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It will hurt me to leave behind my friends, new and old, but there are times when a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Some may wonder why I would give up the life I know, simply to save a bunch of vampires from tyranny, even though they would kill me if they discovered what I am. I don’t understand it myself. Maybe I’m comfortable in the role of victim, perhaps I enjoy being the martyr. Either way, I am going to help my friends. I am going to figure out some way to end Antonia’s life. Then I am going to leave this city forever.
Chapter Eighteen
The Room That Time Forgot
Later on in the day I have a shower in an effort to clear my mind and get my intentions straight in my head. I don’t have very much money, so I decide that I’ll take a bus out to my Dad’s house in Chesterport, ask him for a loan, and then book a flight someplace big and foreign and highly populated so that I can hide amid the numbers. I get dressed and head out to meet Rita just before she and Gabriel are due to report to Antonia at the club.
It’s cold and frosty out today, so I wrap up well in my long army coat with a big cream scarf tucked around my neck. It’s difficult not to slip on the ice so I have to walk very slowly. A woman comes by asking for change and I hand her my only spare pennies. Now all I have left is the exact amount I need to get the bus. I packed my bags earlier, although there wasn’t much to pack. I put all of Nicky’s clothes into a big suitcase for her, all of my own fitted inside a small ruck sack. I haven’t yet told her that I’m leaving. I’ll call her once I’m on the bus, that way she won’t be able to convince me to stay.
A single tear drops down my face as I walk along the cold street. It saddens me to have to leave such a loyal friend. But I don’t feel like I have much of a choice. I could stay and watch as Theodore takes over the entire city. It might not affect me so much since I’m human. But I couldn’t deal with the guilt that would consume over thinking of how I could have stopped it. Besides, I would only be living in fear each day of someone discovering what I am and coming to kill me.
There are people walking by me as I get further and further away from my apartment building. But then suddenly the street empties, and soon I’m the only person on it. Suspicion takes over as I glance behind me, and then from side to side, trying to figure out why a street that is normally crowded at this time of day is now completely quiet and desolate. Not even a single car drives by on the road. I continue walking, and because it’s so silent the sound of each of my footsteps resonates through the space.
I speed up, hoping that I’ll soon reach some place where there are people. That’s when the music starts up, Theodore’s music. My heart jumps and as I break into a run I bump straight into someone’s hard chest. I look up and am greeted by that soulless white face. I turn around and run in the opposite direction, but I’m stopped again by Theodore, who has magically appeared ten feet away from his previous position.
“Get away from me,” I say to him in a low, threatening voice.
A tittering giggle escapes him, like that of a twelve year old school girl. A shadow rises up behind him and out of it a form takes shape, that of a massive, black, human sized crow. Its wings spread out and then wrap around both me and Theodore. All I can remember is the smell of salt and seaweed, and the feeling of claws and dirty feathers, before we are flying into the sky. I pass out from fear. I don’t know whether it’s the fact that a giant bird is carrying me, or that I am encapsulated in a bubble with Theodore right next to me. His black eyes watch me as my consciousness slips away.
I wake up to the sound of glasses clinking and liquid being poured. A piano plays nearby, a tune that is light and cheerful. The first thing I notice is that I’m lying curled up on a very fancy chaise longue. The second thing I notice is that I am not wearing my own clothes. I peer down at myself. I’m dressed in an expensive red velvet evening gown, with black silk gloves that go all the way up past my elbows. Around the wrist of one of my gloves is a diamond bracelet, and there’s a similar necklace around my neck.
I sit up and look about. I’m surrounded by people in similar attire, they laugh and joke and sip on their drinks. But there is something not quite right about them. Beyond their immaculate, anachronistic appearances, there is something dead in their eyes, something tortured. As though their happiness is all just an act, an act they are being forced against their will to play out.
A large ornate mirror hangs above an open fire place. I stare at my reflection, barely recognising myself. Other than the clothes, my hair has been styled into set waves, like that of a silent movie era actress, and my make-up is stunning. My eyes are heavily shadowed in black and my lips are matte red.
“Would you care for a drink?” asks a waiter in a penguin suit, brandishing a tray of glasses filled with champagne. I look at him and shake my head, I find his German accent out of place. In fact, as I listen to the chattering that is going on around me, I notice that those present aren’t speaking in English but in German. Where the hell am I?
I walk up to one of the windows and look outside. Carnival rides stare back at me, the big wheel spins around with nobody riding it. I am on Ridley Island, in Theodore’s mansion. But why is his house filled with German people dressed for a dinner party with a 1930’s fancy dress theme? And who the fuck undressed me, did my hair, and put me in an elegant dinner dress? This is definitely not what I would normally expect of being kidnapped.
“Are you enjoying my party?” asks a familiar voice from behind me. Theodore’s breath brushes over my bare shoulder and it makes my skin crawl.
“What the hell is this?” I ask indignantly, gesturing at my get up and the gathering of party guests beyond me.
“Forgive me,” he replies with a horrific grin. “But I took the liberty of having you dressed for the occasion. Do you like my party room? I’ve had it for more than seventy years now.”
“What do you mean?” I say, still taking in my surroundings in confusion. I glance back at him, because now that I’m looking at him properly I find that his eyes remind me of someone. Those dark, erratic eyes, th
ey are so familiar yet I can’t pin where I know them from.
“Well,” says Theodore. “What I mean is that I held a party in this very room in Berlin in 1938, just before the war broke out, and I decided that because I enjoyed it so much that I would keep it frozen in time for so long as it entertained me.”
It takes me a moment to decipher the information. “You mean all of these people have been trapped in this room since the thirties, forced to continue in a constant cycle, never to return to their own lives?” I ask in horror.
“That is exactly what I am saying,” he tells me, a satisfied expression on his face.
I shake my head. “You’re lying. How could it be the same house if the party took place in Berlin?”
“I thought you were smarter than that,” says Theodore with a theatrical frown. “You saw me raise this house from the ground and yet you don’t believe that I could have it transported from one country to another.”
Suddenly I believe him, and it doesn’t do much to put me at ease. I take a step away from him, frightened by his obvious insanity. How could a person justify this? How can Theodore live with himself knowing that he is keeping these poor people trapped for his own amusement? They should all be old and grey by now, maybe even dead. But instead they are held prisoners inside of their own youthful bodies. Remaining young forever suddenly takes on a new and not so pleasant twist for me.
Theodore goes and sits down on the chaise longue I had woken up on, he pats the seat beside him for me to sit too. I want to remain standing but I don’t think I have much of a choice in the matter. I join him as he sips on some red wine, swirls it around in the glass.
“You know,” he begins, with a nostalgic tone to his words, “I have lived for a very long time, but this,” he gestures to the room, “has always remained my favourite era. Such extravagance at war with poverty, not that I’d ever experienced much of the latter, not unless my desires led me to visit one of the lower end brothels.”
I wince in disgust, but say nothing. I find it difficult to imagine Theodore having sex, he’s a man but there’s something gender neutral about him. He seems to want a reaction and I am not going to give it to him. I feel like asking him if his style is inspired by one of the cabaret clubs, because the frilly shirt and coat tails are a little over the top. But I refrain. I have no idea what kind of man I am dealing with.
After a minute Theodore begins speaking again. “Do tell me dear child, what is your name?”
