William spat a curse and hammered his fist into the side of Laurent’s head. It was as if the whole world trembled, but Laurent managed to get one of his legs free and kicked the heavier body back. His first instinct was to roll off the bed. With his whole being burning like a furnace, he tried to rush for the cane resting on the chest of drawers, but iron dug into his wrist with such force he feared it broke his wrist.
The impact of the pull sent him staggering back toward the bed, and one of the chests piled by the bed fell over when Laurent landed on the floor. Its contents spilled out along with even more of the sickeningly sweet smell of incense and perfume. But there was something else hidden in those smells, revolting like a decaying rat hidden in a bed of roses. No matter how much Laurent squinted, he couldn’t see the elongated shape well enough. A doll covered in fabric? There had also been a dull thud and a clang. The metal object fallen next to the other one was a large hoop with a chain attached, like a shackle or… a collar?
William roared with laughter, leaning against one of the bedposts, like a ghoul about to tear into the flesh of its victim. The imminent danger prompted Laurent to take the risk. In the warped, blurry reality of Laurent’s failing eyesight, he reached out to the bundle of red fabric and sweet-smelling particles that turned out to be dried flowers. Laurent touched something soft and cold as a raw chicken leg. He stalled, because his mind could not comprehend why there was hair on meat, or why was meat being kept in a place so warm, so far away from the kitchens.
William laughed. “Say hello. Did you know Marcel Knowles?”
Laurent screamed out when he moved his palm farther up the object and touched stiff, lifeless fingers.
It was an arm. A severed human arm.
Laurent couldn’t stop screaming, which then turned into sobbing as he backed away, too petrified to stand up. This was a nightmare from which he couldn’t wake up, and he could still taste blood where William had bitten his tongue, which meant it was real, and he never would wake up.
Marcel Knowles had disappeared in the area during a hunting trip three months ago, and Laurent remembered him well, because he was a handsome man, the son of a local baker, who always had a good word for anyone.
“Oh, God! You killed him! You sick, sick bastard!”
“I didn’t kill him,” William said dismissively. “I was out of town for three days. He was dead when I came back, but still warm. I buried him under the rock. With the others. That is where you will also go once your body breaks,” William said, opening his breeches. He stood far enough for Laurent to see him quite clearly, and the serenity of his expression, marred only by the odd tinge of cruelty playing around his eyes, was so neutral. As if they were discussing Plato, not talking over a severed limb.
“No! Please! I’ve been nothing but kind to you!” Laurent cried, unable to comprehend that such a vile creature walked the earth, that he were an admired member of society. And still, in his desperate state, Laurent wondered whether there was anything that could save him, if there was a weapon hidden somewhere for him to pierce the demon’s heart.
“I was wondering if I shouldn’t preserve the hand in salt, but then again, I do have a ready supply of the likes of you,” William said, opening a drawer and producing large scissors with blades so sharp their very sight made Laurent cower by the bed. Cold and hot worms were drilling holes in his skull until he could barely think anymore.
Between the stench, the severed arm, and the blades on show, Lauren’s mind was twisting and turning like a cluster of eels, and each time he tried to grab at a thought, it slipped through his grasp.
The initial chapters of his life barely contained anything, and yet the rest of them, all the pages he’d been so long waiting to fill with something meaningful, something other than servitude, were about to be torn apart.
He did not deserve this.
He did everything right. Worked hard and tried not to feel sorry for himself despite the curse of his failing eyesight. He would not allow William to do this. He would not be enslaved by this disgusting monster!
“What are you going to do with the scissors?” Laurent asked in a voice so calm he surprised himself.
William approached and picked up the metal collar off the floor, making the chain jangle menacingly. The closer he was, the more his face resembled a warped reflection seen in moving water. “I heard nails grow even after death. What do you think? Does Marcel need his cut already?”