Well, it seems as though the next chapter is SO long that it can't all fit in one post. So... it looks like I'll have to double-post.
Sorry for the inconvenience. Here's Chapter 5, part A.
Also, two deleted scenes:
*George appears before Flame Master after she exits Jugalette's cell. Removed because it took up space and really didn't move the story forward much.
*Richard listens in on Redblack's conversation with Justin and Leverish. Removed because it revealed too much of an upcoming plot twist.
CHAPTER FIVE The cold air was rank with the smell of human waste, as there was no toiletry within her cell. As a matter of fact, there really wasn’t anything in this cell. No bed, no chair, no nothing, not even a window was present. It was this way for one reason: to prevent her from committing suicide. Anything could be used as a weapon, they knew, so they simply removed everything from this small, 6-feet-by-8-feet-by-6-feet chamber. All except for the tight, uncomfortable chains that bound her hands to her legs, keeping her in a fetal position to prevent her from even moving around.
Misery would have been a comfort.
Her eyes, once again adjusted to the darkness, wandered about the room, seeking some form of pastime to keep occupied. She had already counted the number of stones in the walls and in the ceiling (867 total), sung many lullabies to calm her nerves, and talked many conversations with herself.
Her only purpose here was to allow these fools to speak to their “master”—a wicked demon named Mephisto. Of course, she was also a member of this cult, too. At least, until they discovered her power of “channeling,” which allows one to commute with someone of another time and space. They had her do it once, and had to sacrifice the soul of another member (As was the ritual necessary). The demon she commuted with drove her insane. She could see all the horrible acts he had performed in the past as he spoke through her to his followers. It was like being forced into a nightmare, again and again.
Since then, she was treated like an animal. In some ways, she had definitely devolved; looking at herself now, she would give society such a shock if she were ever in public. Her short, neck length hair was so disheveled, it would have probably passed as hay. Her body was filthy and smelled awful. Her face was sunken in, and the darkened area beneath her eyes would have probably given the most sincere Goth kid a heart attack.
The door suddenly opened, and a fluorescent light from the hall flooded the room. She gasped, blinked, and adjusted her eyes to the figure entering the room.
The figure was that of a small woman. She had long hair that was so blonde as to actually be white. Her eyes were just as white as her hair, and wore a red-and-white armor piece that had red ribbons that connected from her wristbands to her waist. She was also carrying a platter of food.
The woman in red set the platter in front of the prisoner, then undid her chains so she could eat. “Lunch,” she muttered. Her voice was surprisingly deep for someone of her petite stature.
On the platter was a leg of chicken, some peas and some mashed potatoes. The prisoner sat up and greedily began to feast on the meal. After she scarfed down the peas first, she turned to the woman in red. “You cook this?”
The woman nodded.
“I thought so.” She grabbed the chicken leg and started devouring it. Between bites, she said, “Why are you always so nice to me, anyway?”
The woman in red sighed a bit. “You don’t remember me? We were friends when we started out in this cult nearly five years ago.”
The prisoner stared at her for a moment or two, her mouth full of poultry. Then, she shook her head, as she recalled almost nothing before her first “commute.”
The red-clad woman blinked a bit at first, then tried to start over. “My name is Flame Master. Do you remember your name?”
The prisoner again had nothing to offer for an answer.
Flame Master continued. “Your name is Jugalette. Do you remember now? We used to be friends.”
Jugalette threw a bone back down on her platter. “What,” she began, “What kind of friend lets someone live a nightmare like this? You think this is a game?”
Flame Master heaved a heavy sigh. Even though this was Mephisto’s will, she could not bear to watch her friend suffer. It was evident that over the course of just a few years, she had forgotten nearly everything but how much she hated Mephisto.
Jugalette snorted and suddenly began to cry. “You don’t care how much I suffer, do you?” she sobbed. Flame Master frowned. “DO you?” the prisoner repeated. “If that’s the way you are, then I don’t want to be friends with you.”
The ragged prisoner ate through the potatoes like an animal, but was hardly able to actually swallow the potatoes through her heavy sobs. A tear escaped Flame Master’s pale eye, hating what she saw her friend being reduced to. There had to be a way out of this situation.
* * * * * *
The first day at work is always the hardest, they say, but they could not make it any more descriptive. Richard quickly discovered that Mr. Redblack kept more appointments than he actually cared to recall, more paperwork than Richard had ever seen in his life, and that he himself, Richard, was to finish organizing a week’s worth of paperwork in one day.
Not that it was actually possible, mind you.
He also found it humid and actually kind of stinky since the ceiling fan fizzled out. He was not able to sweat, being a worm; instead, he would dry out. Thus, he always kept a tall glass of water on his desk should he need hydration.
Adding more stones to the sling was the fact that Richard could only use his prong-like tail to write and type with. This wasn’t really an issue, but the fact that his skin tended to dry out a bit meant that his prong would get things stuck to it and mess up his writing.
That was the problem that was occurring just now. His pencil was again stuck to his prong, and the paper he was working on stuck to his tail. He grumbled, muttering ugly words beneath his breath. He attempted to dunk the tip of his head into the glass of water, but instead knocked it over and got all his finished paperwork soaked.
For a moment, he was unable to speak at all. Then, all of a sudden, the frustration gave way to anger. He began to shout curses as loud as he could and shift about in his chair. Suddenly, his chair gave way and he slipped and fell out of the seat and smacked his head on the trashcan.
That window just looked all too inviting at the moment.
Suddenly, two individuals walked into his secretarial office. The first was what seemed to be a vampire. The long dark cloak, the bloodshot eyes, the swept-back hair… He certainly fit the bill for something out of those old black-and-white vampire movies.
The second was a bit stranger; he was unlike anything Richard had seen. He was a small creature, perhaps about three and a half feet tall. His body was quite feral in appearance, with dark skin that had white fur coming out of the shoulders and flowed down his back. His face was covered by an iron mask that had a single red eye in the center. His arms were long, and adorned with large, iron chains.
The vampire spoke first. “We are here for our appointment with Mr. Redblack.”
Richard crawled back up on his chair. “And, you are…?”
The feral one suddenly jumped forward, scaring Richard. He began to look Richard over. “Leverish!” the vampire called. “That’s rude. Show some manners.”
Leverish looked at his partner, then back at Richard. “Wasn’t his secretary somebody else last time?” he asked. His voice was a strange, echoing type that actually sounded more feminine than masculine.
The vampire folded his arms. “Mr. Redblack goes through secretaries like a child through candy,” he answered. “Now, get off of him.”
Leverish nodded. “Yes, Justin.” He turned to Richard again. “My apologies; I don’t really get outside too much.” He slunk back to Justin, the vampire, and sat down next to him like an obedient pet.
Richard got back up on his chair again for the third time in as many minutes. “Now then, you are Justin and Leverish, from…” he began to rifle through some of the schedules. “Uh…”
Justin pointed to a name Richard didn’t catch before. “The Church of Dragmire?” He never really though that Redblack was the religious type—especially not after the way he acted—but Richard guessed that Redblack needed something to believe in.
“Yes,” Justin nodded. “He is a generous donor of ours, and a regular member. We are honored that he is a member of our church.” Leverish nodded in agreement.
Well, it seemed that this was a very important appointment. Richard turned on his intercom. “Mr. Redblack, there’s a Mr. Justin and a Mr. Leverish, from the Church of Dragmire here to see you.”
Redblack’s voice crackled through back to him. “Send them in.”
Richard nodded to the two, giving them the okay. They walked through the next door into Redblack’s imperial office.
Something about those two gave Richard an uneasy feeling. He was sure it wasn’t the humidity in the room. “The Church of Dragmire…” he quietly repeated to himself. He was certain he’d heard that name somewhere beforehand, but where…
