Status: Actuve (=
Angels and Rain
Prologue.
17th December 2008
I keep seeing him. Feeling those cold inhuman eyes on the back of my neck.
Searching.
Oh God, I need to tell someone. Anyone, I don't actually care who any more. Just someone who can do something. Someone who can stop this. Someone who can give me a chance to get out of this whole charade alive.
But maybe he’s lonely? Perhaps he only wants help?
I couldn’t deny him that.
21st December 2008
Help me.
25th December 2008
Merry Christmas.
She woke up with cold marble beneath her, ropes tied and biting at her arms and ankles to the point where she was able to feel her own blood spilling. It was black as pitch, save for a few pathetic beams of weak grey light coming in through the leaded windows. Her head throbbed, the slightest noise sent spasms of pain across her entire body, the cold, rank smell of damp stone and decay suffocated her and, by her blurred vision, she was dimly aware of another cloaked figure moving up in front of her. A wash of beautiful blue-black hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in shimmering waves, like a waterfall turned to negative in this poor, grey world, coming to rest just
before her waist.
How odd she thought.
At first, she thought that it had been the one that knocked her out, but as her image cleared, she saw
that this woman was smaller and less stockily built. Her hair wasn’t as wild. There was something
calm and fluid about her movements.
Maybe she was here to help? Oh God, please let her be here to help. The new woman turned, carrying
a large clay jug in her hands. As soon as she lifted her head and saw Aciay she screamed. The jug
fell to the ground, clay and water showering everywhere.
“Chancey! Chancey!”
She muttered a few words in a tongue Aciay didn’t understand and made a sign in the air with both
her hands.
There was a movement in the darkness behind her. As if being born of shadow, another, far more
terrifying spectacle arose. It was approaching seven foot by Aciay’s confused mind, the jet black evil of
the room still existing, pulsing in the gloomy overhangs of his face. He could be ageless. Mid fifties
ranging to a long dead corpse.
“Yes?” His voice dripped with the grease that flowed wildly from his hair and beard, drawling in a
sickening fashion.
“What have you done to her? Why is she bound up like that? You can’t do it like this!”
The woman’s arms flapped, on the border of hysteria, she snorted in frustration and started to undo
the knots done up so tightly round her wrists and ankles. Aciay closed her eyes and felt the blood
return to her fingers.
Chancey laughed. A cold, hard mocking laugh. “My dear, I shall keep her alive, of course! We just can’t
afford to have another go like the last one did. Waste of good flesh. Oh for God’s sake K, leave her be!”
The woman paused, her pulse quick behind her fingertips, but didn’t stop.
“K!” He said again, at the same volume, but the pitch unearthly deep and carried with it a note of deep
loathing. Even Aciay, cowered as much as her bindings would let her. Grudgingly, K dropped Aciay’s
left arm. Pain shot though it as it fell back onto the freezing marble, but the smaller woman still stayed
by her side.
“K, get away from there.”
She still didn’t move. The brown gaze that fell from her eyes radiated into him.
Chancey gave an almost deafening roar of frustration. The hands came from behind K; lifting her up
with seemingly inhuman strength and tossing her aside like a rag doll. If Aciay could have screamed,
she would have as K landed with a crack an alarming way away from the marble bench, head down to
the floor. Aciay stared, shocked at the sudden loss of temper from the man.
“Get up.” Chancey growled.
The body in the corner didn’t stir.
“I said get up.”
There was a small shudder as K lifted her head to face her master. Blood was pouring from her
mouth and a large gash on her forehead. It looked like thick, black treacle.
“Good. Now open the door.”
K curtseyed roughly, not taking her eyes from her master, and stumbled over to a large heavy oak
wood door at the far end of the room. There was a scrabbling sound as it swung open and Daya and
Avarice walked in. They too were unmasked and de-hooded, Daya’s wild, deep orange curls hanging
down to her waist, and, in the half light at least, Avarice seemed to shine, grey air catching on his
porcelain skin, vampire eyes glowing.
“Shame we lost the little one.” Chancey muttered, almost to himself.
Aciay just tried to lie perfectly still, not twitch, not breathe, not willing to attract Daya’s attention again,
not after what she did to her the first time. The taller, more powerful woman smirked when she saw
the mess the shattered jug had made.
“Oh, K, bless. You can’t even take care of the water without dropping it.” She said in her sardonic tone,
stepping pointedly on one of the shards.
K spoke one word. “Ida.”
Daya sneered.
“There’s blood here.” Avarice half whispered.
K looked up, but didn’t answer.
“K?”
She looked up at him.
“Oh my God, K! What have you done?” he asked as soon as he saw her face, bending down over his
friend in tender concern. “Your lip looks a mess!”
She shook her head dismissively. “It’s nothing.”
“Are you sure? You look like you need stitches. Oh Christ, what have you done to her?”
“No, honestly,” She gave a nervous glance towards Chancey “it’s really nothing.” Grey, congealed
blood hung from the left corner of her mouth.
“She's fine, Avarice. K, Ungag her.”
Avarice flipped black hair from his jaden eyes and gave a low hiss. K smirked at Daya and came over
to the marble bed. Her white face looked unbearably wretched with her own blood caked over it and a
large yellow bruise appearing on her right cheekbone. Aciay couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, and
she was so gentle when untying the piece of filthy cloth done up around her mouth. Bending forward
gently, she whispered in Aciay’s ear. “I’m so sorry.”
“So pretty, so pretty” muttered Chancey to himself. “Daya?”
Daya almost fell over herself in the rush to be at her master’s feet.
“Yes sir?”
“Is the bowl there?”
“Yes sir. Would you like me to fetch it for you?”
“Daya, I don’t need to be waited on day and night. You of all should know that. Maybe if you realised
that you could become a bit more like K.”
Daya shuddered at this last remark. “I am twice the woman K will ever be!” She snarled quickly, long
nailed fingers balling into fists. “K is weak! She feels pity!”
Chancey looked steadily at her.
“Take it back!”
Daya then made a strange movement, as if she intended to bite the air between herself and her
master.
“It’s true. Knife.”
Aciay’s breath caught in her throat. Knife.
With her eyes closed, she was only vaguely aware of Chancey’s footsteps coming towards her. He
mumbled incoherently to himself, and then “Open your mouth.”
Aciay could only do so.
His filthy hand grabbed her hair, fingers winding their way into her thin ginger locks and pulling her
head back roughly. She squealed as her mouth was fell open, exposing the back of her throat to him.
Her eyes flew open to see his ugly, scarred face inches from hers, grey hair hanging in greasy strings
and fetid breath covering her face. The knife, a silver brute, at least ten inches with a menacing looking
curve was in his other hand.
“Cruel necessity” he whispered, and before she could even register what was happening, the blade
flashed across her cheek and a blinding pain ripped through her tongue. The noise of tearing muscle
and a brief, stifled scream filled the stale air around them. Blood and the tattered stump of her tongue
rushed down the back of Aciay’s throat, filling it with a sick metallic tang, clogging the back of her
oesophagus and making her gag. She tried to move her head to one side to spit out the blood that
was suffocating her, but the fingers were still there, immobilising her movements. She made a small
bubbling sound as she tried to breathe.
“Now we can talk. Well...” He looked down at her down his hooked nose and chuckled to himself
gently “I can.”. Chancey leaned up closer, putting her tongue in a small pewter dish beside the slab.
She could feel his breath on her cheek and hair. “They say I shouldn’t” He said in a low voice, nodding
towards the three others in the background.
“But I will anyway.”
There was a desperate cry of “You can’t!” from K, although everything else was cut off as Chancey
turned back to the tied up woman on the marble bed, who was now bug eyed with trying desperately to
breathe through the mess of her own blood and ripped up muscle.
“First, we skin you. Alive, they like
you wriggling. Then put salt on your bloodied body, just to watch you writhe. We leave you for a bit and,
when we feel like it...” He dragged a large forefinger over his neck. “The knife goes in here,” He placed
the same finger on the base of her porcelain neck. “Where your ribcage joins your neck. It slits your
windpipe. I shouldn’t think the whole process would take more than, ooh, an hour and a half or so.”
He gave a lopsided grin of pure and utter malice.
Aciay didn’t answer. She was already unconscious by the first incision was made.
I keep seeing him. Feeling those cold inhuman eyes on the back of my neck.
Searching.
Oh God, I need to tell someone. Anyone, I don't actually care who any more. Just someone who can do something. Someone who can stop this. Someone who can give me a chance to get out of this whole charade alive.
But maybe he’s lonely? Perhaps he only wants help?
I couldn’t deny him that.
21st December 2008
Help me.
25th December 2008
Merry Christmas.
She woke up with cold marble beneath her, ropes tied and biting at her arms and ankles to the point where she was able to feel her own blood spilling. It was black as pitch, save for a few pathetic beams of weak grey light coming in through the leaded windows. Her head throbbed, the slightest noise sent spasms of pain across her entire body, the cold, rank smell of damp stone and decay suffocated her and, by her blurred vision, she was dimly aware of another cloaked figure moving up in front of her. A wash of beautiful blue-black hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in shimmering waves, like a waterfall turned to negative in this poor, grey world, coming to rest just
before her waist.
How odd she thought.
At first, she thought that it had been the one that knocked her out, but as her image cleared, she saw
that this woman was smaller and less stockily built. Her hair wasn’t as wild. There was something
calm and fluid about her movements.
Maybe she was here to help? Oh God, please let her be here to help. The new woman turned, carrying
a large clay jug in her hands. As soon as she lifted her head and saw Aciay she screamed. The jug
fell to the ground, clay and water showering everywhere.
“Chancey! Chancey!”
She muttered a few words in a tongue Aciay didn’t understand and made a sign in the air with both
her hands.
There was a movement in the darkness behind her. As if being born of shadow, another, far more
terrifying spectacle arose. It was approaching seven foot by Aciay’s confused mind, the jet black evil of
the room still existing, pulsing in the gloomy overhangs of his face. He could be ageless. Mid fifties
ranging to a long dead corpse.
“Yes?” His voice dripped with the grease that flowed wildly from his hair and beard, drawling in a
sickening fashion.
“What have you done to her? Why is she bound up like that? You can’t do it like this!”
The woman’s arms flapped, on the border of hysteria, she snorted in frustration and started to undo
the knots done up so tightly round her wrists and ankles. Aciay closed her eyes and felt the blood
return to her fingers.
Chancey laughed. A cold, hard mocking laugh. “My dear, I shall keep her alive, of course! We just can’t
afford to have another go like the last one did. Waste of good flesh. Oh for God’s sake K, leave her be!”
The woman paused, her pulse quick behind her fingertips, but didn’t stop.
“K!” He said again, at the same volume, but the pitch unearthly deep and carried with it a note of deep
loathing. Even Aciay, cowered as much as her bindings would let her. Grudgingly, K dropped Aciay’s
left arm. Pain shot though it as it fell back onto the freezing marble, but the smaller woman still stayed
by her side.
“K, get away from there.”
She still didn’t move. The brown gaze that fell from her eyes radiated into him.
Chancey gave an almost deafening roar of frustration. The hands came from behind K; lifting her up
with seemingly inhuman strength and tossing her aside like a rag doll. If Aciay could have screamed,
she would have as K landed with a crack an alarming way away from the marble bench, head down to
the floor. Aciay stared, shocked at the sudden loss of temper from the man.
“Get up.” Chancey growled.
The body in the corner didn’t stir.
“I said get up.”
There was a small shudder as K lifted her head to face her master. Blood was pouring from her
mouth and a large gash on her forehead. It looked like thick, black treacle.
“Good. Now open the door.”
K curtseyed roughly, not taking her eyes from her master, and stumbled over to a large heavy oak
wood door at the far end of the room. There was a scrabbling sound as it swung open and Daya and
Avarice walked in. They too were unmasked and de-hooded, Daya’s wild, deep orange curls hanging
down to her waist, and, in the half light at least, Avarice seemed to shine, grey air catching on his
porcelain skin, vampire eyes glowing.
“Shame we lost the little one.” Chancey muttered, almost to himself.
Aciay just tried to lie perfectly still, not twitch, not breathe, not willing to attract Daya’s attention again,
not after what she did to her the first time. The taller, more powerful woman smirked when she saw
the mess the shattered jug had made.
“Oh, K, bless. You can’t even take care of the water without dropping it.” She said in her sardonic tone,
stepping pointedly on one of the shards.
K spoke one word. “Ida.”
Daya sneered.
“There’s blood here.” Avarice half whispered.
K looked up, but didn’t answer.
“K?”
She looked up at him.
“Oh my God, K! What have you done?” he asked as soon as he saw her face, bending down over his
friend in tender concern. “Your lip looks a mess!”
She shook her head dismissively. “It’s nothing.”
“Are you sure? You look like you need stitches. Oh Christ, what have you done to her?”
“No, honestly,” She gave a nervous glance towards Chancey “it’s really nothing.” Grey, congealed
blood hung from the left corner of her mouth.
“She's fine, Avarice. K, Ungag her.”
Avarice flipped black hair from his jaden eyes and gave a low hiss. K smirked at Daya and came over
to the marble bed. Her white face looked unbearably wretched with her own blood caked over it and a
large yellow bruise appearing on her right cheekbone. Aciay couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, and
she was so gentle when untying the piece of filthy cloth done up around her mouth. Bending forward
gently, she whispered in Aciay’s ear. “I’m so sorry.”
“So pretty, so pretty” muttered Chancey to himself. “Daya?”
Daya almost fell over herself in the rush to be at her master’s feet.
“Yes sir?”
“Is the bowl there?”
“Yes sir. Would you like me to fetch it for you?”
“Daya, I don’t need to be waited on day and night. You of all should know that. Maybe if you realised
that you could become a bit more like K.”
Daya shuddered at this last remark. “I am twice the woman K will ever be!” She snarled quickly, long
nailed fingers balling into fists. “K is weak! She feels pity!”
Chancey looked steadily at her.
“Take it back!”
Daya then made a strange movement, as if she intended to bite the air between herself and her
master.
“It’s true. Knife.”
Aciay’s breath caught in her throat. Knife.
With her eyes closed, she was only vaguely aware of Chancey’s footsteps coming towards her. He
mumbled incoherently to himself, and then “Open your mouth.”
Aciay could only do so.
His filthy hand grabbed her hair, fingers winding their way into her thin ginger locks and pulling her
head back roughly. She squealed as her mouth was fell open, exposing the back of her throat to him.
Her eyes flew open to see his ugly, scarred face inches from hers, grey hair hanging in greasy strings
and fetid breath covering her face. The knife, a silver brute, at least ten inches with a menacing looking
curve was in his other hand.
“Cruel necessity” he whispered, and before she could even register what was happening, the blade
flashed across her cheek and a blinding pain ripped through her tongue. The noise of tearing muscle
and a brief, stifled scream filled the stale air around them. Blood and the tattered stump of her tongue
rushed down the back of Aciay’s throat, filling it with a sick metallic tang, clogging the back of her
oesophagus and making her gag. She tried to move her head to one side to spit out the blood that
was suffocating her, but the fingers were still there, immobilising her movements. She made a small
bubbling sound as she tried to breathe.
“Now we can talk. Well...” He looked down at her down his hooked nose and chuckled to himself
gently “I can.”. Chancey leaned up closer, putting her tongue in a small pewter dish beside the slab.
She could feel his breath on her cheek and hair. “They say I shouldn’t” He said in a low voice, nodding
towards the three others in the background.
“But I will anyway.”
There was a desperate cry of “You can’t!” from K, although everything else was cut off as Chancey
turned back to the tied up woman on the marble bed, who was now bug eyed with trying desperately to
breathe through the mess of her own blood and ripped up muscle.
“First, we skin you. Alive, they like
you wriggling. Then put salt on your bloodied body, just to watch you writhe. We leave you for a bit and,
when we feel like it...” He dragged a large forefinger over his neck. “The knife goes in here,” He placed
the same finger on the base of her porcelain neck. “Where your ribcage joins your neck. It slits your
windpipe. I shouldn’t think the whole process would take more than, ooh, an hour and a half or so.”
He gave a lopsided grin of pure and utter malice.
Aciay didn’t answer. She was already unconscious by the first incision was made.