Pocket of Posies, page 7
As they stepped into the room, their feet found fragments of glass, grinding them into the marble floor, making it screech like nails on a chalkboard. Dead leaves brushed across the floor, stirring as if to make way for some unseen figure. Annabel was hit with the sudden, almost overwhelming desire to run. To hide. To retreat back to the fountain and the open, unimpeded sunlight.
In unspoken agreement, all three of them slowed their pace, falling into an almost synchronized stride. Their footsteps echoed back to them, sometimes growing loud enough that the frail glass rattled within the rickety frames. It made Annabel cringe to walk under them. Egil didn’t pull in front, instead indicating with a wave of his arm that they should make a loose turn.
Rounding a pillar exposed a hidden hallway. It was short. Barely long enough to be accurately named a hallway, with a couple of narrow doors cut into the stonework. Each was marred with a large metal lock. Annabel glanced around. They appeared to be alone.
“This is it,” Egil said as he pointed to the one on their right.
Henry quickly reached for the handle. It rattled within his grasp but held stubbornly in place.
“Marcus keeps it locked,” Egil said. “I don’t know how he got his hands on the key, but it never leaves his pocket.”
Growling with frustration, Henry checked the door hinges. Then he backed up a few paces, and after checking once more that they were alone, sprinted forward. He leaped at the last second, throwing his body against the door with a resounding bang. Dust bellowed up around the hinges. The metal groaned and the door rattled but remained locked in place.
“What are you doing?” Egil whispered sharply.
Henry was already backing up again. He jerked his head to call the blonde man closer. “Help me with this.”
“Just so I know, when Marcus confronts us for breaking into the storage room, what exactly do you want to say?” For all of the anger lacing his words, Egil still took a place at Henry’s side.
Jumping his shoulders in preparation, Henry waved a hand at Annabel. “How about something along the lines of; hey Marcus, Anna’s been in a lot of pain since you set her hands on fire, so we thought we’d see if there was something in the storage room that’ll help. We couldn’t find you. Sure, we could have waited, but, you know, the burning flesh and all.”
Egil blinked slowly. “So your plan is to keep reminding him that he set a human being on fire.”
“Essentially.”
Seemingly caught between annoyance and amusement, Egil shook his head. “Yeah, alright. That should work.”
Standing side by side, the men took longer to decide who would do the countdown than to complete the countdown itself. They charged the door as one. A thunderous, resounding boom was made all the louder as it echoed off of glass and marble. Annabel flinched, the reflective jolt jarring her mind from the whirlpool of her pain. She shared a glance with Henry. Without discussion, she jogged to the end of the hallway, taking a sentry position and waiting for someone to notice the noise.
“No one’s coming,” she called back in a hushed voice.
She was already scanning the glass room again when the next thud came. The sound repeated and she found herself eyeing the glass ceiling, watching the windowpanes rattle, trying to judge which one would break off first. From her position, she couldn’t see much of the courtyard. It seemed that if anyone was close enough to hear the noise, they were far too comfortable to pay it much attention. Or they just don’t want to know, she thought. It crossed her mind that it would have been easy for her to do the same thing. Just turn a blind eye. If I hadn’t seen the Plague Doctors for myself.
Another few strikes, a loud crack, and the door snapped open. Annabel whipped around in time to see the men stumbling into the room, clashing together as they fell through the narrow doorway. A flash of purpose helped to push down the pain in her hands. But she couldn’t stop them from shaking as she hurried to catch up.
“Henry?” she whispered as she neared.
His head popped out around the corner, his oil slicked hair flopping across his forehead and his face flushed.
“Come on,” he waved her closer.
He checked the hallway as she approached, only abandoning his position to allow her to slip across he threshold. The room was small, with barely enough space to accommodate all three of them. The walls were bare, lusterless stone and broken apart by roots that had clawed their way through the mortar. No shelves or furniture. Just a few boxes stacked neatly on top of each other and pressed against the far wall. Judging by their weathered sides, the boxes had been there for a while. A few bottles were placed around the base. Ceramic jugs and leather bladders, all too opaque for Annabel to determine any of the contents.
A fresh spike of pain sizzled through her hands and along her arms. Annabel shrunk back, her eyes darting wildly, obsessively checking every inch of space for any stray liquid. Her mind was bombarded with a rush of images, an endless display of what would happen if there was more of that tea Marcus had given her. The rose blood covered me from head to toe. She shivered, eyeing the bottles with suspicion. Would every part of me burn the same way? Her back hit something solid and she whirled, a scream ready on her lips.
“It’s just me,” Henry said. “Sorry.”
Swallowing thickly, Annabel held still as he carefully placed his hands on her shoulders.
He offered a quick smile. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” she confessed. “None of this matters. We’re just wasting time. We just need to get out of here. Find Jez and run.”
“Anna.”
She lowered her voice, cutting Henry off before he could continue. “We already know that the villagers can’t be trusted. We know what’s coming. You don’t try to stand your ground with a hurricane. You get the hell out of the way.”
“And what about everyone else? They’re not going to come with us unless we can prove that the villagers are up to something.”
“We can tell them. About what happened to us. The Plague Doctors.”
Egil chuckled. “And you think they’ll believe us? Why are you looking at me like that? We’re in a tiny room. Of course, I can hear you.”
Putting aside her annoyance, Annabel said, “You’re the charismatic one. Make them believe you.”
“Evidence will help with that,” Egil said. “So, unless you have some proof that ghosts exist, let me see if there’s anything here that could convince them.”
Annabel reached a hand up to push a few stray hairs off of her face, remembering just in time not to make contact.
“Do you want to wait outside?” he asked gently. “We’ll be quick.”
Pain racked her body. Not trusting her voice, she shook her head. There’s still a chance that something in here can help, she told herself as she looked at her ravaged hand. One of her blisters split open and she hissed. Dull the senses! The voice passed across her head, sounding oddly like her college professor. Frustration bubbled inside of Annabel. She wanted to focus. Put every ounce of her mental strength into the singular purpose of survival. Her will wasn’t enough.
Cut them off, her professor’s voice insisted. It would hurt less. Just sever them at the elbow. Be done with it and move on. Clenching her teeth against a wave of pain, Annabel fought against the notion. It was a stray thought. A moment of desperation masquerading as logical thought. That’s why her mind had whispered the thought into the voice of her professor. Someone trusted and respected. I’m just trying to trick myself. She’d heard about things like this. Chronic pain cases in which the sufferer convinces themselves it could all stop. Never thought I’d be on this end of it.
“Annabel?” Henry squeezed her shoulders, his grip releasing as she lifted her gaze. “Are you alright?”
She could only nod. A little longer. Hold on just a little longer. Henry didn’t argue. Meticulously avoiding any risk of accidental contact, he inched around her. The cramped quarters didn’t give his lanky form much room to work with. In the end, he had to press against the wall to complete the motion.
Egil had turned all of his attention to the boxes. Crouched down, he was carefully picking through them, purposefully avoiding any contact with the bottles. After rechecking everything several times, he sat back on his knees and raked his hands through his hair.
“It’s all canned food. Stuff meant to last for a long haul. So, what does everyone think? Do they plan for us to be here for a while? Or did they stock up long ago and haven’t bothered to check on it again?”
“It could go either way,” Henry reluctantly admitted. “How much is there? How long do you think we can last on it?”
Annabel didn’t know if Egil had any survival training, or experience in ration control in general. But she had to admit that he looked like he knew what he was doing as he looked into the boxes again. He seemed to do the math in his head.
“A few days,” he decided. “Perhaps a week if we limit our lunches.”
“Are there any medical supplies,” Annabel asked. It came out as a whimper.
“Not anything you might want to try,” Egil said reluctantly. A pitying, helpless smile crossed his face. “It all looks like that homemade stuff Marcus used on you before. I don’t think we should try round two.”
The information broke something inside her. No medical help. No relief. In one blind moment of madness, she decided that it would be worth using it again. Third degree burns destroy the nerve endings. Another flash burn and it won’t hurt anymore. It was tempting. Her chances of recovering without permanent damage were dwindling with every passing moment. Why hang on to useless limbs? her professor’s voice asked. You’re just prolonging the inevitable.
Henry’s hand on her shoulder jarred her from her taunting thoughts. Marcus had arrived without them ever taking notice. He was now in the doorway, voice quivering as he struggled to keep hold of his temper, to ease it into something acceptable to use with customers.
He wasn’t the only one putting on a show. Henry smoothly slipped into his meek demeanor. It was the kind of serene, understanding, and nonthreatening personality that made it nearly impossible for anyone to stay mad at him. That persona was a weapon and Henry was masterfully skilled at using it. Within moments, he had placated Marcus. Quelling the man’s temper into something Egil could work with.
“Marcus, you have to know that this supply won’t last us for long.” Egil motioned to the boxes. “We’re going to need more.”
Marcus curled his lips into a tense smile. “Of course, I know that.”
“How do you plan on getting more?” Egil pressed.
“We won’t need any. We’re not going to be here much longer. Our hosts are already making arrangements.”
Egil crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re sure of that?”
“Yes. A little bit of patience will go a long way. Now, please, get out of the storage room. How did you get in there, anyway?”
“Marcus, I don’t mean to be a bother, but I’ve got questions,” Henry said smoothly.
“I’ve already told you,” the tour guide’s tone made it clear to Annabel that this was a conversation they’ve had before. “Everything is being taken care of.”
“I just want to how I got here,” Henry said.
Marcus closed his eyes for a moment and took a slow breath. “The village people found you and brought you here. As I said.”
“How?” Annabel cut in.
It almost seemed that Marcus had forgotten that she was there. He could barely see her around Henry’s torso. Neither she nor Henry moved to make the view any easier for him.
“Excuse me?” Marcus asked.
“How did we get here?” Annabel asked. “Where’s the door?”
“Why do you want to know?”
The question was almost enough to throw her into a rage. Henry swiftly answered for her.
“Jezebel isn’t here.”
A moment of confusion crossed the guide’s face and Henry pushed his advantage. “That’s Annabel’s older sister. You remember her. Short platinum blonde hair. Curvy. Wears a lot of dark eye-shadow.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Marcus smiled. “I remember her. Are you sure she’s not here?”
“Shouldn’t you know that?” Annabel snapped.
The guide’s smile fell slightly and his tone strengthened. “I’m sure our hosts will bring her over when they find her.”
“The last thing I can remember is being with my sister. If she’s not here that means that our hosts took her,” Annabel said. “I want to go find her.”
Marcus quickly shook his head, “No. We need to stick together.”
“Fine. Come with me, then,” she challenged.
Marcus narrowed his eyes. “That’s not possible, Anna.”
This is insanity! The Plague Doctors are coming! We need to get out of here! Locking her jaw, she rose her chin and demanded, “Where’s the exit?”
“Anna.”
She hated the way he said her name, like she was an irrational child that needed to be coddled and ignored.
“I want to leave!” Her sudden scream made everyone jump. “I want my sister!”
“This is for the best–”
“No, Marcus. It’s kidnaping,” Henry said.
Marcus stammered a few words, puffing out a few breaths as he tried to form a proper response. “You know that’s not true.”
“You’re keeping us here against our will,” Henry challenged.
Egil nodded. “He’s got a point, Marcus.”
“We’ve just been through a traumatic experience,” Marcus said slowly. “We’re all tense. We just need to take a second–”
Frustrated anger coursed through Annabel like acid in her blood. “I need medical attention!” She burst forward as she screamed the words, pushing Henry aside to glare at the guide.
Pain instantly exploded through her hands, an inferno that raged under her skin as a few blisters popped. The scream that ripped from her throat didn’t sound human. It was broken and primal and snapped her in two. Her knees buckled in the wake of it. She would have crumbled to the ground if Henry hadn’t looped one arm around her torso. As gangly as he was, he took her weight easily, practically carrying her as he ushered her out of the room.
Locked in a mix of panic and shock, Marcus blocked the doorway. He kept talking all the while. Hunched over in pain, Annabel struggled to listen to the hurried sentences. Soon, she stopped bothering. None of it mattered. Henry pushed the man aside to bring her out into the hallway. Annabel stumbled over her own feet as they brushed over the stone floor. Small black dots danced across her blurred vision. All the while, pathetic, blubbering sobs filled her ears. It was almost an out of body experience. She felt her vocal cords rumbling but couldn’t understand that she was the one making the sound.
Her brain couldn’t handle that much pain. It shut down. Just bits at a time. A random rotation of her senses, each flickering off into white noise only to reappear twice as strong. The world filtered in like that. Bits and pieces that came and went. She could see the men talking, faces distorted with building anger, but the words were lost under the roar of her blood rushing through her ears. Pushed to her limits, she was sure she couldn’t take another second of it.
Then it all stopped.
Everything returned to normal. Silence. Everyone stood frozen. The air itself felt viscous against her flesh. Suddenly cold and unyielding. The moment of lifeless motion was shattered as a church bell rang out. Slow. Monotonous. Resounding off the walls and making the glass room rattle. There was no mistaking the sound for anything other than the bells that announced the arrival of the Plague Doctors.
Like a sheet had been drawn across the sky, the world went dark.
Chapter 8
The sound of bells, a deep toll that seemed to rumble the air itself made Jezebel’s blood run cold. She turned and locked her eyes on the end of the corridor, a far off point where the jungle fell away to another point of the maze. Above her, what little light had managed to slip through the canopy started to fade. Jezebel watched it with horror. They’re here, she thought. The doctors are here.
She broke into a sprint. The squishy ground caught her bare, bloody feet. Water sloshed between her toes, creating a slide that slowed her down. The last traces of light died and she was cast into a deep abyss.
Instantly, she threw herself to the side. Instead of surging on for the unseen exit, she turned for the forest. There might be more of them up there. Her head was filled with images of the ghost that had chased her through the trees, that had led to her fall and narrow escape. It was almost enough to have her rethinking her choice. But the fear of what was already with her wasn’t enough to conquer her terror of what was coming. The red clad ghosts are blind. Hide! It repeated in her skull until she felt the towering ferns brushing against her arms. Clasping the nearest tree, she began to climb. Awkwardly, painfully, she scrambled up the branches. In the darkness, the process had her falling more than once. But she kept going, higher and higher. Suddenly, all noise around her stopped.
Unbroken silence descended upon her. No more birds or insects or the soft buzz that had been her constant companion since entering the jungle. Jezebel clawed at the branch, searching for something that could help her round the trunk and put the tree between her and the path. She only got a few feet. How big is the tree? She couldn’t recall. Hadn’t had a chance to check before the darkness had come. Is it enough? Am I out of reach?
Pressing her back against the trunk, she crouched low, making herself as small as possible. With trembling fingers, she felt for ferns and wide leaves, pulling them over her, hiding herself as best she could. The red men are blind. The reassurance could have made her sob with relief if it weren’t for the knowledge that rushed through her mind. The Plague Doctors aren’t. They’ll see. They’ll know.
