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.
