Girl Desecrated 1984: Vampires, Asylums and Highlanders, page 29
His body barely moved under my assault.
Scarlett piggy-backed the moment, Come Rachel!
I gave up on everything I had been fighting—I gave up control over my life. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, but it was the only hope any of us had. Scarlett would fix Angus, and Angus… I prayed he would come for me.
Dropping down into myself, I sought Scarlett as one would grope in the darkness for the source of a voice. Concentrating on connecting with her, the awareness of my outer surroundings shrunk down to the size of a black pinhole, and then closed completely.
I was “inside”. I was buried alive.
Don’t forsake me Angus, I prayed.
The only answer was the brush of Scarlett’s scorn, as she took over my body.
~
~The End~
The story continues with Master of Madhouse
WORDS FROM THE AUTHOR
~
Thank you for reading Book 1 of The Fergus She.
I would love to hear your feedback on my work. Twitter hashtags #TheFergusShe & #GirlDesecrated @NspiredMe2Write. If you can, please provide a review. Reviews are valuable gifts for writers, and I would appreciate reading your response to my story.
You can find my social media links at http://www.cherylcowtan.com.
Scarlett is a character with so many plot possibilities, and I’m excited to explore other journeys she might take to other centuries. But first, Rachel gets to run the course through a few more novels.
The second book, Master of Madhouse 1894, continues with Rachel jumping out of the frying pan and right into the sadistic arms of Scarlett’s vampire husband, Gräfen.
Buy Book II while the story is still fresh in your mind, or read the first chapter for free below, and put Master of Madhouse in your Goodreads’ “to read” folder.
DEEPEN YOUR READ
Ever wonder how authors come up with this stuff? Want a deeper reading of Girl Desecrated so you can impress your friends, post nuggets of insider information, and enrich your book club discussions?
In the Impress Your Book Club enhanced reading guide, you’ll find:
lost Man-Boy chapters
the history behind the setting
detailed examples on designing a vampire from Twilight, Dracula and Anne Rice’s novels.
essays on vampire history and lore
an in-depth explanation of literary devices and techniques used in Girl Desecrated, and more…
This resource is fabulous for librarians, book clubs, teachers, students, writers and readers who want to grow and exercise their brains, and squeeze every drop from this story.
Impress Your Book Club for Girl Desecrated is available for purchase at Cherylcowtan.com.
Author Newsletter
If you want to be the first to know when new Fergus She books are being released, sign up for my Novel News newsletter at CherylCowtan.com. Through the newsletter, you will receive notice of give-aways, contests for cool and original items, be given access to more pictures of Scarlett and Rachel’s antics, and get sneak peeks of new writing and much more.
PRETTY PLEASE FOR REVIEWS
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at the book selling retailer you are most comfortable with. Or even better, copy and paste your review to several places The Fergus She is sold. Reviews help increase a book’s ranking, encourage others to try out the story, and are an all-around perfect way to show appreciation to an author .
DEDICATIONS
My husband, Chris, and my two sons, Nathan and Aaron, have been extremely patient over the past few years as I stole time, here and there, to write my novels. They understood when I needed to write, edit, design and market. I’m sorry for all the packaged meals and for making you sort your own socks. Truly, I love you guys!
I’m blessed to have published writers in my family, and each one has helped me get to the point of being published through personal encouragement, industry-relevant advice, editing assistance, and role-modeling, which includes them cranking out novel after novel. I am so proud to be related to and cared for by the following:
My mother, Dianne Ferris-Doekes writes Women’s Fiction, capturing Canadian culture and history with her stories. From the time before I could form letters, my mother was encouraging me to write, ordering Writer’s Digest magazine (which she still buys and passes my way) and submitting my work to contests. She’s been a fabulous advocate for me. You can connect with her on twitter at @DJFerris and read more about her writing journey and her novels at http://www.dianneferris.ca/.
My aunt, Gloria Ferris, writes Mystery with a dash of hilarity in the Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries and Cheat the Hangman. You can read more about her and her work at http://www.gloriaferris.com/ or connect at @GloriaFerris.
My Aunt Donna is an editor, who writes fast-paced crime thrillers. You can find her blog at http://djwarnerconsulting.blogspot.ca/, read more about her writing at http://www.donnawarnerauthor.com/, or connect with her on Twitter at @DWarnerLiterary.
HOW DID THE NOVEL EVOLVE?
The first question I should answer is “Why did I write a psychological thriller with horror undertones”? Blame my father, Jerry Cowtan, or praise him if you love this genre. My dad was an avid reader of Asimov, King, Burroughs, and he rarely missed Star Trek and Dr. Who. Dad was a strong believer in imagination and the power of the mind. We’d be driving down the dirt roads of Belwood in his construction truck, tools rattling in the back, and he’d be playing classical music on the radio and encouraging us kids to visualize images to the rising and descending melodies. Even before the X-files, our dinner conversations contained the question, “Is there life out there?” Oh yes, I was raised to write The Fergus She series.
One thing I learned while writing Girl Desecrated is that a novel is never the work of one person. I had many encouragements and much assistance along the way.
Dania Lynne, my colleague and literary editor offered to read my novel when I thought it was done, and from there, she guided me through a series of literary edits that improved my writing beyond anything I had done before. I cannot thank her enough, and I truly believe Girl Desecrated would not be published if it were not for her, and her tireless efforts to polish this manuscript.
In 2014, award winning author Jeffe Kennedy selected The Fergus She (which was what Girl Desecrated was originally called) for a Twitter pitch competition called #NestPitch. The novel didn’t go on to get an agent or a publisher, but this nomination went miles towards building my confidence in getting my book finished.
Between 2014 and 2016, two acquisition editors, Penny Barber of Lyrical Press and Kathleen Kubasiak of Curiosity Quills, took the time to tell me what they liked about The Fergus She when I was submitting, but more importantly, they told me what I needed to do to make the book better. Their advice took my book much further towards publishing quality.
Along the way, I had some “cheerleaders” and a “street team” of beta readers. Karen Cummins’ ongoing enthusiasm for my writing inspired me on those days when I wanted to eat chocolate and give up. It’s nice to know I have a champion in the neighbourhood.
Joanna Zurowski’s support of my children’s book, as well as Girl Desecrated made me feel like a “real” writer. She also provided detailed feedback on my manuscript drafts.
Others who weighed in with advice or who never failed to ask how I was coming along with the novel include Erin Britton, Kim Duquette, and Kelly Howes, David Spencer, Eve Hanninen, Julie Jacobs-Furlong, Gwen Gielfeldt, Lindsay Kirkpatrick, Karen Gardner, Mahshid Sarsangi, Justine Shim, and Alba Zilli.
Even just knowing you were there, and had not defriended me and my irritating posts about my writing journey helped me get to this place—a published novel writer.
Imagine that!
IMAGE COPYRIGHTS
AUTHOR BIO
~
CHERYL IS AN AWARD-WINNING EDUCATOR and fantasy author who loves to write on the wild side, digging deep into the unspoken secrets of society’s seedier sins.
She is currently focused on putting the fangs back into vampires and bringing monsters to Canada, one story at a time.
The rest of her days are spent being a good wife, a good mom, and a good teacher.
Every day’s a good day, eh?
BOOK II: MASTER OF MADHOUSE
~
FREE CHAPTER: QUEEN CHECKS THE MATE
TUMBLING IN THE CURRENT OF my own blood, I bobbed past bright, bulbous cells that fed oxygen to the lungs I no longer controlled.
I was a captive, forced into the inner workings of my own body, but there was no time to simmer about the unfairness of it all. The trek through my veiny tunnels was too radical, demanding all my attention. Unfamiliar shapes that belonged under a microscope slipped past as I was drawn ever forward by the brutal beacon of the bitch, and my own desire to save one man’s life before his time and blood ran out.
When Scarlett’s presence become tangible enough to raise the imaginary hairs on my neck, I slowed. Turning my head to find her, my body followed. I was floating suspended in a pocket of soundless air. Immediately, I tensed, then dropped straight down. The flesh beneath me, my flesh, stretched like the rubber in a sling shot, Looney Toons-style, before slinging me back up through the warm walls of my insides.
It was Scarlett’s residue of malevolence and the mixed scent of magnolia and iron, that drew me into the shadow of a light. Absorbed on one side of an organ, I was released out the other with no more discomfort than gentle lapping water would have caused.
My lashes were sticky with goo, which magnified the glow ahead. Substance beneath my feet, I advanced cautiously into the flickering brightness, wary of Scarlett and what traps she may have set ahead. The shifting flesh gave beneath my already awkward gait, causing me to fall upon me knees more than once.
I wished I could move quicker, and my wish came true as a flicker of time and speed peeled across my vision like spooled film gone wild. I raised my arm trying to clutch the present which dance ahead of me in an ever-changing scene.
I stopped, teetering at an edge, which caved away into darkness below. I knew I should step back, but shock dragged my senses into a sluggish survival mode. Ahead, was a horizon of shell arcs, white streaks frozen across a night sky over what appeared to be no man’s land. The WWII scene shimmered, the arcs overextended, and suddenly, the film reel caught up. A sensation of rightness washed over me as the shells soared, finding their targets.
Wizzzsshhhhhhhheeewwwwwwwwwhhhhhooo…
My imagination added in the high-pitched, whistling shelling sound, I had learned watching Saturday Night war movies on TVO.
Unmoving, facing the tails of destruction until they shimmered into grey fizzles, the absence of artillery sound, any sound, became an entity. Had I gone back in time? The lines faded, darkness feathering the edges of the flash.
I closed my mouth and swallowed. Blinked my eyes.
The last streak disappeared behind a grey horizon, and I made a hopeful wish that I could find my way back to my body. I wished I could overcome Scarlett, push her down into this place where she belonged, where she had been before she...
The very act of wishing changed the landscape. Suddenly, I was above looking down on what I had thought were hills. I gasped as the truth became clear.
The landscape of curves was not valleys and hills in some European war zone. I was hovering above the grey mass of my own brain.
Shock sputtered through my system, but there was no time to react, for Scarlett’s beacon tugged me on with an urgency I could not resist. I dropped on an angle, my feet seeking forward like an astronaut descending from a moon jump. The minute I touched down, I hurtled forward, determined to catch the whore who had taken my life.
Tracks forged in my glutinous mind-blob sucked at my ankles, stalling my flight from the firing neurons that chased my every thought. Leaping a well-slicked path, I accidently slipped into a pool of mood-changing brain chemicals. The wash splashed, filling my nostrils and burning my eyes. I clawed at the jell, trying to stand. The guck ran off my elbows in rivulets of temperamental ooze.
“Gag me!” I screeched.
My words hung in the air, not ready to be dispersed by the saying. The vowel’s presence made me unsure whether I had said the words. Made me wonder if they had been told to me, and were perhaps waiting, hovering, holding the audio space until I answered.
“Shhhh,” I ordered of them.
The “e” faded away.
I listened carefully for more of my communication.
Silence.
Scarlett’s beacon had also stopped. I searched the horizon for her shape.
This time I used my mind to speak. Where? I thought.
Scarlett materialized in front of a beam of electric blue, twenty feet ahead. The glow cast her body in an illuminating outline pulsing behind her high pile of thick hair. The cone of lush coils tipped with the tilt of her head as she acknowledged me. The sharp cut of her incredibly tiny waist above a wide hoop skirt made her resemble a black paper cut-out from the 18th century.
Come Rachel, she whispered in my mind.
The calming cadence of her Southern accent was a lie. I knew how dangerous she could be.
I hesitated. The further I dug down into this world of my internal existence, the higher the chances I would never find my way out. I couldn’t forget she was my captor. She and Angus had put me here. And Magda.
All the people I had trusted had trapped me, but I had gotten out, because fighting is what I do best. Until fighting the battle wouldn’t win it.
Scarlett had convinced me to willingly give up control of my body, the body she and I shared. It was hard to do after having battled her for years, but control was all I had to bargain with when Angus lay dying, and Scarlett claimed she could save his life.
The pain of Angus’ betrayal returned with my memory of the Highlander. I clutched at my chest, aware my heart was not in this form. My heart was somewhere deep below in the body that housed me, and it was served by the oxygen Scarlett gulped with my mouth. Yet, the clothes crumpling in my fist, and the pain in my chest felt real.
I planted my feet, resisting her draw.
Did you save him?
Only betrayed love could hurt with such bone-deep agony, and only forgiveness could heal such pain. Angus and I had been born on different continents but we were eternally tied together by Scarlett and her curse. Angus had been fulfilling his life-long destiny when he betrayed me, for he had been born to release the bitch, and I had been born to house her.
I wanted to hate him. I wanted to curse him and hate him forever, but Angus was the only one who could save me, now.
Answer me, damn you! Did you save him?
Thinking of the Highlander sparked off another round of artillery, blinding me with harsh flashes. Taking advantage of the strobing neurons, I ran in the direction Scarlett had gone, trying desperately to catch up. My limbs were numbed by the fear I would spend the rest of days chasing her around the white web of my nervous system. And Angus would die somewhere alone.
The slip of her skirts swirled ahead in the distance as she dropped down into the next valley, and then I was sliding down, cutting through the swirling shades of blue and silver to the bottom of a crease. Repeating the climb and slide, I crested hill after hill, each peak I topped revealing the distance growing between us. Scarlett’s form grew smaller.
Wait for me! I gasped without lungs.
Scarlett paused and turned, her graceful movements wafting clouds of electric blue mist around her. I was furious by the time I got my eyes on level with her regally planted leather shoes.
What is your game? I ground the words into our link. You promised you would save Angus!
She had the nerve to “tsk” me. The sound ticked around my head like Rhinoceros beetle pinchers clicking together. I covered my ears to cut off the sound.
Mind your conduct dear, or you will feed the servants’ gossip.
The bright light behind her shadowed her features, but I could imagine the haughty expression she was bestowing on me. Her disdain left me cold, but my self-esteem released a small burn of shame.
Scarlett tipped her chin lower. I will speak with you in the parlour, as is proper.
She turned, her skirt followed her like a twirling magician’s cape. I was quick to follow closely, this time, and soon found myself at the threshold of a room, as Scarlett entered first.
I had watched enough Buffy the Vampire Slayer shows to know entering her lair could give her more power. But at this point, she had my body. What more could she take?
I stepped into the room.
A tinkle of a laugh, like breaking glass, preceded her scathing tone.
Open your eyes, you frightened little ninny.
~
Purchase book #2 in The Fergus She series
Master of Madhouse
http://www.cherylcowtan.com
Cheryl R Cowtan, Girl Desecrated 1984: Vampires, Asylums and Highlanders
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Scarlett piggy-backed the moment, Come Rachel!
I gave up on everything I had been fighting—I gave up control over my life. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, but it was the only hope any of us had. Scarlett would fix Angus, and Angus… I prayed he would come for me.
Dropping down into myself, I sought Scarlett as one would grope in the darkness for the source of a voice. Concentrating on connecting with her, the awareness of my outer surroundings shrunk down to the size of a black pinhole, and then closed completely.
I was “inside”. I was buried alive.
Don’t forsake me Angus, I prayed.
The only answer was the brush of Scarlett’s scorn, as she took over my body.
~
~The End~
The story continues with Master of Madhouse
WORDS FROM THE AUTHOR
~
Thank you for reading Book 1 of The Fergus She.
I would love to hear your feedback on my work. Twitter hashtags #TheFergusShe & #GirlDesecrated @NspiredMe2Write. If you can, please provide a review. Reviews are valuable gifts for writers, and I would appreciate reading your response to my story.
You can find my social media links at http://www.cherylcowtan.com.
Scarlett is a character with so many plot possibilities, and I’m excited to explore other journeys she might take to other centuries. But first, Rachel gets to run the course through a few more novels.
The second book, Master of Madhouse 1894, continues with Rachel jumping out of the frying pan and right into the sadistic arms of Scarlett’s vampire husband, Gräfen.
Buy Book II while the story is still fresh in your mind, or read the first chapter for free below, and put Master of Madhouse in your Goodreads’ “to read” folder.
DEEPEN YOUR READ
Ever wonder how authors come up with this stuff? Want a deeper reading of Girl Desecrated so you can impress your friends, post nuggets of insider information, and enrich your book club discussions?
In the Impress Your Book Club enhanced reading guide, you’ll find:
lost Man-Boy chapters
the history behind the setting
detailed examples on designing a vampire from Twilight, Dracula and Anne Rice’s novels.
essays on vampire history and lore
an in-depth explanation of literary devices and techniques used in Girl Desecrated, and more…
This resource is fabulous for librarians, book clubs, teachers, students, writers and readers who want to grow and exercise their brains, and squeeze every drop from this story.
Impress Your Book Club for Girl Desecrated is available for purchase at Cherylcowtan.com.
Author Newsletter
If you want to be the first to know when new Fergus She books are being released, sign up for my Novel News newsletter at CherylCowtan.com. Through the newsletter, you will receive notice of give-aways, contests for cool and original items, be given access to more pictures of Scarlett and Rachel’s antics, and get sneak peeks of new writing and much more.
PRETTY PLEASE FOR REVIEWS
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at the book selling retailer you are most comfortable with. Or even better, copy and paste your review to several places The Fergus She is sold. Reviews help increase a book’s ranking, encourage others to try out the story, and are an all-around perfect way to show appreciation to an author .
DEDICATIONS
My husband, Chris, and my two sons, Nathan and Aaron, have been extremely patient over the past few years as I stole time, here and there, to write my novels. They understood when I needed to write, edit, design and market. I’m sorry for all the packaged meals and for making you sort your own socks. Truly, I love you guys!
I’m blessed to have published writers in my family, and each one has helped me get to the point of being published through personal encouragement, industry-relevant advice, editing assistance, and role-modeling, which includes them cranking out novel after novel. I am so proud to be related to and cared for by the following:
My mother, Dianne Ferris-Doekes writes Women’s Fiction, capturing Canadian culture and history with her stories. From the time before I could form letters, my mother was encouraging me to write, ordering Writer’s Digest magazine (which she still buys and passes my way) and submitting my work to contests. She’s been a fabulous advocate for me. You can connect with her on twitter at @DJFerris and read more about her writing journey and her novels at http://www.dianneferris.ca/.
My aunt, Gloria Ferris, writes Mystery with a dash of hilarity in the Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries and Cheat the Hangman. You can read more about her and her work at http://www.gloriaferris.com/ or connect at @GloriaFerris.
My Aunt Donna is an editor, who writes fast-paced crime thrillers. You can find her blog at http://djwarnerconsulting.blogspot.ca/, read more about her writing at http://www.donnawarnerauthor.com/, or connect with her on Twitter at @DWarnerLiterary.
HOW DID THE NOVEL EVOLVE?
The first question I should answer is “Why did I write a psychological thriller with horror undertones”? Blame my father, Jerry Cowtan, or praise him if you love this genre. My dad was an avid reader of Asimov, King, Burroughs, and he rarely missed Star Trek and Dr. Who. Dad was a strong believer in imagination and the power of the mind. We’d be driving down the dirt roads of Belwood in his construction truck, tools rattling in the back, and he’d be playing classical music on the radio and encouraging us kids to visualize images to the rising and descending melodies. Even before the X-files, our dinner conversations contained the question, “Is there life out there?” Oh yes, I was raised to write The Fergus She series.
One thing I learned while writing Girl Desecrated is that a novel is never the work of one person. I had many encouragements and much assistance along the way.
Dania Lynne, my colleague and literary editor offered to read my novel when I thought it was done, and from there, she guided me through a series of literary edits that improved my writing beyond anything I had done before. I cannot thank her enough, and I truly believe Girl Desecrated would not be published if it were not for her, and her tireless efforts to polish this manuscript.
In 2014, award winning author Jeffe Kennedy selected The Fergus She (which was what Girl Desecrated was originally called) for a Twitter pitch competition called #NestPitch. The novel didn’t go on to get an agent or a publisher, but this nomination went miles towards building my confidence in getting my book finished.
Between 2014 and 2016, two acquisition editors, Penny Barber of Lyrical Press and Kathleen Kubasiak of Curiosity Quills, took the time to tell me what they liked about The Fergus She when I was submitting, but more importantly, they told me what I needed to do to make the book better. Their advice took my book much further towards publishing quality.
Along the way, I had some “cheerleaders” and a “street team” of beta readers. Karen Cummins’ ongoing enthusiasm for my writing inspired me on those days when I wanted to eat chocolate and give up. It’s nice to know I have a champion in the neighbourhood.
Joanna Zurowski’s support of my children’s book, as well as Girl Desecrated made me feel like a “real” writer. She also provided detailed feedback on my manuscript drafts.
Others who weighed in with advice or who never failed to ask how I was coming along with the novel include Erin Britton, Kim Duquette, and Kelly Howes, David Spencer, Eve Hanninen, Julie Jacobs-Furlong, Gwen Gielfeldt, Lindsay Kirkpatrick, Karen Gardner, Mahshid Sarsangi, Justine Shim, and Alba Zilli.
Even just knowing you were there, and had not defriended me and my irritating posts about my writing journey helped me get to this place—a published novel writer.
Imagine that!
IMAGE COPYRIGHTS
AUTHOR BIO
~
CHERYL IS AN AWARD-WINNING EDUCATOR and fantasy author who loves to write on the wild side, digging deep into the unspoken secrets of society’s seedier sins.
She is currently focused on putting the fangs back into vampires and bringing monsters to Canada, one story at a time.
The rest of her days are spent being a good wife, a good mom, and a good teacher.
Every day’s a good day, eh?
BOOK II: MASTER OF MADHOUSE
~
FREE CHAPTER: QUEEN CHECKS THE MATE
TUMBLING IN THE CURRENT OF my own blood, I bobbed past bright, bulbous cells that fed oxygen to the lungs I no longer controlled.
I was a captive, forced into the inner workings of my own body, but there was no time to simmer about the unfairness of it all. The trek through my veiny tunnels was too radical, demanding all my attention. Unfamiliar shapes that belonged under a microscope slipped past as I was drawn ever forward by the brutal beacon of the bitch, and my own desire to save one man’s life before his time and blood ran out.
When Scarlett’s presence become tangible enough to raise the imaginary hairs on my neck, I slowed. Turning my head to find her, my body followed. I was floating suspended in a pocket of soundless air. Immediately, I tensed, then dropped straight down. The flesh beneath me, my flesh, stretched like the rubber in a sling shot, Looney Toons-style, before slinging me back up through the warm walls of my insides.
It was Scarlett’s residue of malevolence and the mixed scent of magnolia and iron, that drew me into the shadow of a light. Absorbed on one side of an organ, I was released out the other with no more discomfort than gentle lapping water would have caused.
My lashes were sticky with goo, which magnified the glow ahead. Substance beneath my feet, I advanced cautiously into the flickering brightness, wary of Scarlett and what traps she may have set ahead. The shifting flesh gave beneath my already awkward gait, causing me to fall upon me knees more than once.
I wished I could move quicker, and my wish came true as a flicker of time and speed peeled across my vision like spooled film gone wild. I raised my arm trying to clutch the present which dance ahead of me in an ever-changing scene.
I stopped, teetering at an edge, which caved away into darkness below. I knew I should step back, but shock dragged my senses into a sluggish survival mode. Ahead, was a horizon of shell arcs, white streaks frozen across a night sky over what appeared to be no man’s land. The WWII scene shimmered, the arcs overextended, and suddenly, the film reel caught up. A sensation of rightness washed over me as the shells soared, finding their targets.
Wizzzsshhhhhhhheeewwwwwwwwwhhhhhooo…
My imagination added in the high-pitched, whistling shelling sound, I had learned watching Saturday Night war movies on TVO.
Unmoving, facing the tails of destruction until they shimmered into grey fizzles, the absence of artillery sound, any sound, became an entity. Had I gone back in time? The lines faded, darkness feathering the edges of the flash.
I closed my mouth and swallowed. Blinked my eyes.
The last streak disappeared behind a grey horizon, and I made a hopeful wish that I could find my way back to my body. I wished I could overcome Scarlett, push her down into this place where she belonged, where she had been before she...
The very act of wishing changed the landscape. Suddenly, I was above looking down on what I had thought were hills. I gasped as the truth became clear.
The landscape of curves was not valleys and hills in some European war zone. I was hovering above the grey mass of my own brain.
Shock sputtered through my system, but there was no time to react, for Scarlett’s beacon tugged me on with an urgency I could not resist. I dropped on an angle, my feet seeking forward like an astronaut descending from a moon jump. The minute I touched down, I hurtled forward, determined to catch the whore who had taken my life.
Tracks forged in my glutinous mind-blob sucked at my ankles, stalling my flight from the firing neurons that chased my every thought. Leaping a well-slicked path, I accidently slipped into a pool of mood-changing brain chemicals. The wash splashed, filling my nostrils and burning my eyes. I clawed at the jell, trying to stand. The guck ran off my elbows in rivulets of temperamental ooze.
“Gag me!” I screeched.
My words hung in the air, not ready to be dispersed by the saying. The vowel’s presence made me unsure whether I had said the words. Made me wonder if they had been told to me, and were perhaps waiting, hovering, holding the audio space until I answered.
“Shhhh,” I ordered of them.
The “e” faded away.
I listened carefully for more of my communication.
Silence.
Scarlett’s beacon had also stopped. I searched the horizon for her shape.
This time I used my mind to speak. Where? I thought.
Scarlett materialized in front of a beam of electric blue, twenty feet ahead. The glow cast her body in an illuminating outline pulsing behind her high pile of thick hair. The cone of lush coils tipped with the tilt of her head as she acknowledged me. The sharp cut of her incredibly tiny waist above a wide hoop skirt made her resemble a black paper cut-out from the 18th century.
Come Rachel, she whispered in my mind.
The calming cadence of her Southern accent was a lie. I knew how dangerous she could be.
I hesitated. The further I dug down into this world of my internal existence, the higher the chances I would never find my way out. I couldn’t forget she was my captor. She and Angus had put me here. And Magda.
All the people I had trusted had trapped me, but I had gotten out, because fighting is what I do best. Until fighting the battle wouldn’t win it.
Scarlett had convinced me to willingly give up control of my body, the body she and I shared. It was hard to do after having battled her for years, but control was all I had to bargain with when Angus lay dying, and Scarlett claimed she could save his life.
The pain of Angus’ betrayal returned with my memory of the Highlander. I clutched at my chest, aware my heart was not in this form. My heart was somewhere deep below in the body that housed me, and it was served by the oxygen Scarlett gulped with my mouth. Yet, the clothes crumpling in my fist, and the pain in my chest felt real.
I planted my feet, resisting her draw.
Did you save him?
Only betrayed love could hurt with such bone-deep agony, and only forgiveness could heal such pain. Angus and I had been born on different continents but we were eternally tied together by Scarlett and her curse. Angus had been fulfilling his life-long destiny when he betrayed me, for he had been born to release the bitch, and I had been born to house her.
I wanted to hate him. I wanted to curse him and hate him forever, but Angus was the only one who could save me, now.
Answer me, damn you! Did you save him?
Thinking of the Highlander sparked off another round of artillery, blinding me with harsh flashes. Taking advantage of the strobing neurons, I ran in the direction Scarlett had gone, trying desperately to catch up. My limbs were numbed by the fear I would spend the rest of days chasing her around the white web of my nervous system. And Angus would die somewhere alone.
The slip of her skirts swirled ahead in the distance as she dropped down into the next valley, and then I was sliding down, cutting through the swirling shades of blue and silver to the bottom of a crease. Repeating the climb and slide, I crested hill after hill, each peak I topped revealing the distance growing between us. Scarlett’s form grew smaller.
Wait for me! I gasped without lungs.
Scarlett paused and turned, her graceful movements wafting clouds of electric blue mist around her. I was furious by the time I got my eyes on level with her regally planted leather shoes.
What is your game? I ground the words into our link. You promised you would save Angus!
She had the nerve to “tsk” me. The sound ticked around my head like Rhinoceros beetle pinchers clicking together. I covered my ears to cut off the sound.
Mind your conduct dear, or you will feed the servants’ gossip.
The bright light behind her shadowed her features, but I could imagine the haughty expression she was bestowing on me. Her disdain left me cold, but my self-esteem released a small burn of shame.
Scarlett tipped her chin lower. I will speak with you in the parlour, as is proper.
She turned, her skirt followed her like a twirling magician’s cape. I was quick to follow closely, this time, and soon found myself at the threshold of a room, as Scarlett entered first.
I had watched enough Buffy the Vampire Slayer shows to know entering her lair could give her more power. But at this point, she had my body. What more could she take?
I stepped into the room.
A tinkle of a laugh, like breaking glass, preceded her scathing tone.
Open your eyes, you frightened little ninny.
~
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Master of Madhouse
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Cheryl R Cowtan, Girl Desecrated 1984: Vampires, Asylums and Highlanders
