by McGill, Brie
“Give me the keys to your wine cellar.” Orion smiled, and stood up. “That’s what I want.” He turned his back to the conversation and marched out the door.
Tanked :: Nightmare 1
III.
Ninkasi didn't know for how long she slept; her head ached, and she couldn’t clearly recall the night's events. Awaking in a dark room, it became her top priority to find a way out.
Circling the room relentlessly, she groped in blackness, discovering a single door to the closet-sized room.
Locked.
Two hands on the knob, one foot against the wall, she tried with all her strength to pry it open.
It didn't budge.
Ninkasi knocked, pounded, screamed until her voice went hoarse. Her fingers clawed at the stones beneath the crack in the door. She crawled, scraping the floor with her hands in search of a vent. There were no windows.
She stood on the toilet in the corner of the room, hands frisking the stucco ceiling—she found no vents, nothing to help her.
Moving to the center of the room, she crouched and leapt, reaching for the ceiling with her fingertips.
If there were a vent in the center of the room, she couldn't reach it; it was useless to her.
And thus, she collapsed. Sat. Mulled. Waited.
Her stomach growled.
She thought of her brother.
She thought of Noah, lying motionless on the floor.
She couldn't bear the thought, and lifted her hands to her face. Noah. It was her fault. He deserved none of this.
What did her parents think? Did they assume she was dead, too?
Surely her father would send someone to look for her, despite his busy schedule. She had no idea what her mother would do, if she would simply lose herself to the bottle, or—
It frightened her to think no one would come for her. Being left to starve and rot slowly in this cold, confining, black little cell, sequestered away from all traces of sunlight, from society.
The door clicked open, and blinding light filled the cell, filtering around the silhouette of a stocky, broad-shouldered man wearing a mask.
Ninkasi squinted, lifting the crook of her elbow to her face. Panic struck her: the glimmer of illumined hallway behind the door drove home how insane she felt, trapped inside this horrifying closet.
This suffocating coffin.
She charged toward the door. "Let me out of here!"
The man deflected her with the swoop of a large arm. "Not so fast, sweetie." He spoke with a Rutian accent, emanating the overpowering stench of cinnamon and myrrh.
"I have to get out of here!" She wriggled in his grasp, clawing and kicking, fighting to swim through him, to dash through the doorway and escape.
"I'll show you to your suite." He gripped something in his other hand, a bracelet, a collar. "But first, you have to understand—"
"There's nothing to understand!" Ninkasi edged her body between him and the door frame. “I can’t be in here anymore!”
Thick fingers latched around her arm. “Let’s get one thing straight!” The man ripped her away from the wall, shoving her into the cell. "I call the shots around here!"
Ninkasi powered forward, smashing into him, fighting to break through the door.
"You test my patience." Digging his fingers into her arm, he threw her into the room, raising the harness in his other hand. "If you'd stay still for one minute—"
Ninkasi stumbled backward. She shook her head, taking a deep breath, and barreled toward him again. Diving onto the floor, she battled, wormed, wriggled for an exit beneath him, trying to crawl away.
The man yanked her by the hair.
Ninkasi stood on her tiptoes, trembling before him.
He lifted the collar to her face. "If you'd cooperate—"
She bit his arm.
The man screamed, dropping the collar. Opening a palm, he belted her across the face. "Insolent bitch!"
Ninkasi yelped.
"Just for that!" He wagged a finger in her face. "You’ll rot here!"
The door slammed.
The cell was dark.
Her face stung. Her wrist throbbed. Her stomach was still empty.
❧ ❧ ❧
“Mother, please, I can’t do it again so soon.” The girl wiped tears from her face, the billowing sleeves of her saffron chemise slipping away to reveal fragile wrists. “Please don’t make me do it. I don’t want to go.”
“It won’t hurt.” Snatching her arm, the blonde woman tugged her toward the operating table.
The girl sniffled, her words a whisper. “It hurt last time—”
The woman tapped her foot. “That was a mistake. It won’t hurt this time.” She crossed her arms. “I promise.”
“I’m afraid.” She sealed her lips.
“You forget the good you’ll do the world.” The woman placed a finger over her lips. “There are people all over the world, just like your mother, who need your help to—”
“I caught him.” Andrealphus, the giant, barreled into the laboratory, a young boy of fifteen slung easily over his massive shoulder. “Recalcitrant brat.”
The woman nodded, and pointed at a narrow, cylindrical tank spanning from floor to ceiling in the corner of the room. “Make the preparations.”
The boy beat his fists against the giant’s back and kicked his feet into his chest. “Let her go! Put me down!”
Andrealphus narrowed his kohl-smudged eyes and reached around his back with an enormous hand, clamping it over the boy’s mouth.
The boy bit his hand.
Face twisting with sour indignation, Andrealphus seized the boy’s throat.
“Don’t hurt him.” The woman glanced over her shoulder. “Too much.” She forced the trembling girl onto the operating table, securing her wrists and ankles with strong leather bonds.
Andrealphus strode to the back of the lab, opening a hatch on the side of the cylinder. Scowling, he threw the boy inside and locked the chamber.
The boy crashed into the cylinder, smacking his head against a thick pane of glass. He sliced his foot against a fierce propeller blade at the base of the tank and winced.
Growling, he climbed to his feet, pounding fists against the glass. “Hey! Let me out of here! You can’t do this! Hey!”
The blonde woman inserted an IV into the girl’s arm.
The girl’s head rolled to the side, a cascade of black, silky hair shimmering against the sanitized white of the operating table.
“Stop what you’re doing!” He pounded the inside of the chamber with his knuckles. “Hey!” His words echoed inside the glass tube, muffled.
Andrealphus peered into the tube and rapped his fingernails against the glass, smiling wickedly at the boy. With his powdered face, rosy cheeks, and pink-stained lips, he resembled a terrifying clown.
Glowering, the boy smashed a foot into the glass and recoiled with pain.
The blonde woman stroked the girl’s head. Unbuttoning the top of her chemise, she applied electrodes to her chest, and nodded at Andrealphus. “Submerge him.”
The giant opened a panel at the top of the cylinder, pushing a series of buttons.
The woman returned her attention to the girl. “We’ll connect him after he sleeps.”
A valve opened in the bottom of the chamber, hissing. A gurgling amber liquid flowed from wide tubes in the bottom of the tank and pooled around the propeller blades.
The boy’s face wrinkled with disgust. “What are you doing?” He smashed his palms against the glass. “You’ll drown me!”
The cold, burbling jelly reeked of blood and splashed over his feet, rapidly filling the tank.
Andrealphus moved to the woman’s side, towering over the operating table. He whispered something in her ear, and leaned forward, reaching for the young girl. He rested one hand over her ribs, his large thumb stroking her breast.
The gel rose above the boy’s knees.
He punched the glass, screaming tirelessly. He shivered, fee
ling the gel reach his thighs.
He didn’t want to drown. It made him frantic: he had to stop them. He couldn’t bear to watch them experiment on her.
He knew how it tortured her; when they were alone, it was the boy who held her when she sat and cried.
The cool slime climbed over his waist: his clothes were heavy, soggy. Panicked, he pushed his hands against the sides of the cylinder and strained to hoist himself above the liquid. Feet slipping against the walls of the tank, it was impossible to get traction, to climb.
Losing his grip, he fell into the tank, a wave of yellow slime breaking over his head.
The boy coughed and stood, shaking the slop from his hair, wiping his eyes with hands that dripped with gelatinous muck. Feeling the gel creep over his shoulders, he spat, tasting salt and metal, smelling blood.
Standing on tiptoes, he scraped his hands against the top of the tank, trying to hoist himself up. He kicked at the sides of the tank, wanting to climb, inch upward, away, praying that the gel might not fill the tank entirely.
He fell again, wincing when the jelly sloshed over his head.
He stood as tall as he was able. He felt the gel threatening to submerge him; he tilted his head backward, feeling cool slime creep over his ears, up the sides of his face.
He took a deep breath, a precious breath.
Jumping, he splashed in the slime, paddling, gasping for air.
Sinking to the bottom of the tank, the jelly covered his head.
He held his breath. This was it. Would he drown and die?
How much time did he have—minutes? seconds?
Puffing his cheeks, he squinted his eyes, and stood stubbornly at the bottom of the tank.
The urge to exhale overwhelmed him, and he opened his mouth for a deep breath, coughing and hacking on the slime. The cold, briny substance chilled him, filling his throat, his lungs. It was impossible to breathe, the substance choking him, invading him, permeating him.
The wretched stench of blood overpowered him, like a murder scene.
He was being murdered. It was all he could think.
The boy passed a moment in shock, his body cooling, slowing.
He opened his mouth and took a deep breath, surprised to notice his lungs had settled.
He could breathe.
Or, he thought he could breathe. He figured it was the delirium of his impending death, his body devoid of air and tricking itself into thinking it could be sustained another way.
The boy opened his eyes. He saw nothing. The gel disgusted him.
He bent his knees and tried to jump, floating slowly to the center of the tank.
He shut his eyes. A bliss washed over him. He forgot the world. He forgot the giant.
He forgot the operating table and the girl, momentarily.
Blackness permeated his mind. For how long the boy floated, suspended in the jelly, he didn’t know.
His mind was paralyzed. Eventually, he floated for so long that he was tricked into thinking his limbs dissolved. Numb for an extensive period of time, unable to move, unable to realize the separation of his skin from the gel, he forgot his body.
His consciousness poured from his body, filling the limits of the tank. He became the gel.
Flashes of rainbow color filled the blackness in his mind, with the splitting crack of thunder.
Body forgotten, he became acutely aware of his surroundings. Senses extending into a sphere, he expanded outward, his consciousness reaching far beyond the limits of his prison, a deluge of information sweeping through him.
He heard every voice in the facility, every heartbeat, noticed every bead of sweat dripping from every body. He forgot the smell of blood, discovering the biochemical stench of fear, anger, desire, hormones and heated blood in the hundreds of bodies teeming around him.
The blackness in his mind collapsed, creating an omnipresent sense-organ of his consciousness.
Information. Feelings. Whereabouts. He felt the whole of their kingdom. It was impossible for anyone to lie, to hide emotions or truth, from his newly dissolved perception.
The body didn’t lie.
His mind reached through an ocean of information, seeking the girl.
❧ ❧ ❧
Orion rolled over in his bed. He felt a lingering sense of eyes watching him.
Green eyes.
He sat up. A dream.
A nightmare.
The girl. Ninkasi.
Before nodding off, someone had mentioned she infuriated Aleister.
She bit him.
Orion lifted a hand to his face and smiled. In the twenty-odd years he lived with Aleister, never once had someone bitten him.
Not outside The Brotherhood’s shroud of secrecy, anyway, or perhaps outside his own bedroom. Who the fuck knew what Aleister did behind closed doors?
He didn’t want to know.
And Aleister was stupid. Sometimes he didn’t think. He was too blinded by rage to consider the damage he would cause the girl by indefinitely locking her in a dark closet.
Orion sat up and stretched. He slept in the decommissioned belfry of a remote tower, unused by others in the chateau, relegated to storage. He hid behind the closed curtains of a canopy bed, rich curtains of deep scarlet.
He covered the windows with cumbersome drapes, snuffing out every trace of sun, moon, and stars.
In the solemn belfry, he heard nothing. By extinguishing the light, he saw nothing. He was defended, impervious, perhaps forgotten, detaching himself from the world. Nothing plagued him, nothing rattled him.
Nothing except the nightmares. Dream catchers, dangling in every corner of the room, above every window, above the door, at the top of his canopy, were supposed to keep the nightmares out.
But they didn’t.
He reached through the curtains to his nightstand, lit a towering cylindrical candle, and grabbed the half-eaten chocolate bar in a shimmering purple foil. Brambleberry Bliss.
He broke off a square and took a bite. Dark chocolate. Delicious.
Orion climbed out of bed.
Aleister coveted the master ring of keys. If he wanted to free the girl, he would have to be creative.
It wouldn’t be the first lock in the chateau he successfully picked—the stash of empty wine bottles under his bed provided ample incrimination.
The doorknob snapped and clicked. There was no grind of a key in the lock, only the insertion of something smaller, metal. Hands knocked an unyielding knob side to side, the lock ticking and clacking.
Ninkasi pushed herself off the floor and scrambled into the corner, squatting, arms pressed defensively against the wall.
She wanted to leave this dark and awful cell.
It terrified her, the thought of another crazy man striking her. She trembled.
The door opened, a formidable, broad-shouldered silhouette appearing in the light, leaner and more fearsome than Aleister.
Her heart rate quickened, body breaking into a cold sweat.
“I don’t condone locking people in dark rooms.” The voice was velvety, reticent, mysterious.
Ninkasi shivered, coiling her arms around her legs, crouching into a tiny ball.
The lights flicked on, revealing a towering man in a billowing black cloak that swept against the floor. The hood draped over his head, concealing his features, stray locks of auburn hair cascading from the hood and settling over his shoulders. A black and red painted fox mask with a long snout concealed his face.
She couldn’t see his eyes—but she felt his stare burning into her.
The man said nothing else; approaching Ninkasi, he knelt before her. Extending a strong hand, he reached for one of her wrists.
Ninkasi shrank against the wall, ripping her hand away.
He covered his hands with opera gloves. Black, silken opera gloves. “Would you prefer to slowly decompose here?” He clamped a cool hand around her wrist.
Ninkasi reeled in vain, fighting to rip her arm away, inching further into the corner
like a trapped animal.
The masked man reached into his robe and retrieved a thick, purple bracelet. With his other hand, he twisted Ninkasi’s wrist, upturning the palm, inspecting her arm, his long hair brushing against her skin.
It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, his face obscured by the mask.
Her bottom lip quivered, and she leaned away, pushing her head against the wall.
He traced a thumb along the inside of her arm, studying the bruise on her wrist.
Silky, seamless strokes.
“You angered Aleister, didn’t you?”
Her shoulders trembled and she erupted into a paroxysm of tears, shuddering against the wall. She refused to acknowledge him.
“Listen.” He slipped the bracelet over her wrist and snapped it shut. “It’s not in Aleister’s best interest to harm you.” He released his grip.
Ninkasi melted against the wall, head tucked into her knees.
“But, this place.” He knelt beside her, taking deep breaths behind the mask. “It’s his castle. His rule. . . is absolute.” He leaned against the wall with one hand, tilting his head, observing her. “You respect his rule, or you suffer.”
Ninkasi shook her head, her words croaks between sniffles in a quiet voice. “This. . . is insane.”
The man rapped a fist against the wall. “It will spare you the conflict.”
She opened her mouth, face buried in her knees, and let out a tortured wail. She wanted to be home, or anywhere else, as long as it was far, far away from this nightmare.
No one knew where to find her. She could die here. There was no telling what these men would do to her.
He stood up. “I have your bag.”
Ninkasi lifted her head and glared at him, eyes puffy and swollen.
“You can have it.” The man craned his neck toward the door. “It’s in your chamber. Come.”
She averted her stare.
He extended a satiny arm to help her stand.
She leaned away.
Arm extended, he waited patiently.
Ninkasi didn’t move.
He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to her feet.
She yelped.
“We’re leaving.” The man reached into his robes and procured a coil of black fabric. “This is not a choice.”