darker_london | To that moment where speech disappears into silence (Peter)

Peter had been firmly ensconced in darkness for two days. He had no way of knowing that, though he knew it had been a significant amount of time. He had spent the first several hours of it screaming bloody murder at the door and hurling insults at it in German and English and any of the seven other languages he knew how to swear in. Of course it had no effect. The door didn't care about his plight and it held firm.

He couldn't go on screaming forever, not the least reason being it wore him out quickly in his weakened state. Eventually his screams died in his throat and silence enveloped him. He couldn't see his way back to his 'bed' despite the fact that his eyes were open wide with fear. He was too afraid to feel for it. Too afraid of what he might find down here in the dark. He curled up right beside the door and he refused to move.

Every slight noise made him jump. The dripping of the water, the shifting of the Earth...all of it startled him so greatly that he would shake in fear for minutes after the sound had once again faded into nothing. He was so cold and so afraid. He had no way of knowing what was going on around him and it was terrifying.

The door moved, or it attempted to. Instead it pushed against Peter's body and Peter jumped up with a scream. He backed away from the door and toppled over his bed, slamming his head and back into the wall. He didn't even have the energy to curse, he just slid down into a sitting position on top of the bed as he blinked against the brightness of the light streaming in from the hallway. It wasn't really that bright, but to Peter it felt like he was staring into the surface of the sun.

Alessandro Dragonetti stared at Peter with a look of pure pity. The man looked ridiculous. "Hurry. I'd like to be finished with him quickly and never have to be in his presence again."

Peter stared mutely at the floor as two men stepped forward. They pulled him up and Peter let them. They then proceeded to strip him of his clothes (something Peter was grateful for, as they were quite dirty by now) and dress him in a very simple shirt and linen trousers. Peter lifted his eyes to meet Dragonetti's. His voice was so weak it was hard to hear. His throat burned for thirst and it made the effort of speaking a painful ordeal indeed. "Are you leaving again?"

Dragonetti's expression once again became pitying. "Yes, Peter Kemp. We don't intend on remaining down here in the presence of the Antichrist."

Tears welled in Peter's eyes, even as the men continued to fix him with the rest of his prisoner's garb. They affixed shackles to his wrists; long chains attached the shackles to the walls. There were various other implements put in place, but Peter wasn't paying attention. It was the least of his worries. "Can you leave the light on?"

"You are a waste of oxygen, let alone energy. No, I will not leave the light on. You will be provided with enough water to keep yourself clean, and that is all."

Peter felt like his stomach was going to drop through the floor. He was going to be left alone here, in the dark, with nothing. He had faith his friends would find him, but when? The visions he had had of this place had made it look like he had been here for a very long time.

The terror startled Peter back into at least semi-awareness. His mind was groggy, but he could still read between the lines of what Dragonetti was saying. He was going to be left here and provided with nothing more than water. Not even light. Not even fresh air. Not his freedom or his books or even a simple pen and paper. Nothing to eat. It fit with their previous behaviour. Poor Rosa hadn't been given sustenance when she was suspended on her cross in Nova Prata. The Templar claimed, because she hadn't died, that she was sustained by God. They knew Peter was clearly unkillable. Apparently they believed he was sustained by the Devil. Peter, however, knew he wasn't. If he didn't get something to eat, and the sooner the very much better, he would be in trouble. God, he would end up like the angel who's skull he happened to have in his desk drawer in London.

Peter tried to pull away from the Templar holding him then, but he gave up the fight when the movement made him so dizzy he felt he might vomit. The lack of anything in his stomach would have made this difficult, but he didn't exactly feel like dry heaving either. He hadn't eaten in so long. Six days. "No...food? Please. Please, you have to-"

Dragonetti was quick to interrupt. "Why don't you ask your father for assistance, Cretin? Surely he'll feed you. Or could it be he doesn't care?" he sneered.

Peter's tears spilled then. "Please. I'm just a man." He stood there, shaking and scared, while the Templar took their leave of him. "Please! Stop!" Peter tried to follow them as they left, but the chains held him back. Peter let out a long cry as he was once again plunged into darkness.

Chained to the wall as he was, the chains were still long enough to allow him to curl up on the floor, and that's what he did. He wrapped his arms around his hollow stomach and he wept for the loss of every comfort he had ever known.