mirror and he’d be observed like a curious specimen, for this was no guest room, but a cell.

  There were many different types of cells in the lower level of the Manor, all for different types of prisoners and interrogation techniques. Drummond had taken a keen interest in them when he’d first arrived and had stood on the other side of the two way mirrors whenever the opportunity arose.

  A part of him was thankful that he’d been put in this cell rather than some of the cruder and damper ones. But this thought barely had time to register past the repeating mantra that rang through his head; he left me, he’s gone.

  “He’ll come back for me,” Drummond whispered hopefully as he sat back down on the bed. He desperately tried to find the reason for his being left behind. Surely Lord Cleaver trusted him and knew his worth? He’d been a faithful ally for years and had proven his worth many times over. So why did he leave without him?

  When no answer came to him, Drummond started looking around the cell frantically, his situation becoming clearer. His chest started to pound with anxiety and fear as the beige coloured walls seemingly turned black and crept slowly towards him with silent menace. He fell backwards onto the bed and covered his head, trying to block out the voice in his head with its debilitating message; he left me, he’s gone.

  Drummond could feel his world crashing down on him like the evil walls of the cell he now occupied. He’d been one of the most powerful men at the Manor with access to riches and the power of the portals at his disposal. He was known, respected, and feared throughout the island, free to do what he wished. But more importantly, he’d been an integral part of a group conspiring to take control of the Manor. Being a member of that secret brotherhood meant more to him than the gold he’d stashed in his vault or the women he’d had all over the world.

  “I am your rock Lord Cleaver,” he whispered as he sat up once more. He knew that they’d come to interrogate him soon, but he wouldn’t betray his brothers. He gathered what little courage he had, promising to keep their secrets and prove his worth.

  Drummond looked down at the floor and began laughing, lightly at first until it reached a maniacal crescendo. “They can’t beat us!”