Agents of Shadow Page 5
Chapter VI
How long had she been out, Jamie wondered as her memory returned to her. She couldn’t tell what time of day it was, or even what day of the week. She wanted to demand answers of her captors, if she could only speak. The fear in her heart poisoned her like the paralyzing venom of a dark and vicious snake sinking its teeth into her, contaminating her bloodstream. All she could do was recall the most recent events, which only led to more questions:
Did Professor Madsen, her own mentor whom she trusted and admired for almost two years, really drug and abduct her? She found it almost impossible to conceive that such a well-respected, open-minded, educated individual as the good professor to be involved in some sadistic and radical cult. It was pure madness, and Madsen was a true man of reason. Yet here she was, naked and unable to move on a cold, altar-like table in a dark, candle-lit, dungeon-like room.
Was Madsen one of the individuals who were now surrounding her, cloaked and masked as dark individuals from what looked like some medieval opera performance? If only she could speak and call to him. If only she could ask him, if he were there at all, what the hell was going on, and how he could ever do this to her.
Even more confusing, who was behind me? she suddenly remembered. Madsen didn’t drug her; he was driving the car. She started to remember both hands on the wheel when she felt someone grab her from behind, blocking off her air passages with one solid grip as the prick of a needle pinched her neck. She remembered vaguely, Professor Madsen showing her the back seat of his car and only seeing personal belongings and luggage under the black tarp. There was absolutely no way a person could have been hiding in the back seat without her seeing him. She did not remember the dizziness that had overcome her when she had observed the luggage.
Suddenly, Jamie’s thoughts and logical recollections were completely removed from her conscience as she felt someone roughly grab her right wrist and lift her hand. Then came the piercing sting. One by one, each of her five digits on her right hand felt hot, wet, and sticky as a razor-sharp pain throbbed in each one. The cloaked figure on her right, was the one with the dagger, and she believed he was slicing the tips of her fingers with it. Her nerves and reflexes would usually cause her to instinctively jerk her hand back, but she did not, could not move. All she could do was push out as many vocal sounds of pain and terror that her closed teeth and frozen facial muscles would allow.
The cloaked man passed the dagger to the one on his left, as the man at her feet passed the blood stained goblet to him. He held the goblet under her now bleeding hand. The man at her feet, the one who first held the goblet against her naked vagina spoke again: “In the name of the dark lord and his minions, we draw the virgin’s sense of touch into ourselves so that we may serve him with our power.”
The other four beings responded in unison, “We are his servants and his agents forever.”
Jamie could feel the cold, hard rim of the goblet under her hand. Were these people actually letting her own blood seep into the cup? What were they going to do with it? What were they going to do with her? She prayed with all her might that these men would leave her alone or that someone would come and save her. She prayed for Neal, but her prayers were not answered.
She could no longer see the dagger, or the hand of the figure who was holding it, as it was nearing to the right of her head which could not move, and her peripheral vision only allowed her to see so far to the right. Not being able to watch what was happening was even more terrifying. Her breathing became shorter and more rapid as her heart raced, as if trying to outrun the fear that was gripping it. Tears were welling in her eyes as she came to terms with the fact that she was in extreme danger but could do nothing about it. Again she forced out muffled screams of agony when she felt the cold, sharp blade of the dagger penetrate inside her right ear; slowly sliding deeper, ripping flesh and cartilage as it was pulled back out. The cult leader spoke again in a less monotone, more ecstatic tone of voice: “In the name of the dark lord and his minions, we draw the virgin’s sense of hearing into ourselves so that we may serve him with our power.”
Jamie could now feel the goblet pressed against her head below her damaged ear. These cloaked figures were passing both the evil dagger and goblet around to each other, but she couldn’t exactly see who had the items at what times. Her head was stiffly straight. Her eyes were frantically moving about, desperately trying to find some sort of hope in this nightmare.
“We are his servants and his agents forever,” the cloaked figures responded to the leader’s chant.
She noticed movement of the figures’ arms and could tell they were exchanging items again. Another cloaked figure, to the left of her head, now held the dark-bladed dagger above her face, dangling it over her as if in taunt and torment, adding to her fear. Slowly, the figure inched the blade closer to her face. Even though he was in a mask, Jamie almost felt a dark, menacing smile behind it. She struggled again, struggled with all her might, willing her mind to move her arms, her legs, her head. She focused with everything she had and strained with more effort than a body builder trying to pull a car in one of those strongman competitions she’d seen on T.V.
Yet nothing responded. She did not budge even a little. The terror inside her had taken too strong a hold. She couldn’t even gain control over her eyelids to shut out the vision of the blade sliding up her left nostril. Like the way they raped her ear, the man twisted the blade around, tearing cartilage. She screamed out through clenched teeth and closed lips again, breathing even more rapidly. The blade felt deep. Her eyes watered up to the point where everything blurred. Tears were flowing down the sides of her face.
“In the name of the dark lord and his minions, we draw the virgin’s sense of smell into ourselves so that we may serve him with our power.”
Another cloaked figure grabbed the sides of her head, and forcefully turned it sideways. She was now looking to her left; at the midsections of two of the figures. Their robes were dark and medieval.
“We are his servants and his agents forever.”
The goblet was pressed against her lips and underneath the flow of blood from her nostril. The cloaked figure scraped whatever cartilage and tissue from her orifices that was sticking to the blade, into the goblet as well. There was a moment of silence as they waited patiently; letting as much blood as her nose would give fill the goblet. Again she prayed, begging for a miracle, begging to wake up from this twisted, dark nightmare, begging for Neal to wake her up and take her camping in the calm, peaceful night under the sentinel stars. She prayed that none of this was real, but her prayers were not answered.
Jamie tried to talk. She tried to plead with her captors to let her go. She tried to call out to Professor Madsen (he must be here; he must be one of them), and beg him to stop this. She also wanted understanding. She had no idea what was happening, this was all wildly foreign to her. It was bad enough that she was being tortured and cut into, but the confusion, the not understanding any of this, made it all that much worse.
Why hadn’t she called for a taxi? Why not Uber? In hindsight, she couldn’t believe she was so insistent on having Professor Madsen drive her in spite of her other options, other than the fact that she truly did trust her mentor, had grown quite comfortable with him. More strangely, he was the one who suggested a taxi, even offered to pay, but she declined. It made no sense to her, but in her frantic state, logic eluded her anyway. Her frightened thoughts entertained the concept that whatever force or power that now paralyzed her was the same phenomenon that manipulated her decision to persuade him to take her home; the same thing that caused her to see luggage in his back seat, and not whoever her assailant was. As impossible as it may have seemed.
The cloaked figures continued with their sick ritual.
Now she saw the dagger again. It was apparently passed to the next figure; the one Jamie guessed was a female based on the physical stature and the smoothness of her hands. She gracefully held the dagger with an artistic style and skil
l. She could have very well been holding a paint brush. She gently moved the dagger towards Jamie’s lips, and used the tip to only slightly separate their pink skin. Jamie could feel her lips moisten with the stickiness of her blood. She could tell it wasn’t much, and she allowed herself to think for an instant that they would only do minor damage to her. Her fingertips, ear and nose would heal, and her lips would be better in a day or two.
It was then that Jamie saw another metallic object near her mouth. Something else, handled by the figure next to the woman, of a silver texture, was accompanying the dagger’s intrusion of her mouth. The opposite hand of the man holding this metallic item gripped her cheeks painfully, forcing her mouth open. He pushed the object into her mouth and squeezed. The item worked like a pair of pliers, grasping and pulling on her tongue. Jamie screamed and cried. She tried to jerk her head again, but her motor systems still made no response. Only her screams fought at her captors, but they did nothing more than pose as an annoyance, one they seemed to be expecting anyway, even enjoying, as if they had performed this ritual on others before. Regardless, her screams strengthened as the pliers pulled her tongue out of her mouth and kept it still, as the female figure sawed into it with the razor-sharp dagger.
Jamie cried in immense anguish; blood and snot shooting from her nostrils and mouth, tears now streaming from her eyes like miniature waterfalls; all of it now dripping into the cold, still, menacing goblet pressed against her cheek. The stinging, hot pain was throbbing with such a pounding force, it only augmented her fear and terror that kept her frozen from movement. She watched helplessly in horror and agony as the cloaked woman held her amputated tongue between her fingers, and took a moment to gaze upon it in what looked light sheer delight, before dropping it too into the cup.
Her screaming never ceased from this point, even as hoarseness took effect upon her vocal cords.
Still, she heard the lead figure’s chant as clearly as if she were still silent: “In the name of the dark lord and his minions, we draw the virgin’s sense of taste into ourselves so that we may serve him with our power.”
“We are his servants and his agents forever.”
Jamie couldn’t believe this was happening. She would never be able to talk again… never be able to perform to the best of her abilities at that internship. Did such an opportunity even exist? It no longer mattered. Now she lay screaming in petrified anguish; the blood would not stop gushing out of where her tongue had once been. She would never be able to use her skills as an educator, never be able to rise up the administrative ladder to help make new and better policies for her country’s youth, never be able to tell Neal she loved him, never be able to kiss him. Her tears flowed ever more forcefully as reality became more omnipresent inside her mind, only amplifying the excruciating physical pain.
She wished she could go back in time and change her decision. If only she didn’t stay after to talk with Professor Madsen. She prayed for God to take her back so she could stop herself from getting into that tempting BMW, but her prayers were not answered.
The cloaked man with the silver pliers now placed them out of sight, and received the dagger from the woman beside her. He put his free hand on the back of her head to brace it. Jamie continued her relentless screams as she watched the blade near itself toward her eyes. She guessed what was coming. She couldn’t pull away, couldn’t shut her eyes. All she could do was shriek and watch the blade of the dagger dig itself under her right eyeball. Then she saw nothing but blurriness with red and white liquid pus, and she felt pain like never before.
Her voice was becoming more scratchy and hoarse, but still her cries were screeching loudly from the hot sting and cold terror. It wasn’t stopping. They were torturing her; killing her, and they relished in the entire procession.
As her expending voice continued to weaken from overuse, she heard the same raspy man: “In the name of the dark lord, we draw the virgin’s sense of sight into ourselves so that we may serve him with our power.”
She heard the disgusting sploosh as her right eyeball fell into the bloody contents of the goblet.
“We are his servants and his agents forever.”
Someone’s hands moved Jamie’s head to face up at the ceiling again. Her cries started to become laborious as she gurgled from all the blood now dripping down her throat, slowly choking her. She coughed and spat out a good glob of blood and snot with all her might. The fear was subsiding slightly, and she was able to work her jaw to fight against her own fluids from killing her. She noticed, as best she could with her blurred and now inadequate vision, the cloaked figures were all staring down at her. One by one, they passed the goblet around, starting with the one who led the séance.
One by one, they removed their strange masks and drank from it.
Jamie felt vomit begin to bubble in her stomach as she blinked her left eye to focus on these men… these monsters literally drinking from the goblet that had her blood, her flesh, her tongue and her eyeball. Each man would take a large sip, then close his eyes; a euphoric expression on his face and a smile of utter ecstasy as the contents swished in his mouth. Each of the men looked not like monsters, but men – middle aged or older – but not rough. Their faces seemed to glow with a soft illumination as they drank her fluids from the cup, as if something indeed was transferring into them, something that made them more than they were, but not more in greatness… more in darkness. Jamie could only stare at them in complete dread, her one eye wide with unmatchable fright.
She could no longer scream. The blood in her mouth was increasing, and she found it more and more difficult to breathe. The fourth figure to her left now received the goblet and removed the mask. She was in fact female, and though she herself had to have at least been in her mid-forties, she looked down at Jamie with eyes like those of a child staring at lit candles on her birthday cake; excitedly aroused, dark green eyes. She felt more fear looking into those eyes than any other pair. The woman stared at her with eyes of hunger and fascination as she drank from the goblet. Jamie felt that her own agony and terror excited the woman, yet she tried to call out to her with pleading cries. This woman, the one who cut her tongue with lustful pleasure, was still a woman like her, and she entertained the smallest chance of hope that there was at least one shred of empathy in that one common factor between the two, that the woman would, by some unlikely divine intervention, come to her senses and show some understanding and pity towards Jamie.
The woman only smiled with deeper malice and wickedness than before. She passed the goblet to the man on her left and placed her right hand gently under Jamie’s head, stroking the tears from her left cheek, caressing her. For a moment, Jamie felt her pain subside a bit, and she found breathing to be a little easier, as if the woman had the power to give her relief, but the fear was back with complete control over her, for there was a hideous darkness in those eyes. Jamie could not help but to stare back at this woman, and she found her to be exceptionally beautiful, but she was deathly afraid. She started to shiver violently all over. Either the fear was becoming greater, or she was going into shock.
“Are you trying to say something dear?” the woman patronized with a voice that was soothingly lovely and evil at the same time. “I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you. You must have something caught in your throat.” She started to gently stroke Jamie’s bleeding lips with her left index finger, and the woman herself seemed to be quivering; not with fear, but with delightful anticipation that intensified with every gurgling and choking sound that she made.
“Let me help you a little honey,” she whispered. She gently pressed her soft, open lips against Jamie’s. Jamie could feel the woman’s tongue rubbing against her lips hard, licking her blood with a lustful thirst, then the tongue penetrated her mouth, lapping and sucking with a strange force. She could feel the blood that was choking her slowly being drawn out of her throat. The woman was sucking all the vile liquids from her mouth as if through a straw, and Jamie started to breathe with slight
ly more ease.
The woman did not stop, and pulled Jamie’s head with her hand into her with more force. It was as if her thirst only grew as she drank more blood from her mouth, and her tongue was pressing hard against what was left of Jamie’s, causing her hot pain to augment. She was feasting on it with lust and desire, as if gallons of her blood would not satiate her want of it, then she bit ravishingly into it, squirting more of the red juices into her desperate mouth. Jamie screamed a muffled cry of anguish, and finally the woman let go, watching her begin to choke again on the fresh flow of blood filling her throat.
When the woman was upright again, Jamie could see the man to her left, unmasked and drinking from the goblet. When he took the cup from his mouth, he looked toward the woman next to him. “Was that really necessary, love?” he asked, and Jamie could now confirm to her incredible dismay that it was Professor Madsen.
“Did you like it?” the woman replied. Professor Madsen did not respond but only looked down at Jamie, watching her with interest while she gasped and gurgled.
Unable to scream any longer, struggling and slowly weakening from lack of oxygen, she gazed at him with a look that begged him, Why? Madsen removed a small, yellow note from inside his cloak and held it over a burning candle. She watched it burn from his hand, and she knew it was the note he had left for her on her desk back at campus: “Some news of opportunity for you. See me after class. - Professor M.” As the professor handed the goblet to the leader standing at her feet, she saw her mentor look at her one more time; a smirk on his face: the “Gotcha!” smirk.
The room and the figures were fading from Jamie’s consciousness. Her head was pounding. She lay more and more still, only staring straight up at the ceiling. She did not see the older man at her feet raise the dagger high up above her. She could barely hear his last words: “We are the faithful servants of the dark lord. We have drawn her being into ourselves with his cup. We ask that he complete the transfer of her life force as we offer her to him. May he do with her as he sees fit, and may he grant us the power to carry out his will.”