Chosen (Part I)

CHOSEN (Part I)

Emma Clark

Deliciously Fiendish Fiction

Title Page

Chosen Part I

Chosen Part II coming soon.

DFF

Deep voices resonated and roused me from sleep. My eyelids popped open.

Everything blurred while only a stone ceiling came into focus.

Can't remember a damn thing. Why? Where am I?

I gasped, flailed my arms, kicked at empty air and lurched upright. I twisted about looking for something,
anything
that would help me make sense of this.

I quieted as my vision cleared.

Within a huge red room, scary Gothic paintings lined the walls and candles glowed in every corner. A sectional sofa arched around a coffee table. Persian rugs scattered a polished floor and a bed nestled inside an alcove several feet away.

And I sat on a round bed that was so enormous the edge seemed miles off. Silken sheets—the color of blood—swathed my waist.

Jagged shadows danced in crevices but one of them enlarged, smoothed and took on a man's shape.

"
Bon jour.
" He approached, flashed a white smile graced by attractive lips. Strangely, his incisors looked a little too long.

He wore an ebony silk robe. The hood obscured most of his face, the rest shrouded by shadows.

Swallowing back panic, I managed to say something. "Uh, excuse me, but can you tell me where I am? How—who brought me here?"
I'm really scared and trying not to lose my head.

I leaned forth and prepared to beg for my life.

"Welcome to the home of my father. We call this place Jardin d'Eden
.
I'm Master Ryan Bouvier, and I'm pleased to meet you if you'd tell me your name." Another creepy grin as he clasped his fingers and studied me.

Why the hell did he refer to himself as
Master
Ryan?

"I'm Tatum."

"Last name?" he asked.

"Oh. Uh, uh..." Jesus Christ. I forgot my last name! What was it? Oh yeah. "Thomas. Tatum Thomas.”

A smile played at his lips.

“Please answer me. Why am I here?"

"Tatum, you've been chosen for our competition. So count yourself as lucky."

Lucky?
"A competition? What
kind
of competition?"

"A game we have once every ten years," he said. "We find thirteen of the most attractive untouched girls, and we allow thirteen male immortals over the age of twenty-one to choose a favorite. They can do whatever they want with her—as long as they don't have sex. Whoever goes the longest without sex is the winning immortal. He gets to keep his favorite girl and choose
another
virgin as well." His grin spread. "Awesome, isn't it?"

Why did his incisors suddenly appear even
longer
? And what about this other nonsense? 

"Untouched?" I questioned already suspecting the answer. A sharp tingling crept up my thighs.

"Yes. Virgins. And the three winners—the immortal and two virgins—will be moved into their own suite for thirty nights to begin consummating. I can assure you of nice accommodations."

I gaped.

"After those thirty days are up, the winner chooses one deflowered girl to keep. The other will be disposed."

My throat tightened. Confusion mounted.

Ryan nudged the hood to reveal his eyes; the deepest blue eyes I'd ever seen. Luminous rings encircled each iris. Blond fringe shaded his left eye.

Too much was happening. Going too fast.

Immortal? Disposed of? Virgins?
Game?

"What do you mean when you say 'immortal' or 'disposed'?"
Oh god. Like I really want to know the answer to this shit.

"Immortal as in those who don't die, of course." His lips formed a tense line.

"Those who don't
die
? What the fuck does that mean?" I wagged my head.

"Christ! Do I have to fucking spell it out for you?" Ryan's eyes widened and blazed.

This didn't help calm my fears.

A second figure emerged. His robe swished as he strode next to Ryan. Both men were too close to me.

Way
too close.

"As Ryan already told you, we're immortals. Probably known as vampires where you come from. We prefer
not
using that label. We prefer the girls not use it either. Thanks."

Sure. Okay.
My mind spun out of control. So did the room. I slapped a hand to my forehead, raked my hair even though I wanted to tear it out.

Numb from the waist down, I silently pleaded as my tears welled and smeared the immortals' faces.

"Sorry for my outburst.” Ryan cleared his throat. “I realize this information is a lot to take in. Anyway, you look like you need to stand up. Get the tasty blood circulating again. " He reached for my hand.

As if.

Hesitantly I slid from the bed, keeping an eye on them. "I don't want to know anything else." I scanned the room for an escape route. Instead I caught sight of
their
cold stoic faces.

Darkened by hoods, two pairs of identical eyes riveted to me.

"I'm afraid we can't do that, darling. The contest begins in one week," said the second figure.

"Yes. And there's really no need to worry, Tatum. We'll take excellent care of you. No one's going to hurt you. I hope you understand that."

"Really? But what about the disposal—”

"
Really
. Everything will be fine." Ryan smiled. This time it seemed fake.

Those lengthy pointed teeth were another matter...

The two men left me in silence where my fears haunted and tormented me.

Disposed of.
The freak's words ricocheted in my memory.

Scared. Scared. Scared.
Terrified.

How? How the hell would I get out? 

Scared. Scared. Scared. Disposed of.

No windows. What the fuck kind of house had no
windows
?

A lone locked door was the only exit from this hell.

I sat on the bed, staring as I verged on mental collapse. It'd be best if my mind slipped into blissful madness. 

Scared. Scared. Scared.

Nauseated, I shuddered as my teeth chattered. Cold but not really cold.

With no discernible end to this misery, I lowered and rolled to a fetal position while slowly, slowly rocking. Thoughts of the so-called contest were shoved aside. Couldn't allow myself to dwell on grim details.

Needed to plan exactly how to survive this game. That alone was my option.

Survive.

Dear god please save me. Don't let them hurt me.

A miracle followed for I drifted to sleep.

* * * *

J
ardin d'Eden.

French for Garden of Eden. Strange name for a strange town. Ironic as well.

I tossed in bed, then faced a blood-red wall. The wallpaper had intricate swirls with a silky texture, and I ran my finger along its slick surface.

I lost any sense of time, though what did it matter? There was no way of telling time. No windows to hint the darkness of night or light of day, and apparently vampires didn't keep clocks.

Vampires.
I chuckled, still rubbing the wallpaper.
Christ. I'm losing my mind.

I laughed so hard I snorted.

Rub, rub, rub, rub. That's it, keep rubbing the wallpaper, Tatum.

Hysterical laughter faded as I recalled what happened before waking in this asylum.

I'd gone with two girlfriends to Haut Monde, a nightclub in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. After working all week at a greasy food joint, every Friday night we used fake I.Ds to go clubbing. That was tradition. All we wanted was to relax, drink and have a great time.

Of course it was too much to ask.

I'd sipped a wine cooler as some guy took the stool beside me. I felt his eyes burning into me.

Dance music thumped. Young couples swayed, dipped, danced dangerously close.

Too buzzed to care, I'd lost track of my friends long ago.

I glimpsed the stranger. Golden hair framed a handsome face, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Strobe lights brightened his skin, and the more I drank the weirder he looked. Since red, pink and yellow streaked his face, he was the closest I'd gotten to seeing a pink elephant.

I burst out laughing. He pretended not to notice and maintained an air of composure.

“How old are you, darling?” he asked in a velvety-smooth voice.

Strange to question my age and not my name.

"Eighteen," I said. "Just graduated last year. Thank god that shit's behind me." School had never been my cup of tea. Not with the cliques and asshole jocks.

A quick nod, shades flickering under lights. His nostrils flared.

Overwhelmed by an urge to pee, I excused myself while rushing off. He was gone when I returned.

Never more drunk or relaxed, I sank to the floor. Someone pulled me up by the arm.

That's when darkness found me.

Now I figured the guy from the club had slipped me a drug. I was too stupid to trash my drink.

Stupidity caused by drunkenness. And what a price to pay.

Christ
. I'd rather be dead than suffer this insanity.

In a frenzy of motion, I tossed pillows and threw sofa cushions in my quest to find a suitable lock pick. I crazily lifted and peered behind paintings.

Come on. Come on. Gotta be something here.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Discouragement reared its ugly, disappointing head.

"
Fuck
." I slammed the cushions on the sofa, hurled pillows to their proper spot. A few tumbled here and there.

"God dammit.” My lungs burned for air. “Let me out of this fucking room
you crazy-ass mother fuckers
!" I circled the room, threw myself at the door and beat it with my fists.

Door frame shimmied.

"Open this fucking door!" Those fuckers wouldn't hear the end of me. I'd already lost my mind and had nothing else to lose. I'd torture them with endless screaming. I'd whine, beg, plead—
until they listened.

If
they'd ever listen. 

I pounded that goddamn door till my hands throbbed and bruised. My voice got hoarse, throat scratchy. I doubled over, choked in a fit of coughing.

Sons of bitches
. I hacked, hacked and hacked.

Click
. The door swung inward and almost banged into me.
Shit!

A tall freak loomed near. Black pointy boots peeked beneath his robe.

"Are you finished with your little tantrum?" he flatly asked.

I clutched my throat.

"Take this." He handed me a glass. I grabbed it and drank the soothing water.

"Thanks."
Asshole
.

He took the empty glass. "Is there anything else you need? Are you hungry?"

"I have no appetite whatsoever."

"Very well." He started to leave. Without thinking I touched his shoulder.

He froze. Chills shot up my spine.

"Please let me go. You can't get away with this," I said.

"Oh? Is that so?"

Weakly I nodded.

"You're wrong. The Bouvier Secret Society will get away with it, because we've gotten away with it for the past one hundred years. Will that be all?"

"No. I mean—how do you know I'm a virgin? What if I'm not? What then?"

He sighed. "You
are
a virgin. Society ones are blessed with the ability to detect virgin blood. It's as simple as that. Nice try." He stepped out.

Click
.

My hope for freedom went with him, so I fell to my knees and puked.

* * * *

W
hat day is it? And why should I even care?

Time crawled by like worms traveling on a stormy night. Like maggots through shit.

One of the freaks had cleaned the room and I could see my reflection in the marble. Such a beautiful prison with its blood-colored walls and decor.

Like—a beautiful poisonous flower. Finally a lovely analogy.

A garden tub completed the en-suite bathroom. A room
without
the luxury of a door. Just a frame stood there.

Freakish. So fucking—freakish.

Since
they
were perverts, maybe they wanted to watch their women use the facilities? I cringed while lounging on the bed. 

Always I tried not to think of the worst, just survive. Just get by.

Every delivered meal gave a hint of time and I figured three days had passed.

Freaks took care of anything I needed, even clothes. Sometimes I pretended to be a guest at a fancy hotel. Easier that way.

I stayed busy, cleaned the room when it didn't need cleaned; bathed when I didn't need to. 

Fears waned as loneliness set in.

One morning a freak rushed into my suite armed with a needle syringe. He wore dark slacks and a snug T-shirt as opposed to the obligatory robe.

I hated needles and e
specially
hated not knowing what substance filled this one.

"Get up." He flicked the reservoir.

Anger flashed in his beautiful-but-deadly eyes when I didn't budge.