PS01 - Tall, Dark & Lonely (2 page)

wife was restless with her confinement. Our two boys were asleep in the nursery and she desperately wanted to see Amy

dance.”

“Understandable. Please continue.”

“Marc, what the hell is he?” Henry asked loudly. Ephraim ignored them.

“Shut up, Henry,” Marc said coldly.

“She…she….we….” his father’s voice cracked. Ephraim never once heard of his father crying. “We found the bastard bent

over her body. She was so pale…and….and….”

“What?”

“He was feeding her his blood! She was drinking his blood!” his father whispered harshly.

Nichols didn’t say anything. “We chased the bastard off, but not soon enough. She went into labor…but she was dead. The boy

just….he came…..the surgeon couldn’t understand it. He thought we were going to have to cut her.”

“I’m sorry. I’m rather confused. You said she was dead? I saw her myself in the village not a week after the boy’s birth. I was

led to believe she died a few days later from complications.”

His father looked over his shoulder again. “We had to tell everyone that….truth is she woke up the next morning like nothing

happened. She tried to take the boy. She was screaming nonsense. I had to throw her out, but she came back for the boy with

him
!”

Nichols cleared his throat. “I hate to ask, but is it possible the boy isn’t yours.”

“You mean did my wife cuckold me?” he asked bitterly. “I…I don’t know. He looks nothing like his brothers. I just don’t know

and at that point it would have created a scandal for the boy to disappear and I was most certainly not going to send an innocent

child with….oh god, she was dead I buried her myself….I…..do you think….”

Ephraim looked at his brothers. They were not handsome men by anyone’s standards. They looked so much like their father.

They were as Mrs. Brown liked to say "womanly men." They had very feminine features. They were pretty boys some of the

ladies said. A lot of women liked that, but Ephraim always secretly prayed that he wouldn’t look like them. He always found

comfort in the fact that everyone told him that he didn’t look like them. The only thing they shared was their mother’s black

hair.

He was always told that he looked like a “little man”. He was a rough little boy with a thick muscular frame unlike his

brother’s much thinner frames. His startling blue eyes also set him apart. Could that have changed along with everything else?

It seemed ridiculous even to him at the moment, but he didn’t want to look like a woman.

Nichols looked back at him and shook his head. “He doesn’t look like you or your other sons except for the black hair. Does he

look like the men on his mother’s side or does he look like-”

“Him you mean?” His father made a sound of disgust.

“Yes.”

“He has a larger frame and different eyes but…I thought…I hoped he would look like us.” His father looked him over. “He

looks like
him
. Do you think he’s contracted whatever ailed his mother then?”

“Yes, I think it’s a good chance the boy is diseased. If you truly are not the boy’s father then he most likely is insane as well.

Tell me what happened to his mother?”

“What do you think we did? She was dead. We burned the bitch and her lover,” he said coldly. Ephraim’s breath caught.

“You’re not my father?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Both men slowly turned to stare at him. Their confused expressions turned horrified at the realization that he heard their entire

whispered conversation. His father’s hand went to his chest as a collective gasp sounded throughout the large bed chamber.

“His eyes! They’re red!” Henry shouted.

“The devil!” A footman raised his weapon and backed up.

“Father? What’s going on?” Ephraim couldn’t hide the fear in his voice.

“Don’t call me that!” his father yelled. “You’re clearly not mine!”

“No, father, please!” Ephraim tried to sit up, but his restraints held him down.

“What do you want us to do with him?” Nichols asked.

His father shook his head. “I don’t care what you do with him. Just get him out of my sight.”

“Father?.....Father!” He watched his father and brothers hurry from the room. No one looked back at him. “Father, please!”

Nichols walked over to the bed, smiling. “Tie the chains around him and make sure he can’t get lose,” he ordered.

The footman hesitated coming any closer. “Now!” The men jumped and did as they were told. Ephraim could now move his

arms and legs, but he was too weak to fight back.

“Please, sir, if you let me talk to my father…there’s been a mistake.” The men released the chains from the bed. In one smooth

move they flipped him onto the floor, roughly. He felt the wind knocked out of him. They quickly wrapped the chains around

his body tightly.

“Stop!” he screamed. It hurt. The chains were too tight, cutting off his air.

Nicholls bent in front of him. “I’m sorry, my boy. I realize this isn’t your fault, but you must realize the position you’ve put me

in. I cannot have you running around feeding off people.” He shook his head. “No, that will never do.” He looked up at the men.

“Take him to my estate and lock him in the dungeon.”

His dungeon? Ephraim’s stomach rolled. Nichols was known for being one of the most religious and straightforward men in the

area. He was honored and accepted by every member of the ton. He was also known for being a sadistic bastard who took his

job seriously. He tortured men, slowly.

“Please, sir, no! Get my father! He wouldn’t want you to do this! Please!” He began sobbing.

Nichols knelt beside him at a safe distance. “I promise you I will make this quick out of respect for your father. He wouldn’t

want to know that you suffered.”

“Oh, god no!” Ephraim shook his head and tried to fight his restraints.

“Grab him!” Nichols snapped.

The footmen scooped him up, careful to stay away from his mouth. “Father! Henry! Marc! Please help me!” he screamed.

He was quickly carried down the servant's stairs, out the back door and thrown into the back of a carriage. Nichols stood at the

door. “I promise you will not feel a thing, my boy.”

He closed the door.

“Noooo!” Ephraim screamed as the carriage took off.

*******

Ephraim pushed his long knotted hair back from his face. His bony fingers shook violently from hunger.

Nichols ran a hand over his now bald head. He sighed heavily as he looked down at Ephraim’s ghastly figure. A look of

disgust and revulsion spread over Nichol’s features. He raised a cloth to his face, trying to avoid the stench. Ephraim dropped

his shaking hands to cover his genitals. His clothes had long ago worn away to nothing. His skin was practically black now

from the mixture of dirt, burns and dried blood.

“What now? Are you going to set me on fire again? Or perhaps chop my head off for the tenth time? Hmm, oh no, that wouldn’t

do for you. Let’s see you’ll want to try something new of course since it’s been five years since you did anything original,” he

prattled on, mocking Nichols.

He didn’t care anymore. He stopped caring about everything years ago. The pain didn’t bother him, the hunger even less. They

had become his friends, his companions. In an odd way he’d come to depend on the pain to make him feel alive.

Nichols sighed behind his cloth and then coughed from the stench. “I’m tired of your mouth, boy. Before we continue today I

would like to say that you have been my greatest and most frustrating challenge. It’s a damn shame this has to end today.”

Ephraim chuckled. “Oh, so today is the day that you finally figure out how to once and for all end me? Why, I’m impressed.”

He slowly dragged himself to a standing position. His body was literally skin and bone now with too much hair on his head

and face. “Let’s have a go at it then.” He had no illusions over the matter. He would remain here for eternity.

“Bring him.” Nichols left the room.

The footmen were careful to remain out of reach of Ephraim. He was weak and looked brittle, but they’d learned long ago to

remain out of his reach or they would find themselves attached to his mouth.

Nichols waited in his favorite torture chamber with another five men and over a dozen buckets of something. Ephraim couldn’t

smell anything over his own stench. That was a good sign at least. That meant it wasn’t oil. He hated being burned alive. It was

perhaps the most painful of Nichols’ methods. The pain lasted for weeks.

“Over there and secure his foot to the floor.” Nichols gestured to the wall.

Ephraim studied the marked wall. He could make out burn marks, bullet holes and dried blood. It was Nichols favorite spot

after all. He leaned back against the wall, waiting for Nichols' brilliant plan.

A footman handed him something. He was too surprised by the action to make a grab for the footman. In his hand he held a long

ago forgotten item, one that he dreamed of for years.

Soap.

He looked up at Nichols, confused.

“Let’s get this over with. We can’t very well allow His Grace to see you like this.” Three footmen carrying buckets stepped

forward and threw water on him from a safe distance.

It was cold, but that didn’t bother him. He was always cold in this damp dungeon. The water felt strange on his body. It slowly

penetrated the layers of dried grime, making his skin itch. He slowly began to wash. He didn’t wait for Nichols to ask him. He

wanted this. It had been so long since he saw his own skin. He had to scrub hard, as hard as his shaking hands allowed him to.

He was so weak he could barely move the soap against the resistance the grim presented.

“Get more water. It seems it’s going to take a lake to clean him,” Nichols ordered. Men scurried out of the room quickly. They

always did. No one liked being in the room with the “devil.”

“You said my father’s coming here?” Ephraim did his best to sound casual. He learned long ago not to show any emotion to

Nichols. He used his fears and his hopes against him. The man was a master to his art.

“No, I said His Grace. Perhaps this is the time to tell you that Edmund Duke of Havenville passed away in his sleep yesterday.

The new Duke, your brother by your mother, has requested to see you today.”

“Henry?”

Nicholls flipped his hand in an annoyed manner. “Oh dear, I forgot to tell you Henry died twelve years ago. Jealous husband.

You get the picture I’m sure.”

Ephraim slowly allowed the information to settle in. If he was upset he didn’t show it. He knew better. This could very well be

some new sick torture. He continued to clean as the footmen continued to throw water on him. Slowly, so slowly he saw pale

skin peek through the grime. The sight disgusted him. His skin wrapped tightly around bone. He looked like a living skeleton. If

he had anything in his stomach he would have lost it right then, but he forced himself to continue. That was after all one of

Nichols’ favorite tortures to starve him to death. He’d been doing it for twenty years.

He wanted to ask who else had passed, but he didn’t dare. There was no one he really cared for, not anymore. Any affection he

held died years ago. All those he loved had turned their backs on him. They knew what Nichols was capable of and did

nothing. They allowed it.

Shouts erupted in the dark tunnels. Nichols turned quickly. “Go see what that is.” He gestured to four footmen. They took off

running with their weapons drawn.

Shouts and the sound of a gunshot carried to the large torture chamber. Ephraim continued to wash. No one and nothing was

going to stop him from cleaning. If he only had this one chance to feel and smell clean he was going to take it greedily. It was a

sense of freedom. It was the only thing that could make him feel free in this dreadful place.

“Get in there!” a man shouted. Nichols' footmen stumbled into the room followed by a dozen armed men.

“Line up against the wall, the lot of ya!" the large man said. He pointed to Nichols. “You stay where ya are. His Grace would

like to have a word with ya!”

“His Grace?” Nichols asked confused.

“Aye.”

“Uh oh, Nichols, sounds like you’re in trouble,” Ephraim said tauntingly.

He began scrubbing his face. The soap made the itch worse for a minute then slowly subsided. The grime on his skin turned to

a paste, but rinsed off easily. “If someone wouldn’t mind pushing a bucket this way I would truly appreciate it,” he spoke as if

there wasn’t an armed siege occurring. He didn’t care. It didn’t mean anything for him. He knew his brother, the new Duke,

was coming here to finish the job. He couldn’t have Ephraim alive and threatening his position. Little did he know that the job

was impossible.

He heard a bucket scrape on the floor in front of him. The soap stung his eyes. Nichols should have done this years ago,

because it stung like a bitch. “Thank you,” he muttered as his hands shot out and found the bucket. That was one thing he never

lost, his humanity. He hung onto it like a dying man. He refused to allow Nichols to steal it from him. He was no longer the boy

he once was, but he refused to turn into the monster that Nichols demanded.

Strong thin hands ran a damp cloth across his face. Ephraim jumped at the touch. No one had touched him in too many years to

count unless it was to hurt him. He opened his eyes to see a man who looked very much like his father, except for the black