Dark Captive

Copyright  Demented Thinking Productions 1998
Dark Captive

Darkness. Nothing but shrouded darkness encompassing his very  thoughts. No daylight, no manufactured light, no glimmer of hope. The  husky man sat straight up slowly with his throbbing head in his  trembling hands. "I can't believe this," he spoke aloud in a thick  English accent.

Clearing his parched throat the man peered disbelieving through the  empty darkness. "Where am I? Am I dead or alive?" Shaking his head  violently back and forth doing his best to clear the cobwebs from his  hazy mind, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Jesus, how did  I get here? What the hell happened?"

Rubbing the callused heels of his palms hard into his eye sockets, the  man realized for the first time since he awoke he remembered nothing.  His mind was a void. His own name, his job, whether or not he had  family, all of it gone and seemingly wiped from his memory. Dizziness  waved through the fog. He swayed a little and steadied himself with his  left elbow. He was uncomfortable and he had one heck of a headache. He  rubbed his head unconsciously and peered into the obscurity again.

As he struggled to remember who he was and why he was in a place such  as this, he enveloped his surroundings quickly and assessed it was not  a place he wanted to spend plenty of time in and it surely was not  heaven. The stone walls were cold and dank like a cave and he could  faintly hear a dripping sound in the distance. It was eerie. He  couldn't shake the sensation of plain and simple evil riveting the air  around him. Scratching his hurting head the man gripped the frigid wall  and steadied himself on his feet unsure. "I've got to remember who I  am?" He mumbled under his breath.

Searching himself for the smallest possible clue to his identity, the  man turned out all of his pockets. He looked in his pants where  everyone keeps a wallet or some form of identification. He rummaged  through his shirt pockets and even looked in his shoes and socks, but  on all counts found nothing. Frustrated he bailed out loud, "Whoever  put me here must of taken every form of identification I had."

Purging his mind deeply, the man fell silent as he groped his  surroundings around this purgatory he was to now call home. After 15  minutes of feeling, smelling and crawling he concluded he was in some  sort of underground prison with stone dungeon like walls and horrid  smells of men dying. He was alone in his cell and he seemed somewhat  physically battered. But the silence was deafening, and there was no  one else to share in his misery. Instead of answering his questions his  bout around the mildewed cell block brought many new ones to light and  still solved nothing.

He sighed heavily and sank against the cool stone wall caressing his  riddled, aching bones with its icy grip. The walls seemed to invite him  and invade him at the same time. Shivering he backed off a little and  looked at it in the darkness, but nothing was there only his deranged  imagination getting the best of him.

Deciding to find out if anyone else shared his fate in this dark state  of reality, he called out a little too loudly for such an empty place,  "Hello? Is anybody there?" The sound of his own voice reverberated off  the the walls and traveled down the lonely corridors. He listened  intently for the smallest possible sound, a scuffle of shoes on the  concrete floor, other voices, someone, anyone, hell he'd settle for  rats roaming about this place, but his own voice kept crawling back  into his ears louder than ever with definite emptiness and a certainty  he felt. He was alone. No human contact. No memory. No lights. "Damn!"  He screamed out in pure frustration. "I've got to do something, I just  cannot sit here and wait to die."

Struggling to his feet, intending to do a more thorough search of his  new dim surroundings he slipped and fell full force against the slimy  wall. "Oh, good one. You're so damned clumsy, Linden." The man  struggled to his feet again but a little more carefully as realization  took hold. "Wait!" He rubbed his forehead feverishly, "That's it! My  name! My name is Stewart Linden! I'm Stewart Linden and I work  for,...for,...for,...Oh hell, I don't remember!"

Scowling Linden forced himself back to his feet and scathed the entire  damp cell looking for any broken pieces to possibly dig his way out.  The search turned up the same information as before. Nothing. "It's  small and not very cozy." Linden mused to himself, "Whoever put me here  must not like me very much." As he turned around for better bearings he  heard in his own head, "On the contrary, Mr. Linden, I like you very  much, always have." "What the,..." Linden looked around madly for a  moment and dismissed it as his own fear of closed in places getting the  best of him. And as quickly as it came it was gone. Stewart shrugged  and sighed plopping down in what he thought might be the middle of the  cool cell like room.

Distantly he heard a rumbling sound, but he couldn't quite place it. He  sat quietly and thought hard, but still could not quite place it. The  ground shook and he had to hold on to keep from falling over and  hurting himself.

Deciding for the time being to forget the noise and work on a probable  way out of this mess, Linden began to rub the floor hoping he'd fall  upon a loose brick or anything escape worthy. In his travels he  discovered two loose bricks in the far left hand corner, but when he  removed them he only found more cold, hard concrete below. It could of  been concrete has wasn't exactly sure. He was sure of one thing. He was  in a serious predicament. Past that, he didn't know anything, for all  he knew Stewart Linden could be his best friend or his worst enemy. But  it was something until he regained his memory. It was a start.

The cell block he was in was old and carried a certain smell, but  besides the smell of age laid another stench far different, but he  couldn't quite place it and quickly dismissed it. In his journey he  noticed one heavy steel door locked from the outside was his only means  of escape. Obliviously the door was manifested to keep someone in  instead of out and all around the walls, floor and air bled dampness.  Stewart could not reach the ceiling, therefore he couldn't tell if it  bread the same dank, dampness the rest of the chamber did, but he  assumed it must.

He searched his pockets a little more carefully for any signs of his  existence or whereabouts and realizing he had inside pockets he had not  looked in previously in his shirt, he fumbled his hands into them a  little too quickly with anticipation tearing them slightly. Finding a  small object in his right hand inside pocket, Linden reveled in the  fact that he could at least have some closure of his dim thoughts for  the time being. He brought the tiny cardboard pack out and opened it  carefully treating it as though it were gold and it would break if he  opened it too eagerly. It was a book of matches. Excitedly he pried the  matchbox open almost wrecking it in the process. His numb fingers and  sweaty hands trembled fiercely as he finally unfolded the matches.  Quickly running his fingers over the contents of the book he landed  what he was looking for. A single match. Wiping his scrawling hands one  at a time on his pant leg , he took a deep breath, knowing it was his  only chance, and lit the match on the first strike.

Turning around slowly in a full circle he saw his own private hell for  the first time and gasped. "My God." The ceiling stood at least 20 feet  if it was an inch above the old callous stone floor and in the far  right hand corner hung a battered and worn skeleton. Linden whimpered  and drew back as if the skeleton jumped out and bit him. His jaws  agape, Linden uncertainly walked to his ragged cellmate. His match  became shorter by the moment and he tore at his sleeve frantically.  Reaching up in a split second and quickly tearing the femur bone from  the dilapidated bag of bones, Stewart remarked quietly, "I'm sure you  don't need this anymore, mate." Placing the weathered remains on the  frigid rock floor he wrapped his sleeve sound the tip and fastened it  tightly. He lit it with his depleting match fastidiously before it  burned out altogether.

The fire blazed brilliantly from his makeshift torch as he searched for  a secure place to anchor his flickering light. He remembered the two  loose bricks in the corner, and quickly scurried to the spot and  planted the torch gingerly. "Now...If I could just remember where the  hell I am, I'd be alright." Linden mused to the skeleton. "Well, never  give up, keep a stiff upper lip, devil may care and all that utter  crap."

Linden rubbed his rough hands together for warmth noticing for the  first time just how cold and damp his domain was. As the cool walls and  floor surrounded him he shuttered uncontrollably and scanned the small  tomb-like room with unregarded apathy. His eyes were mere slits as he  lurked them in and out of the shadows caressing the walls for some sort  of portal or catch to unlock the door or reveal a secret passageway to  freedom. Still nothing.

Again, Linden heard the faint rumbling rattling into his very soul and  bones, and it seemed to be getting closer. The sound spark some memory  deep within the crevices of his mind, but before Stewart could grasp  it, it was gone and hopelessly lost.

Dismissing it once again, he plopped in the center of the cold concrete  cell nervously waiting. "Well, it's obliviously a hard place to get out  of, " Linden said with a quiver nodding to his cellmate. "Looks like  this bloke had a run in with someone who did not agree with him. If I  could only remember everything, I know I could get out of here. Jesus I  should of listened to my mother and been an accountant instead of a  spy."

Everything began to flood back in waves and flashes. His memory, his  kids, his parents, and, oh God,...his wife."Why!" Linden screamed in  blind anguish. Insane with rage Stewart beat on the heavy steel door  with his fists until they were bruised and becoming bloody, "Let me out  of here you bastards!"

Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably as the events unfolded in  his mind's eye. The memories. He couldn't stop them if he wanted to.  His wife, Erica Linden, was dead. There was nothing he could of done  for her. And her face...her face...Oh God, her face. He moaned like a  wounded animal and slipped down to the ground coiled like a snake. Her  torn, riddled body lying there on the icy September ground lifeless. No  breath expelled from her once heavenly lungs, no beat emerged from her  sturdy heart. "Blood, oh God, the blood." Linden sobbed. Flashes of her  bloodied face raced through his unbelieving mind darkening every  untouched corner with an icy preciseness. "Erica...My dear sweet Erica.  I'm so sorry. Why? Why did this happen?" But even as he spoke the words  he knew why. Stewart sunk into the unfeeling floor and his entire body  felt like warmed jelly. Beating his fists on the unforgiving floor one  more time for good measure he dispelled the sour contents of his empty  stomach. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve he shouted at the top of his  lungs, "I'll get you! Do you hear me? I'll get you and when I do I will  kill you!" His body, wrecked with tears and wrenched with pain heaved  twice more and everything faded to black.

He slept. Sleep came quickly for him, but it was disturbed with visions  of a dark clad figure slowly and effortlessly raping his thoughts. It  was endless. The nightmares went on for what seemed like hours as he  tossed and turned on the frigid stone floor uncomfortably. And no  matter what he did the dark being probed and prodded him, not  physically, but mentally.

Linden awoke abruptly with a start. Shaking the last remnants of the  nightmares that still lingered in the darkest regions of his tired mind  he fought back the tears threatening to overcome him. The very real  nightmare encompassed him in his waking moments. The memories flooded  back once again and he lost the battle and started sobbing deep and  hard.

After the deepened fog cleared from his startled mind he turned his  aching head and realized he had been moved from his dank cell.  His cell mate was nowhere in sight and now instead of cold stone floor  and walls he was nestled neatly in a warm bunk with the chain link  walls of a prison cage. Hearing a faint hum, a bit like electricity in  a fluorescent light warming up, Linden stirred and scrutinized his  surrounding cell. Light flooded through the fencing from the long  corridor and Stewart struggled into a sitting position while wiping the  last remnants of sleep from his swollen eyes.

Linden leaned against the cage wall in a daze when the rumbling sound  came again much louder this time than it was before. The rumbling sound  became a grating like metal on metal. Gigantic metal doors were opening  and closing and it was getting closer. Someone or something was coming  for him. Stewart sat up straighter and busied himself with the residue  of clothes he had on.

He heard heavy footsteps as whomever came to the final door and it  opened with a loud whoosh. "Mr. Stewart Linden, A harsh foreign voice  called from the doorway. "Y...Y...Yes?" Linden stammered unsure.  Linden got to his feet quickly and straightened his ruffled pants and  shirt the best he could, and reply with a little more authority, "Yes.  I'm Stewart Linden." The voice unlocked the steel door to the cage and  replied with no emotion, "If you will come with me." The cage creaked  and croaked with the weight of the steel door and it rolled open with a  loud bang as Linden stepped out into the well-lit hallway.

Strangely enough he couldn't make out the stranger's facial features  nor could he place the accent. It was unlike any he'd heard before in  his life time. A cold, unfeeling hand gripped his wrist with  immeasurable strength as the foreign man gasped, "This way." And for a  moment the stranger's face seemed to change. It rippled as if he was  presenting a new face. In an instant it was gone and Stewart blinked  clearing his head before he really started to lose his frayed mind.

The two men walked in silence for what seemed like hours. Stewart  watched the foreigner with horrid interest. His face displayed  absolutely nothing. He was pale and cold and Stewart was sure the man  had no human emotion left in him. When they finally reached their  destination the stranger said, "Here," gesturing to a wooden seat in  the middle of another small room and before Linden could say anything  the stranger disappeared. "That bloke was a barrel of laughs." Linden  mumbled to himself. He felt the stranger's gaze upon him penetrating  his very soul. Wishing he had kept his big mouth shut, Linden shivered  from head to toe trying to keep pace with the goose bumps running their  own rendition of a hundred yard dash up and down his chilled spine.  "Welcome," boomed a voice from the darkness. Linden jumped as though he  had been goosed, "You scared the hell out of me!" Well, yes I usually  have that exact effect on most people, " The voice spoke clearly and  slowly with the same accent as the eerie guard. "My name is Leeland ."  the voice said matter-of-factly. Linden stood agape and ran through his  thoughts carefully before choosing his words. Leeland allowed the  silence anticipating the barrage oncoming questions with a playful  interest as Stewart tried to make out the familiar facial features  shrouded in the darkness. In a loud, bold voice Linden claimed, "My  name is Stewart Linden, I am special agent number 9126 and I demand to  converse with my commander in London!" Leeland laughed uproariously. It  was a grating sound as if laughter was not part of Leeland's every day  life.

Leeland moved closer, raised his eyebrows and made a futile attempt at  a whistle, "Well, well Mr. Linden. I have been greeted in all sorts of  manners from men more than you and less than you, but never one as  demanding as you. The fact that you are number,...What was it?" "9126."  Linden muttered. "Ah, yes 9126. The fact that you are number 9126 holds  no relevancy here. I do not care if you are a spy or a garbage  collector. It makes no difference to me whatsoever." Leeland finished  with a little chuckle. Linden thought about this information, turning  it over and over in his rattled mind. Panic welled at the base of his  mind and grew until he blurted out, "So, you are not the enemy?"  Leeland laughed heartily again and coughed, "No, Mr. Linden, I am not  the enemy. On the contrary, I could use a man with your...shall we say,  skills." Leeland sniffed and lit a candle not too far away from  Stewart's head with such speed an accuracy he wasn't sue he really saw  it until the candle beamed brightly and flickered. "You're an  intelligent man, Mr. Linden, are you not?" Leeland continued without  missing a beat, "After you hear my proposal, I am sure you will say  yes." Leeland waited for some response from his captivated audience but  none came. "Allow me to begin, then." Leeland spoke clearly and evenly.  "Feel free to stop me when you like and ask any questions." Leeland  waited, still no response. "You and your family were on vacation and  you all were abducted by my,...shall we say, staff and myself. My full  name is Leeland Forsythe and my family has been in power for many, many  centuries in this region and we will be here for many more. I was born  approximately 450 years ago. I have seen many things, and I will see  many more. And if you so choose you can live forever. Do you make the  choice? Or do you choose to die now with your family?"

Linden stood completely dumbfounded. He could not believe his ears. Did  this man just tell him what he thought he did or did he image the  entire conversation? As if Leeland read Stewart's mind he calmly said,  "No Mr. Linden, you are not imagining things." Linden jumped and stared  at Leeland Forsythe in amazement. Stuttering, Linden finally found his  tongue and spoke, "S...So...What you are...T...Telling...me is that you  are a V...Vam...Vampire?" Leeland snickered, "No I am not what you  perceive to be a vampire. I do drink blood and I choose my victims  carefully, but I hold no resentment for garlic, crosses or wooden  stakes. And sunlight, yes, sunlight is something I care not to think  about." As if to prove his point Leeland reached out and grabbed the  gold cross from around Linden's neck and held it in such a quick  movement Linden didn't even see the man stutter and released it a few  moments later unharmed speaking as he did it, "You see, Mr. Linden, the  old myths do not always ring truth."

Stewart Linden shivered deep down inside his soul despite himself and  muttered, "What of my family?" "Dead, as I just told you, Mr. Linden."  Linden gasped in shock and surprise. "Oh, come now, Mr. Linden. surely  you knew they were dead. Why would I spare them? They were too weak to  endure the first bite. They all died too quickly."

Linden scanned the room quickly for a way out, found none and spoke in  a raspy voice, "So, now you think after you've killed my entire family  I will just allow you to make me one of you, just like that!" "Yes, I  do. Once I present all the facts."

Stewart's mouth was dry, he licked his lips in a vague attempt to  regain some control of his missing saliva, he swallowed hard, but the  dryness did not succumb. "You see Mr. Linden, or should I call you,  Stewart," without waiting for a reply Leeland went on, "You really have  no choice because I've already bitten you once. All I have to do is  bite again and drain you to death. Either way you will either die or  come to my side. All that is required of you is to drink." Linden felt  his own heart pounding in his chest as he unconsciously reached up and  scraped his fingers across the neat puncture wounds on his neck. "Oh,  God." Stewart squeaked and the dream came flooding back to him as clear  as if it was happening all over again. His hands trembling erratically,  Stewart Linden plopped down hard in the wooden chair provided for him.  "If you come with me, Stewart, I'll show you beauty beyond any human  belief. I will teach you and pamper you, and without me, you will die  painfully and quickly. I will show you how to live and how rewarding  life can be, if you just come to me."

Fighting every impulse he had Stewart looked dramatically away from the  dark figure waiting just beyond the darkness, but he couldn't escape  Leeland's eyes glaring at him, boring into him. Unable to control his  feelings he was drawn to Leeland like a passionate lover. "Come."  Leeland whispered, "Come to me, my child."

As if Stewart's feet and legs had minds of their own he moved closer to  Leeland Forsythe for the first terrifying time since he entered the  uncomfortable chamber. Welcome and complete understanding flared from  Leeland's outstretched arms as Linden gradually and willingly came  closer. Stewart's blood coursed through his mellow veins, pumping  fiercely past his heart into his awaiting brain. Yearning for Leeland's  touch, his warmth, and his knowledge, Stewart stepped closer into his  open arms. Stroking his hair and caressing Stewart like a lost child,  Leeland cooed, "There, there.Isn't that much better, my child?"

The two men stood there for minutes before Leeland spoke quietly, "It's  time. It's time." Linden gazed deep into Leeland's dark violet eyes and  discovered everything in his life that was missing. Leeland plummeted  into Stewart's neck and heavily sucked his blood until almost dry for a  second time that evening. Ecstasy raged through Linden's body and he  could think of nothing else or anything else he wanted more than  Leeland Forsythe. Leeland pulled away from Stewart and he hung on  tightly while he offered his own vampire blood for the taking. Stewart  drank thirstily. Lightheaded and swimming, Linden slumped against  Leeland's hard, cool chest as the new blood bubbled and surged through  his rich veins. Contentment spiraled through Stewart Linden's body as  he sank deeper and deeper into the bliss Leeland Forsythe offered and  he finally succumbed to.