Chapter 7: Questions

Consciousness was slow to return to Rem. They felt as if they were digging their way up through sand, a slow and painful process. Their eyes opened of their own accord and Rem blinked several times before the object they were staring at registered itself as a light bulb. Another moment and Rem realized they weren't in fact dead.

Rem sighed a curse word and tried to roll over but newly formed scabs pulled horrifically and they were forced to be still.

"Please don't move," a familiar, kind voice whispered from somewhere above Rem.

Biting back the urge to growl, Rem simply blinked a few more times and tried to focus. A face appeared above them, soft and feminine, pale and blonde.

"Am I dead after all?" Rem sighed.

The face tilted, confused. "No?"

"Then you're not real." Rem closed their eyes, glad to know the angel above them was merely a hallucination.

Gentle hands touched Rem's bare skin and they gasped at the cold touch of ointment that the woman began rubbing over their burns.

"I assure you, I'm real," the woman said gently.

Rem's eyes flew open and they squinted at the woman. "It's you," they breathed.

The woman continued applying the cream, her full lips pressed together and brow furrowed.

"Can you at least tell me your name now?" Rem asked.

The woman paused and nodded, her blonde hair bobbing with the movement. "Serine."

"Serine," Rem repeated. "I like that. Wait," they tried to sit up but couldn't quite manage it. The pain and an unfamiliar weight around their left ankle held them down. "The vampires—"

"Are still all here," Serine interrupted, glancing toward the door. "You need to be quiet. They think you're still asleep."

Rem's pulse raced. "I have to get out of here."

Serine bit her lip and capped the ointment tube. "I'm sorry, but you can't. Isaiah won't allow it." She moved to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Rem. She picked up Rem's torn shirt from the floor and passed to them.

Rem swore viciously and reached up to the collar around their neck. They pulled, cursing it. "Do you know how to get this thing off?"

Without answering, Serine simply pulled the neck of her sweater down and revealed her own collar. "It was the only way Isaiah would let me take care of you."

"I don't understand," Rem said, eyeing her.

Serine fidgeted with her fingers, staring at them. "Well, I couldn't just leave you to Lena. Who knows what kind of infection you'd pick up in the kitchens."

Rem waved a hand for her to stop. "Hold on," they said. "I don't understand what's going on here. First you help me get away from them, then you don't, and now you're taking care of me? Whose side are you on?"

Serine's gaze shifted to the ointment tube, to the wall, the doorhandle, anything but Rem's face. "I'm sorry, I couldn't do it again, you know what Isaiah is like..."

Rem closed their eyes, swearing again. They absently pulled the shirt over their head, heedless of the scabs. They looked back at Serine, trying to make her meet their gaze. "Yeah, I know," they replied. "But you're not going to let me out, are you?"

"I can't," Serine whispered.

"Then you're just as bad as they are." Rem regretted the words as soon as they were spoken.

Serine's eyes welled up and she shrank in on herself.

Rem swore under their breath. "Hey, look, I'm sorry," they said. "I didn't mean that, I'm just—"

Serine stood, wiping her face. "I'll see about getting you some food."

"Wait, please wait," Rem asked, but Serine ducked out of the room, tears threatening to spill down her face. Rem sighed and laid back. "Good going, idiot."

Alone, Rem took stock of their situation. No clear means of escape, burned badly but being cared for... Rem lifted their leg, feeling the weight down there shift. Metal scraped across the wooden floor and they finally saw the manacle around their ankle. It was attached by a thick chain to the makeshift back wall of the tiny room. Rem sighed and lowered the limb again. Without being able to shift, they were well and truly trapped. The ointment was working, at least. The pain had dulled to a mere low throb that was easy to ignore if they didn't pull on the scabs. They paused and listened carefully as someone began talking just outside the room.

"How is our patient doing?"

Rem recognized Isaiah's voice and glowered at the door.

"Better, sir," Serine replied. "I was just getting them some food."

There was the sound of cloth brushing wood and a small thump as Isaiah leaned himself against the door. "You performed well, Serine," he said.

Rem gagged, imagining the smug smile on his scarred face.

"Perhaps if you keep this up we could upgrade your room," Isaiah continued.

Serine was silent.

"Would you like that?" he prompted.

"T-thank you, sir," she spluttered.

There was another moment of silence that had Rem squirming to get closer to the door, listening intently.

"Why don't you go eat that and give me a moment with Remmis," Isaiah suggested.

Rem froze as their heart dropped into their chest. Serine's quiet footsteps echoed as she walked away from the door. Rem glanced between the shackle and the door, mind racing. The door creaked open and Isaiah stepped inside.

He smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth and fangs. "You've kept me waiting, Remmis," he commented, swinging the door shut. He smoothed imagined wrinkles from the front of his blue suit vest and adjusted the wrists of the white silk shirt he wore under it.

Rem glared at him without answering. Without the pain of the burns to distract them fear was bubbling in their gut.

Isaiah moved with a fluidity and speed that a human could only dream of. One moment he was standing by the closed door, the next he had his fingers wrapped in Rem's tangled hair and had pulled them up into a sitting position against the wall.

Rem gasped as the scabs pulled and a few broke open. The manacle pulled cruelly against their leg. They reached up to Isaiah's hand, attempting to pull it free. Isaiah leaned down, touching his cold cheek against theirs.

"I don't like to be kept waiting," Isaiah hissed into Rem's ear. "It makes me cross." He slowly wrapped his free hand around Rem's throat and squeezed just a little. "Almost as cross as being denied."

"Maybe don't be such a monster," Rem breathed.

He chuckled into their hair. "I can smell your fear, Remmis," he said. "This false bravatto won't serve you anymore." He tightened his grip just enough to stop her from retorting. "Just listen, pet. I have almost forgiven you for my face. I have to admit, the scar has made me look a bit dashing and I've come to enjoy it."

Rem pulled at his hands, trying to shift in spite of the collar but to no effect.

"I have no desire to kill you, Remmis," he continued, heedless of their efforts. "I merely want what I wanted before: you as a member of my Masquerade."

Still hanging on to his arms and breathing shallowly, Rem stared at him out of the corner of their eye. They could only really see part of his dark hair.

"I can provide food, shelter, protection for you, Rem," he continued. "All that I promised before and more. All you have to do is obey me."

Rem struggled to speak and Isaiah withdrew from them, smiling. Rem took a few deep breaths.

"Obey," they scoffed. "You want me to hurt people."

Isaiah shrugged one shoulder. "Those who cross me deserve to be hurt, Remmis."

Rem ignored the threat beneath his words as anger replaced fear. "Not being able to pay extortion doesn't mean they should lose fingers!"

"You've gotten squeamish, Remmis," Isaiah commented.

"No, I got a conscience," they spat back.

Rem was expecting him to get angry, to hit them or yell at them. Isaiah simply smiled instead and the fear curled in their belly once more.

"Creatures like us don't have the luxury of a conscience, Remmis," he said quietly. "You'll see that again." He stood and walked out of the room, leaving them alone once more.