Chris Mooney - The Soul Collectors

'You are a true knight warrior. I could rip your heart out right now and eat it in front of you and yet you show no fear. Remarkable. Truly remarkable. I can't remember the last time I encountered one of your type. Well, well, this does present a rather unique opportunity.'

'Better get to it quick, then. We know who you are.'

'I'm sure you think you do.'

'We know about the tattoo.'

The Archon didn't answer.

'The one on the upper lip,' Darby said. 'We found them on Mark Rizzo and John Smith.'

'Ah. The mark of the trusted servant.'

'To you?'

'To all of us. John Smith belonged to another. Thomas Howland was mine. The one you knew as Mark Rizzo. He helped bring me the children. Lots and lots of them to play and experiment with.'

Charlie's voice echoed inside her head: Tell her, Daddy. Tell her what you did.

'What's with the mask?'

'I prefer it.'

'Why? What are you afraid of?'

'Afraid?' A tremor in his voice. 'What makes you think I'm afraid of you?'

'The masks and the costumes,' Darby said. 'This whole Dungeons and Dragons thing you've got going on down here.'

The gloves came off. Darby saw long, soft fingers. He worked at the edge of the mask and lifted it off his head.

A woman. Shaved head and pale egg-white skin threaded with veins and a pair of cold ice-blue eyes that looked liquid in the candlelight. But definitely a woman. You could see it in the cheekbones and lips. No eyebrows and the voice was wrong. The voice belonged to a man.

The Archon smiled and Darby saw shark's teeth, tips sharpened into daggers.

'Satisfied?'

Darby didn't answer.

'You haven't asked about Mr Casey and his daughter.'

'They're here?'

'Yes. Most of them, anyway.' The woman clasped her hands together. 'Which one do you want to live? Do you have a favourite?'

'Both.'

'You're going to have to kill one.'

'I don't think so.'

'The one you pick shall decide your fate. You can contemplate this while we affix the obedience device to your back.' The Archon held up the device Darby had seen on the spine of the toothless, tongueless thing in New Hampshire — a black plastic box with a series of spiked metal ends. 'You will do what you are asked or you will suffer incredible pain.'

The mask came back down. The Archon left the room.

The door shut. Darby heard a creaking sound coming from somewhere outside and then the chains loosened and she collapsed on the floor, the whip marks throbbing and a pins-and-needles sensation sweeping across her limbs.

'You will,' a strange voice whispered in the darkness. 'Believe me, you will.'

Time passed. Had to be at least two days, Darby thought. The welts on her thighs and shins had started to scab over.

She lay in the dark, thinking.

Planning.

Dreaming. The next time the door opened, one of them came in holding a candle and a bucket. Darby saw a bar of soap and a washcloth floating on the full pail of water.

'Wash,' he said. He wore a robe and a hood covered his face. He was barefoot.

'Which Archon are you? Tinky Winky or Dipsy?'

'Wash.'

She picked up the bucket and started to wash herself, not an easy thing to do with the chains, and the Archon or whoever he was standing there, watching.

After scrubbing her hair, she dumped the rest of the water over her head and then threw the bucket at him. He wasn't prepared. It bounced off his face before he could catch it and he staggered, catching himself on the wall to keep from falling.

He stood up, slowly. His hood had fallen slightly and she still couldn't see his face. It was hidden behind some sort of fencing mask made of black mesh. She saw the part where the bucket had dented it.

He took the bucket and the candle and left her there in the dark, cold and wet and dripping. Only one came through the door. Holding a candle and something else. She didn't see it; he tossed it to the floor.

Clothing.

'I hope you're taking me out someplace nice,' she said.

He unchained her. 'Dress.'

She picked up the clothing. Black cloth trousers and a black tunic. No shoes. The fabric felt greasy. Used.

He didn't watch her this time. He placed the candle on a ledge high on the wall, well beyond her reach, and shut the door him.

It seemed to open a moment later, just as she had slipped into the tunic.

A small robed figure with a hood came in holding a tray of food. Nuts, an apple, water in a big plastic cup.

The door shut and Sarah Casey placed the tray on the floor.

Darby thought about moving the hood away from the girl's face, then decided against it. Sarah Casey had no idea who she was.

'Sarah,' Darby whispered, her gaze on the door. 'Is that you?'

Sarah Casey removed her hood to get a closer look at Darby. Her eyes were glazed over, either from shock or drugs, maybe from a combination of both. She had a fading bruise on her cheek and what looked like a burn mark.

'I'm a friend of your father,' Darby whispered. 'Is he here?'

The girl didn't answer. She licked her lips and swayed slightly on her feet.

Jesus, they drugged her.

'Who are you?'

'My name is Darby McCormick. I'm working with your father. Is he… Can he walk?'

Sarah nodded, pursed her lips. 'My mother…'

'Tell me about your father, where they're — '

'My mother here?'

'No,' Darby said, not seeing the point of telling her the full truth. 'And keep your voice down. Where are they keeping you?'

'Far away.'

'I don't understand.'

'This place is big. Lots of corridors and tunnels, lots of floors.'

'Do you know where we are?'

'Hell,' she said. 'We're here to pay for our sins.'

'Listen to me.' Darby kept her voice low. 'I will find a way to get you out of here. I promise, but I need — '

'You're lying.'

'No. No, I'm not. Look, your father and I, we were working with people. The FBI. They're looking for us right now. It's going to take some time. I need you to be strong and brave for yourself and for — '

'You're the one.'

'The one what?'

The girl's eyes grew wider. 'You're going to kill me.'

'No. No, I'm not going — '

'You are. They told me. You're going to kill me tonight in front of the others.'

'What others?'

'The children. They have children down here and these… people who look like ghosts. They're all chained in the great hall, where they're going to watch you kill me.'

'I'm not going to kill you, I promise. Don't walk away. Have you eaten? Here, take some of this food.'

The door opened and two people with lobotomized stares and ghoulish features limped into her room, barefoot and wearing torn sarongs. Their skin, heavily scarred and emaciated, was leached of colour. They held stun batons. One held a key ring.

A robed person came in and hauled Sarah Casey away. He didn't lock the door. It stood open and Darby stared at it, thinking, when she heard the crackle of electricity.

The stun baton hit her waist. Her legs collapsed and the baton hit her again, causing her to fall headfirst against the wall. The baton remained pressed against her waist and she shook violently, chains bouncing against the floor. One of them grabbed her ankle and unlocked the manacle, the fetid odours baked into their scarred skin making her gag.

The baton was withdrawn and, as they rolled her on to her stomach and shackled her wrists, she knew her opportunity had come. She lay there limp and useless, and they grabbed her by the arms and lifted her to her feet.

She was dragged out of the door and down a long, candlelit corridor with a dirt floor and the walls on each side stacked with skulls. She passed an archway and saw a dirt floor leading down and then it disappeared as they led her into another hall, this one narrow and made of bleached and dusty brick. They were close to her now and, suddenly moving her feet behind their knees and arching her back, she threw them off balance. The one to her left fell to the floor, taking her down with him.