Without A Heartbeat

The Silver-Eyed Man did not return.

Scarlett waited at the bottom of the well for a whole day. She did not move a single muscle from the moment the sun rose until it set the next evening, taking its glaring light with it. Only when the moon had appeared high in the night sky, did she allow herself to stir. Above, she could hear the nocturnal animals emerging from their dens, foolishly believing that the major threat had moved on. However, Scarlett was not interested in feeding on any more animals – she had tasted the real thing - and it would be all she would ever want again.

Where is he?

Scarlett did not know the answer. All that she knew was that for whatever reason, the Silver-Eyed Man would not be returning to the well. It came as a surprise, considering the extreme lengths he had gone to in the first place to abduct her. All she prayed was that it wasn’t because he had died elsewhere. He had taken everything from her and she alone would return that favour by taking his life.

She had no idea how, or now, even when. All she knew is that she would.

It became apparent that it was a pointless endeavour to remain inside the well. However, it dawned on Scarlett that she had nowhere else to go, she couldn’t return home and she couldn’t return to Oakley Manor. Not now she was different. Except…

Master Clarke.

Hatred poured through her veins as she turned her thoughts to her employer. As much as she despised the monster that had turned her into the despicable creature she now was, he had not been lying about the gift that lay within her curse.

“I want to give you the power to stop him for good.”

There was no doubt that Scarlett now contained that power. As she climbed out of the well, a dark smile spread across her determined face.

The Silver-Eyed Man can wait. Your reckoning comes first, Master Clarke.

It was past midnight when Scarlett arrived at Oakley Manor.

She spent several hours preparing for their reunion. Moving through Dorcha Forest, she used her instincts to locate a river that cut through the vast woods. There she stripped her clothes and washed the blood from her skin. Watching the water turn a frothy pink from her dark deed only made her more determined. As the river cleared, she caught sight of her reflection for the first time and jolted. Beyond the self-inflicted wounds, her skin had become paler, her features more defined and her hair redder than it had once been, as if dyed in blood. However, she still looked for the most part absolutely human. Only one thing truly gave her away. The eyes that stared back at her were covered in a web of silver that strung its way to a bright ring that surrounded her pupils. I have become just like him.

Once her body had been cleaned, she washed the dried blood and putrid mud from her uniform. She hung the black frock from a branch in a nearby tree and sat underneath waiting for it to dry. Scarlett knew it was a cold night, but the bitter bite of the wind no longer had any effect. As she sat silent and still, she felt the presence of something in the woods – something otherworldly and powerful. It was not the Silver-Eyed Man, this much she knew. It was something…different. Her hackles rose and her fangs lowered from her gums, but she did not seek out the source of the presence. She had a task to complete, and it was all that mattered. The thing in the woods never came near and eventually its trail disappeared altogether.

Once her frock had dried, Scarlett put it back on, tearing away strips and exposing more of her legs, arms and bust.

Then she was ready.

The manor was as quiet and still as a slumbering beast, its looming shadows scattering across the grounds. The body of Herbert was gone, all evidence of his attack removed. Scarlett felt a rush of sadness as she remembered his awful death; Herbert had been a sweet and innocent old man. It only served to make her more determined to punish those who had begun the awful series of events. For a moment Scarlett pondered whether the police had apprehended the Silver-Eyed Man, that being the reason he had not returned to collect her. She shook the idea off as soon as it came. A handful of underpaid peelers would not have stood a chance against a monster such as he.

Scarlett moved without a sound, slipping between the cover of darkness as a streak of black and red. It did not take her long to locate her old master – the light was on in his study. She peered through a set of French windows and saw him hunched over his desk, reading through a pile of letters and muttering to himself.

Anger curled inside her stomach and it took all of her willpower not to pounce through the doors right then and part his head from his worthless body. Only the satisfaction of knowing that she was going to do things properly – make him suffer - kept her calm. The girl moved around the manor until she was at the kitchen door. Wrapping her pale hand around the doorknob, she was unsurprised to find it locked. Mrs Ellison would have screamed the house down had she found a single door unlocked or window ajar come morning – no one would dare make such a mistake.

Scarlett gave the doorknob a harsh rattle and it broke off in her hand as if it were made of rotten wood. The lock collapsed in on itself and the door swung open with a slight push of her hand. With a smile, Scarlett stepped over the threshold. Once inside, she lowered a hand between her bust and pulled out the key that Mrs Ellison had forgotten to reclaim from her. She walked through the kitchen and into the hallway, her footsteps making almost no sound. Moving through the maze of corridors, she arrived at the closed door that led to Master Clarke’s office.

Before, simply being in such close proximity to the man who had taken her innocence in such unspeakable ways would have filled her with uncontrollable anxiety. Not any more. She stepped close and rapped a knuckle gently on the wood.

There was silence for a moment.

“Who is it at this hour?” he barked.

“It’s Scarlett sir. I’ve returned,” she said in the most timid voice she could muster.

Another pause.

“Come.”

Scarlett pushed open the door and stepped into his office.

Master Clarke was opening a letter, sliding the blade of a silver opener under the fold of the envelope. To Scarlett, the sound of the paper fibres tearing apart was as loud as the crash of a wave. Master Clarke set the envelope and letter opener down on the desk. Only then did he look up.

“Close the door.”

Scarlett kept her head low so the smile on her face wouldn’t show. “With pleasure Master Clarke.” Turning around, she closed the door and then with a rapid movement used her key to lock it. The sound of the latch engaging was only loud enough to fill her own ears. She turned to face her old master, smoothing the front of her revealing frock and folding her hands together, bowing her head to hide her eyes.

Master Clarke said nothing more for several moments, and the only sound that could be heard was the ominous ticking of the ornate clock that stood on the mantelpiece behind him. His expression revealed nothing, it was a blank canvass.

“You have been absent for a week,” he said finally in a flat tone. He looked up and swallowed hard when he caught sight of Scarlett’s alluring appearance. “We thought you had been abducted.”

Scarlett could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat, as loud as if it were in her own hands. She could smell the stale sweat of his armpits and back, acrid from the indulgent foods he ate.

But above all, she could smell his blood.

Scarlett clenched and unclenched her hands, the excitement of the kill building inside her. “Someone chased me inta t’ woods. I managed ta escape but then I got lost.” She kept her head down, appearing timid, but watching him from her peripheries.

With a slow, methodical movement, Master Clarke slid his spectacles from his face, folded the arms and set them down on top of the envelope. “You expect me to believe that you managed to survive in Dorcha Forest for seven days?”

Scarlett smiled as sweetly as she could. “I couldn’t give a damn what you believe… sir.”

The comment took Master Clarke by complete surprise. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief and it took a few seconds for him to compose himself. His face flushed with rage and he stood up so fast he sent his chair tipping backwards and clattering onto the floor.

“What did you just say to me, whore?”

He paced around the desk, narrowing the distance between them. He was already unbuckling the belt from around his waist, sliding it through the loops of his trousers with his right hand.

Scarlett didn’t reply.

“I asked you a question, girl!” The belt came free and he coiled it backwards over his hand and palm - a slow, practiced movement, meant to intimidate, and one he had used on Scarlett before.

“I know about the girl you buried in the woods,” she said.

Master Clarke’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “W-what are you talking about girl?”

Scarlett kept her head hanging low, feigning fear. “I know that there was another girl like me. You went to far wit’ her one night. Killed ’er and buried ’er in the woods.”

Master Clarke stepped backwards, bumping into the desk. He used a hand to steady himself, and for a moment Scarlett thought he might faint. However a moment later he had composed himself.

“Who told you this?!” he demanded.

Scarlett said nothing.

Master Clarke’s lips curled back into a snarl. “I am the master of this household!” he spat. “When I ask you a question, you will answer me!”

Scarlett snapped her head up and stepped forward into his personal space. “No,” she hissed. “What you are is a sick, twisted little man, who uses his status and power to violate defenceless girls.”

Master Clarke let out a roar of indignation and lashed the belt towards Scarlett’s face. For her, it moved so slow it was almost laughable. She reached out and let the strap wrap around her hand. Then she wrenched the belt from his grip. The movement was so fast; the leather tore open a deep gash on his palm. The sudden aroma of his blood rushed into her nostrils and made her feel dizzy with hunger.

Master Clarke stared at his hand and then into her eyes, and for the first time saw what she had in her reflection. “No it can’t be… you’re…”

She seized Master Clarke’s hand and twisted it. There was a loud snap and two bones pushed through the skin on his wrist. The man let out a hideous scream. Scarlett covered his mouth and shoved him hard. He sprawled over the desk scattering letters, books and ornaments onto the carpet.

He cowered away from her, lifting his good hand in a plea of mercy. “You can’t…”

“I can.” Scarlett curled both hands around his fingers and calmly plucked them apart, snapping them all like a wishbone.

Master Clarke went to scream, but Scarlett gripped his throat and squeezed the noise out of him. It released in a pathetic wheeze of air. She placed her mouth close to his ear and spoke low, almost seductively, in her proper voice. “Shush now. I know discomfort pleases you, but your whining offends me.”

“Master Clarke?” A voice came from beyond the door. It belonged to Housekeeper Ellison. “Master Clarke is everything alright?”

“Help me!” he croaked as tears streamed down his face.

Scarlett squeezed his throat harder. His eyes bulged and his face turned bright red. He tried to speak, but only spittle came out, coating his bottom lip and chin.

“If you make another sound, I’ll rip your tongue out of your head, understand?” With wide eyes, he nodded. Scarlett released her hand.

“Y-you don’t understand, you can’t-” he wheeze.

“What did I just say?”

With a flash she jammed the belt between his teeth and wrenched the end tight around the back of his head. The rest of his words came out as garbled yells.

The door rattled on it hinges. “Master Clarke it’s Mrs Ellison, I’m coming in.”

Scarlett marched around the back of the desk, dragging the whimpering man with her. She yanked down on the end of the belt and his head jerked backwards over the edge of the desk.

There was the jangle of loose metal and then the key began to jump about in the lock. “I’m coming in,” Mrs Ellison repeated in an alarmed tone.

Scarlett stared at Master Clarke’s exposed neck. She could see the artery twitching up and down as his frantic heart forced blood through it. The sound of its beating was so loud she thought it might split through his chest. Her fangs snapped down.

The whimpering man held up his mangled hand in a plea for quarter, but Scarlett batted it away. She picked up the letter opener from the desk, gripping the handle with so much force; her fingers sank into the metal.

Mrs Ellison was battling with the lock, frantically calling Master Clarke’s name over and over.

Scarlett poised the blade over her former master.

Mr. Clarke’s eyes went wide. He tried to shake his head, but Scarlett’s grip was too firm on the belt strap. His head simply twitched from side to side. Instead he tried to plead with his eyes. For a moment Scarlett felt the tiniest bit of guilt at her actions.

Then it vanished.

With an inhuman shriek she bought the letter opener down into the side of his neck. She felt the blade pierce and sever his artery. She yanked it back out, and a stream of blood jetted out of the hole. Scarlett clamped her teeth either side of the wound and allowed the warm liquid to spray into her mouth. It slipped over her teeth and tongue, the sharp tang bringing all her senses to life. To Scarlett, it was better than all of the blood she had tasted before.

It was far sweeter.

She closed her eyes, and let out a guttural purr as she drank. She coiled Master Clarke into her, as if he were a prized possession. His body began to twitch and she felt the life seep out of him. All she could think as he went limp in her arms was, I got him. I got him.

The door burst open and Scarlett jerked upright, blood dripping down her mouth and chin. Mrs Ellison was frozen to the spot, watching her from the doorway. For a lingering moment she looked shocked. Then her face twisted into a dark smile.

“Run, girl.”

Confused, Scarlett retreated, moving towards the French doors. The housekeeper turned then and screamed at the top of her lungs. “Intruder!” She bolted from the room and shouted in a voice loud enough to wake the dead. “Intruder! An intruder has killed Master Clarke! Everyone wake up and arm yourselves! Intruder!”

Scarlett could hear the house stirring. She took a final glance at the blanched, lifeless body of the man who had repeatedly raped her and then out at the diminishing figure of the woman.

I have to be sure he won’t survive.

She ran back to Master Clarke and placed her hands either side of his head. With a grunt she gave it a harsh twist. There was a loud crack and she knew the deed was done. She paused, anticipating a flood of glory and satisfaction. But all she felt was hollowness and a modicum of pity for the pathetic dead thing sprawled over the desk.

Scarlett turned and sprinted towards the doors. Without hesitating, she jumped through the glass.