The House of Bourbon

Chapter 10

Ember stirred awake in a suffocatingly cold and silent room, her body stiff from lying on the only piece of furniture in the barren space—a squeaky, metal-framed bed that groaned under her slightest movement. She blinked her eyes open, the dim light casting eerie shadows on the cement walls that enclosed her like a tomb. The air was stale, heavy with dampness and decay, like the scent of a space long forgotten and sealed off from the world above.

Her senses were overwhelmed by the musk of aged stone and mold clinging to every surface. The room felt ancient, a relic of a time without care or purpose, its bones untouched for centuries. As she shifted, a cold shiver ran through her body, the chill of the cement beneath the bed seeping into her skin.

A crude wooden bucket sat in the corner adjacent to the bed, its purpose unmistakable. Flies buzzed lazily around it, confirming her growing horror—it was her toilet. The realization was like a weight sinking into her chest. This was where she was meant to stay.

Tears welled in her eyes, hot and relentless, as fear took hold of her. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as she tried to piece together how she had ended up in this godforsaken place. Her heart pounded in her chest, the cold fear settling into her bones as the reality of her situation crashed over her.

"Help me," Ember mumbled, but the words came out strangled as if her body betrayed her. The tears and saliva created a barrier, her voice breaking into nothing more than a murmur, lost in the vast emptiness of the room. She was alone, terrified, with nothing but the sound of her sobs and the soft hum of the flies to keep her company.

"Hey!" a voice screamed, shattering the room's stillness like glass.

Ember jolted upright, her breath catching in her throat. The sudden sound cut through her fog of despair like a lightning strike. She wasn't alone. The cold dread she had been drowning in shifted, replaced by a sharp adrenaline spike. Someone else was trapped here—another captive, their voice laced with the same desperation she had felt just moments ago.

Her heart pounded in her chest, thudding against her ribs as she shot to her feet. The room seemed to spin momentarily, her vision swaying from the rush of movement. Instinct kicked in, and she hurried across the cold cement floor, her legs weak and trembling beneath her. Her stomach twisted violently, her guts churning as if they might spill out onto the floor. The physical strain was almost too much to bear, but her body acted impulsively, driven by the flicker of hope ignited by that voice.

She pressed her hands to her lower abdomen, cupping her belly as if to hold herself together, each step forward feeling like a marathon. Her breath was shallow, and the pain radiating from her core only intensified, but she forced herself onward, driven by sheer will. Her feet shuffled across the cold floor until she reached the heavy, steel door at the other end of the room.

Her hands trembled as she leaned against the door for support, gasping for breath. Her heart raced as she clung to the thread of hope that someone else was there—alive and fighting. Reinvigorated by the sudden possibility of escape, she pressed her ear to the door, desperate to hear more."Is anyone there?" the voice called out, sounding hollow in the cold, oppressive space.

"Is anyone there?" The voice called again, louder, more desperate.

"Y-yes," Ember stuttered, her voice barely making it past the door as her hands gripped the cold metal, searching for something to hold onto in this terrifying place.

"Hello?" the voice asked, still distant but with a sharper edge now as if struggling to make sense of the situation.

"I'm here!" Ember shouted, her voice trembling with effort. The sound bounced back at her from the hard cement walls, making the space feel even smaller and more suffocating.

"Where are we?" the voice asked again, but this time, it felt different—less like a plea for help and more like someone trying to regain control like the person on the other side was piecing things together.

"I don't know," Ember whimpered, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I don't know," she repeated, her voice cracking under her fear. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for a response, any hint of hope that someone else understood where they were and how to get out.

A pause hung in the air, and then the voice spoke again, softer now but filled with confusion. "I was standing in a shop in the middle of the French Quarter. The next thing, I woke up here."

The mention of the French Quarter stirred something in Ember's chest, but there was no time to dwell on it. She focused on the stranger's words, clinging to them, even as confusion swirled in her mind. Who was this person? Whoever they were, they sounded just as lost as she was. And that was somehow even more unsettling.

The man's voice was laced with bewilderment. He questioned, "Where are we?"

For a brief moment, Ember hesitated, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty. She had no idea if this person was friend or foe. Could he be another victim, like her? Or was he something more sinister? The constant barrage of shifting scenes had begun to warp her sense of reality. Every new phase revealed a different emotion, a different horror. The puzzle pieces were starting to fall into place, and with each connection she made, the picture grew darker. Was this man another player in the twisted game, or was he the shapeshifting entity that haunted her every step, slipping between scenes with terrifying ease?

Her breath hitched in her throat, but before she could speak again, the sharp clatter of keys echoed through the space, cutting through the silence. The sound grew louder, each metallic clang ringing out with an almost rhythmic precision. Ember's heart pounded, her instincts bristling. The man's voice, along with her own questions, faded into nothing as the presence of someone else drew near.

A figure emerged from the darkness, draped in a tattered brown cloak, the dim glow of a single candle lighting her way. The woman's face was shadowed beneath the hood, her features obscured save for the soft flicker of light reflecting in her eyes. She moved with purpose, each step deliberate, as though she'd done this many times before.

Ember pressed herself against the cold stone wall, watching with bated breath as the woman approached not her, but his cell—the man behind the voice. The figure stopped in front of him, her head tilting slightly, the candlelight illuminating the sharp angles of her face. Her lips moved, forming silent words that Ember couldn't hear.

The man—the stranger—stood still, confused, as her black, soulless eyes pierced into him, studying him with a cold detachment. Before he could speak, before he could ask any questions, he simply vanished—gone as if he had never been there at all.

"No!" Ember cried out in alarm, instinctively stepping toward the door of her cell, straining to hear the strange noise that followed his disappearance. Her voice cracked with desperation, but her words seemed to dissolve into the air, lost in the oppressive silence.

The woman turned slowly, her dark gaze now fixed on Ember. She smirked, her eyes reflecting the faint light of the candle as she spoke, her voice smooth but laced with a twisted satisfaction.

"That's better," she said, her tone dripping with pride. "We don't need any intruders now, do we?"

Ember's heart pounded in her chest as the woman's words sank in. The unsettling realization that this cloaked figure had complete control over the strange events sent a fresh wave of terror through her. Whatever power this woman possessed, it was far beyond anything Ember had encountered before. She swallowed hard, feeling the cold air tighten around her throat.