A Darkness Below: Chapter 5

So far, this endeavor has been going well. Special thanks to @jedau for the ever-present words of wisdom and encouragement. To all you friendly folks out there who have been reading these chapters: thank you so much!

If you're just coming to A Darkness Below, you can check out the previous chapters here:

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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A week to the day, Jasen heard the thump of boots in the hallway leading to his cell. He smiled a little; this was going to be a welcome distraction from his imprisonment for as long as she kept coming down here, and she brought something to eat to boot. Perhaps it had something to do with what Sullivan had talked to him about. Maybe they were fattening him up for the kill, so to speak. Either way, he’d take pleasure from the company while it lasted. He turned his head to the cell door as Maggie turned the key and opened it, watching her walk in.

“Welcome back, Maggie. A pleasure to see you again.”

“It’s all yours, I’m sure,” she said, in the same curt way she’d spoken to him the first time she’d come down. The blood she’d given him last week had begun to lose its effect, and she could see his skin starting to crack along the corners of his mouth and his eyes. The vitality in his red eyes had begun to seep away as well, leaving them almost as dull and glazed as the first time she’d seen him. She fished out a small bottle from her pocket and tossed it to him, knocking him in the chest once again.

“Thank you kindly,” he said, before he brought forth the same shadowy forms to open the bottle and feed himself.

She hated to admit it, and she tried to tell herself otherwise, but he didn’t look half-bad when he didn’t look like a corpse. He had a strong, defined chin, high cheekbones, and a straight nose that fit his sharp brow. All in all, he almost looked princely. Were it not for the fact he was savage monster, he could be a handsome man. Perhaps, once upon a time, he was, but now she admired him the way one admires a tiger. He was a creature with a singular drive to hunt people, and she reminded herself of that again standing in the room.

“Chair’s still there, if you want to sit.”

“I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, rolling his head back and forth to pop his neck. Fullness had returned to his cheeks and his body; he almost looked like his old self, but he was still a waif by comparison. It would take more than a small bottle of chilled blood to bring him back to the picture of eternal youth, but he was content with what he received. “Shame you always serve it cold. What I wouldn’t give to have a warm bottle every once in a while.”

“You mean fresh from the source.”

“Oh no, it doesn’t have to be fresh. It’s much more palatable when it’s warm. When it’s cold like this, it tastes much more like a bag of copper coins. When it’s heated up, though, that flavor dies away, and it tastes almost sublime. You’re right though. Nothing compares to the way it tastes fresh from the vein, so to speak.”

Maggie scoffed and turned her head to look away, staring at the far wall of the cell. Her discomfort remained, knowing that every bottle of blood she provided him gave him that much more control over the darkness that suffused his cell. She reached up and scratched the back of her head, tugging lightly on her ponytail before crossing her arms over her chest.

Shame that they had such a lovely woman doing such drudgery, Jasen thought quietly. Maybe it was the result of being Sullivan’s daughter. The common folk always liked to exact a higher price from the children of nobility if they had to be mixed in together, and these were new and exciting times. He chuckled a little and shook his head, leaning back against the wall again.

“Something funny?” Maggie didn’t turn to look at him, still focused on the far wall.

“Just that they have you down here doing this dreary work. I noticed your insignia on your collar; you’re a hunter. A reasonably experienced one, if memory serves about your rank structure. I’m surprised they have you down here instead of out, doing what you were made to do.”

“Yeah, well, my attitude gets the better of me.”

“So that must be where all of Sullivan’s vigor went to.”

Maggie snapped her head to look at him, narrowing her fiery red brows. Jasen held his hands up, palms toward her, and shook his head.

“I meant no offense,” he said. “Your father is as kind and collected as any man I’ve seen. Had this been a few centuries ago, he would have been a fine and well-loved duke. A man that common people admire. He is just so damned calm.”

“You haven’t pissed him off enough,” she retorted, shifting her weight to her left leg and shaking her head.

“Oh I don’t think you have either,” he replied, a coarse chuckle leaving his throat. “I’ve seen him at his most savage, and I doubt he’d ever show that same level of violence toward you, Maggie.”

He was right, and she hated to admit that, too. For as hard as her father had sometimes been on her, she knew it hadn’t been anything. He’d been a hunter when he was younger, and as one herself she knew the depth of violence and aggression they had at their disposal. Her father was nothing if not kind and considerate, and that was part of what aggravated her so much. She shrugged and looked back to the wall.

“We’re just talking. No harm in talking, Maggie.”

“So then you’re finished with your meal?”

“I’m finished. Thank you,” Jasen replied, shrugging his shoulders as he brought his head to rest against the stone wall behind him. She wasn’t going to engage in conversation with him today. No sense in trying to prolong what was - for her he was certain - an uncomfortable task. Maggie turned away and headed for the door to the cell, moving at a reasonably fast pace. Once she reached the door, though, that nagging feeling in the back of her head made her stop, and she stood there for a second or two without saying anything.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, before she stepped through the door and locked it behind her. Hurried steps carried her down the hallway to the stairwell, and the sound of her boots on the stone steps died in the stairwell, leaving him in silence once again.

“She’s cute. Got a red temper to her, but I like it. She’s feisty.”

“You know, you don’t have to talk. You could just be silent. Might be worthwhile trying it,” Jasen said, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. He really didn’t want to deal with him right now, especially now that his hunger wasn’t clawing at him quite so sharply.

“Nonsense. Without me, where would you be? I’m you’re only friend down here.”

Much as he hated to admit it, Jasen couldn’t deny the truth of it. Maggie came down here because she had to, and she didn’t stay to chat. Sullivan came down from time to time, but his visits had become less frequent as time had passed. With the pressure from Brennan and McKenna to kill him off, that wasn’t likely to change any time soon, so he was right.

“Friend is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“Oh come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy running around, master of all creation, drinking from the life of any man or woman you chose to. You used to love running them through. You can’t lie to me, Jasen. I know you too well.”

“Only because you’re in my head. Pulling the strings. Which is precisely why I turned myself over to be put into this cage. To get away from you,” he retorted. Jasen opened his eyes and peered into the darkness in the opposite side of the room. Something moved, or at least he thought it did. Then he noticed the pair of glowing, golden eyes looking back at him from the black. For a long moment, neither said anything, simply looking at each other in silence. In his mind, he knew those eyes were figments of his imagination; projections of the other monster that inhabited his waking mind, picking at him.

“I should have never taken you out of that shrine in Aso,” he said, finally.

“And yet, you did. Can’t put the genie back in the bottle, Jasen.”

We’ll see about that, Jasen thought. He looked away from the set of glowing eyes floating in the darkness and turned back to the floor, putting the voice out of his mind.

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Andrei Chira is an anarcho-capitalist, former 82nd Airborne paratrooper, vaper, and all-around cool guy. He's a father to one wonderful little girl named Kate, lives down in Alabama, and spends his time writing stories, posting to Steemit (not as much as he probably should), and cultivating the mental fortitude to make it through three years of law school.