Playing Dead: Book One of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 14

Harper still hadn't returned. I began to wonder if he had drugged me, forcing me to ingest something so highly addictive that I was hooked from the first hit, because since then the pains had intensified. I thirsted for it. I ached for it. I thought more about my next hit than I did about the filth, the impenetrable darkness and the fact that I had been imprisoned naked and tortured by the man - no, the beast, that I had allowed myself to be fooled by. In fact, I no longer even thought about Brandon and up until that point I had consumed myself with thoughts of him whenever my mind would allow me to stop thinking about the pain. I had cursed myself for the cruel way in which I had betrayed him and I damned myself for the agony he must be feeling now, grieving for the wife who had destroyed everything we ever had just to feel her heart quicken at the touch of another man. During the times when I had sobbed into the dirt, I had sobbed not just for myself but for him also.

But now, none of that mattered. All I cared about, all I wanted was for Harper to return and give me what I craved. Only he didn't come back even when I screamed for him.

At some point, my temperature began to soar dangerously and nausea swept through me again, twisting my insides into knots and making me pull my knees up into my chest as my body cramped up. A thick sheen of sweat plastered my skin and I rolled around in the dirt, shoving my fist into my mouth to stifle my cries. My shoulder throbbed and pulsated and I could smell something putrid as if the flesh were rotting and infected from the bite. I had visions of a pus-filled wound surrounded by a network of diseased veins, snaking out and spreading the infection throughout my body.

When the raging temperature refused to dissipate and the cramps intensified to the point where I was scratching at my own skin, wishing I could reach in and rip open my own stomach, I gave into pure wild panic. I was certain now that Harper wasn't going to appear. He'd not left me for this long before and his words haunted me. He had said this would all soon be over. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was my body's way of telling me it was almost time and it was committing me to one last wave of torturous agony just for good measure, before it gave in completely and I dissolved into the dust.

It surprised me that he wasn't here to witness my death. He had put me through so much and enjoyed every last second of the pain he had inflicted upon me, that I didn't understand why he was not here now, watching me as I succumbed to the pain and breathed out my last in this pit of a prison to which he had condemned me.

A strange thought occurred to me then. What if he was watching me? What if I thought I was alone, yet he was actually watching everything via infra-red cameras? Getting off on my agony in some private room nearby, filming this whole thing like it was some horrible snuff movie to add to his perverse collection of death. I knew what he really was. A monster. A demon. A creature supposedly fictional and yet somehow real; truly, horribly real. And wouldn't it be just like a monster to sit back, surveying his prey, revelling in his trickery and lies and how he had reduced me to this.

Anger raged through me and it was the first good feeling I had experienced since I had awoken here in the dark. It felt empowering to feel so furious. It made me feel some small iota of strength, firing me up and I howled with rage, surprised at the power in my voice. Gritting my teeth, I rolled onto my front, my cheek embracing the dirt as I breathed hard, focusing on building up the energy to move my arms and push up with my elbows.

I'd show him. I'd prove to him I wasn't done.

"Are you watching, you fucker?" I screamed, trying to block out the agony that pulsed through my muscles as I raised myself onto elbows and knees. Slowly, painfully slowly, I urged my limbs to move and somehow they did, although my whole body was screaming at me to stop, but I wouldn't. I had to do something. I refused to play out my last moments lying prostrate on this cold floor, rolling in my own filth. Not once did I think I might escape, it was not about that, I just needed to show him that he hadn't killed my spirit completely. He might have destroyed my body, but I was still alive inside.