The Chalice (Luna Vampire Series) (2 page)

             
"Oh, child.  There's no reason to upset yourself."  He let go of another annoyingly audible sigh prior to resuming his lifeless monotone.  "Drink from the chalice and you shall acquire the ability to leave the changing room.  Furthermore, your wounds will heal on their own.  There's no reason to go to a human hospital."

             
"What the hell are you talking about?  There's nothing in here except for me and the cold cement walls.  You assholes even stole my clothes!"  Resentment simmered within me, steadily replacing the fear.  "Beyond that, what makes you think I'm gonna drink anything you give me?  I'm not a fool!"

             
"There's no need for anger," he cautioned, an air of condescension accenting his demeanor.  "For now, all you can do is drink.  Afterward, you'll be able to leave the room and have your questions answered.  I give you my word."

             
Abstinently, I flopped down in the corner and curled my arms around myself, striving to hinder their shaking.  "Why don't you give me clothes and a bandage for my neck?  Or, better yet, let me go?" 

             
"You can have clothing once you do as I ask."

             
"There's no goddamn chalice, you deluded psychopath.  I've explored my
lavishly decorated accommodations
and there
is no chalice
.  So quit screwing with me!"

             
I must've irritated him because his flat drawl morphed into something more commanding.  "Now, now, child.  Don't work yourself up.  It's rather straightforward.  Simply follow my voice.  I'll lead you to it."

             
"How 'bout you g-give me some freaking c-clothes first?" I stuttered, teeth suddenly chattering from my plunging body temperature.

             
"I suppose a deal is be acceptable," he grunted.  "If you allow me to guide you to the chalice, I'll ensure you're provided with proper attire."

             
He didn't sound as if he'd budge.  And arguing the matter further was only good for one thing, wasting precious time.  If I truly intended on avoiding hypothermia, I'd have to cooperate. 
Sigh.
  "Seems like I've got no other option.  So, fine," I motioned at him with my hand, "lead away.  B-but remember, you owe me clothes!  That's the d-deal, asshole!"

             
He chuckled softly.  "You're a feisty little thing, aren't you?"

             
"For real," I yelled, my furry escalating.  "You c-can go fuck off!" 

             
"And you have quite the dirty mouth." 

             
Son of a bitch!  He was enjoying this.
  "You're the one who k-kidnapped me and brought me here to this, uh, prison or whatever!  You d-deserve anything I can dish out!"

             
"Alright, child, I see how this is going to be."

             
"Whatever, let's j-just g-get on with it." 

             
"Ah, I'm glad you're beginning to see reason," he sneered, punctuating his words with more dark laughter.  "Now, stand and walk toward my voice." 

             
With resentment, I did as he said.  My knees were wobbly underneath the weight of my body.  However, if I concentrated, I was able to set one foot in front of the other.  And, thank heavens, I had the wall for support.  Nonetheless, each step forward still weakened me.

             
"Yes, that's it," he coaxed.  "A little further."

             
My progress inched along until I finally stood beneath him.  "Okay, I'm here and all I feel is the c-corner of the room.  Like I t-told you earlier, no chalice."

             
Once again he exhaled loudly.  "Be patient, child, and I'll give you the rest of the directions."

             
"God!" I snapped, shooting him an exasperated glare even though the darkness prevented him from seeing it.  "
What is this shit?
  Why are you enjoying watching m-me scurry aimlessly around this hole, n-naked and freezing?" I let the last two words stretch out to emphasize my truly vulnerable and exposed condition.

             
"You are wrong, child," he growled maliciously.  "I receive no enjoyment from your suffering.  My sole purpose is to lead you to your salvation.  You're the one who's making this difficult." 

             
Pausing, he waited for a couple seconds as if giving me a chance to reply.  Nevertheless, when I simply gritted my teeth and remained silent, he continued in a more controlled manner.  "The chalice is two feet above you on a ledge.  It should be easy for you to reach.  Be that as it may, take extra care while retrieving it.  You'll only evade death by drinking its contents in their entirety.  I wouldn't want your future to be stolen because of a clumsy accident."

             
I blanched, pangs of fear and anxiety striking me hard in the pit of my stomach.  Until that instant, I hadn't allowed myself to dwell on the fact that I could die. 
Actually die!
  A river of pathetic tears flowed as I proceeded to hyperventilate for the first time in my life.  My vision wobbled, my heart pounded, and my entire body shook.  I despised the weakness, the helplessness, the sniveling self-pity.  And then, holding my head high, I did what I'd usually do in a messed up situation.
  I got bitchy.

             
"Listen, old man," I huffed, giving him a nickname that'd hopefully get under his skin.  "Killing me's gonna earn you a trip to the lethal injection chamber!  Someone'll find out; they always do.  And even dumb ass Kansas cops have CSI teams.  You'll get caught.  I guarantee it."

             
"I'm merely explaining your options," he retorted in an artfully unconcerned voice.  "You need to be fully informed of the consequences of your actions.  Live or die.  It's your decision to make, not mine."

             
Fucking piece of crap!
  I wanted nothing more than to grab the stupid chalice and throw it up at him.  But I didn't.  For some reason, I kinda thought he was being serious. 
Well, however serious the totally insane serial killer type could be, that is. 
Plus, I wasn't an idiot.  Playing along with his little game might be my only way to stay alive.

             
Therefore, with steadfast resignation, I stretched onto my tippy toes and carefully took hold of the cup.  It felt much the same as the goblet we used during communion services at church.  It had intricate designs inlaid on the sides and was definitely metal, probably gold or silver.  Oh, and just to clarify, I've never been a bible thumper anything, more like a holiday christian.  You know, easter, christmas, enough visits to save my soul.
  Although, in light of my current circumstances, maybe I should've went to church more.  Sigh.

             
So, anyway, I used my trembling hands to ease the chalice downward while simultaneously trying my best to
avoid spilling a single drop.  Several nerve grinding moments passed before I successfully positioned it in the corner, then retreated to the center of my cell. 

             
"Excellent.  Now here's a robe.  Warm yourself and understand that I'm a man of my word."  As he spoke, a soft, fluffy ball of fabric landed against my feet.  I hurriedly wrapped myself in it, automatically burrowing my frozen nose into one of the sleeves.  "The next step is for you to drink.  Moreover, you should consider saying a prayer for good measure."

             
I collapsed onto the floor, mind reeling. 
Why would I need to pray?  I mean, he must be attempting to manipulate me into consuming something poisonous, right?  Or possibly a date rape drug?
 
Damn, I was in deep shit.
 
Deep, deep shit.
  Still, despite everything, I squared my shoulders and reined in my speculation.  It didn't matter what he had in store for me.  If he wanted me dead, he'd have to do it himself.  And if torture was what he sought after, he'd have to move forward with me wide-eyed and scowling.

             
"Listen, old man, I'm not gonna..."

             
"Child," he hissed, interrupting me.  "I'm simply here to explain the rules.  You're the one who makes the final decision.  It's not complicated.  Drink and live.  Don't drink and die.  For now, I bid you adieu.  Choose wisely."  And with that, the sound of his footsteps leisurely disappeared into the distance.

Chapter
2

             
I lay there, huddling in the middle of my cell.  And, even though the robe provided a modicum of warmth, it neither prevented my hands from trembling nor dampened the relentless ache of my neck wound.  I drifted in and out of consciousness.  All the while, time passed into pitch-black obscurity.  Hours might've slipped away, or possibly days.  I had no clue. 

             
Honestly, I didn't know much about anything, well, other than darkness and absolute isolation.  It felt as if I'd woken up in the middle of a horror movie, except my kidnappers weren't chopping me into pieces yet.
  Of course, yet's the key word here.
  I definitely sensed a godawful doozy headed squarely in my direction.

             
To break the oppressive silence, I actually tried screaming for help a few times.  Invariably, I received no
answer and eventually decided it'd be better to conserve my remaining energy.  I've been in a lot of sticky situations throughout my life.  Still, this one was the super chocolaty, seven layer cake of 'em all. 

             
I found it difficult to remember my life prior to landing in this special little piece of hell.  My mind was groggy, yet the harder I concentrated, the more my memories slowly came into focus.  The events of Saturday night were the last things I could recall.  I had a weekend gig down at the Cabaret, a strip club located on the outskirts of Topeka.  And, yeah, I worked as an adult entertainer. 
I know, I know.  Sigh.
 

             
Most people assume that strippers are junkie sluts.  In my case, that's just not true.  My finances were the reason I became a dancer.  And no, it wasn't because of a drug habit.  You see, I inherited bucket loads of debt after my mother's passing six months ago.  She had breast cancer and, despite an awesome benefits package from working her entire life as a legal secretary, the health insurance scumbags finagled their way around the greater part of her end-of-life care.

             
It'd always been the two of us.  We had no family to rely on, since my mom was an only child and her parents, my grandparents, died before reaching middle-age.  And my sperm donor of a dad, well, he refused to pitch in a single red cent toward raising me.  So, hitting him up for cash wasn't a practical option.  I mean, I've never even met the loser.  I know his name, but googling Peter Smith and sifting through the results to
maybe find him
could literally take years.

             
Furthermore, I would've dropped out of college and gotten a job when my mom first grew too sick from chemo to work.  But she'd put her foot down, saying that my only choice was to stay in school and earn my bachelor's degree.  In the end, we compromised.  I moved back in with her which helped reduce the cost of home health aides.  Beyond that, the work-study money I earned from a community theater
internship came in handy for food and utilities.  Regardless, the rest of the expenses were still astronomical. 
Medications, hospital visits, hospice care, the list went on and on.

             
Ultimately, my mom died a few weeks after my graduation.  And, sad as I was, I figured I'd better go turn in some applications, you know, to take my mind off of everything.  I searched intensively for a couple of months.  However, I finally had to give in and accept the fact being a theater major wasn't very marketable in the workplace, especially in Kansas.  On the other hand, I also recognized the high demand for pretty girls who were willing to prance around naked. 

             
And, truthfully, my job wasn't that bad.  I rarely earned less than five hundred dollars per shift and men were constantly fawning over me.  Plus, you gotta look on the bright side, shaking my booty was shitloads better than being a fry cook at McDonald's. 

             
So, that Saturday night, I strolled through the employees' side door at 7pm, right on time.  I hurriedly put on a tiny g-string bikini in my favorite color, white, then applied layers upon layers of makeup.  A little later, I styled my waist length hair by using a curling iron on the ends.  Oh, and incidentally, I felt totally dumb for prettying myself up like a hooker.  The floor managers expected it, though, some crap about playing into the illusion of perfection. 
Whatever.