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He was always told that he looked like a “little man”. He was a rough little boy with a thick muscular frame unlike his brother’s much thinner frames. His startling blue eyes also set him apart. Could that have changed along with everything else? It seemed ridiculous even to him at the moment, but he didn’t want to look like a woman.
Nichols looked back at him and shook his head. “He doesn’t look like you or your other sons except for the black hair. Does he look like the men on his mother’s side or does he look like-”
“Him you mean?” His father made a sound of disgust.
“Yes.”
“He has a larger frame and different eyes but…I thought…I hoped he would look like us.” His father looked him over. “He looks like him. Do you think he’s contracted whatever ailed his mother then?”
“Yes, I think it’s a good chance the boy is diseased. If you truly are not the boy’s father then he most likely is insane as well. Tell me what happened to his mother?”
“What do you think we did? She was dead. We burned the bitch and her lover,” he said coldly. Ephraim’s breath caught.
“You’re not my father?” he asked before he could stop himself.
Both men slowly turned to stare at him. Their confused expressions turned horrified at the realization that he heard their entire whispered conversation. His father’s hand went to his chest as a collective gasp sounded throughout the large bed chamber.
“His eyes! They’re red!” Henry shouted.
“The devil!” A footman raised his weapon and backed up.
“Father? What’s going on?” Ephraim couldn’t hide the fear in his voice.
“Don’t call me that!” his father yelled. “You’re clearly not mine!”
“No, father, please!” Ephraim tried to sit up, but his restraints held him down.
“What do you want us to do with him?” Nichols asked.
His father shook his head. “I don’t care what you do with him. Just get him out of my sight.”
“Father?.....Father!” He watched his father and brothers hurry from the room. No one looked back at him. “Father, please!”
Nichols walked over to the bed, smiling. “Tie the chains around him and make sure he can’t get lose,” he ordered.
The footman hesitated coming any closer. “Now!” The men jumped and did as they were told. Ephraim could now move his arms and legs, but he was too weak to fight back.
“Please, sir, if you let me talk to my father…there’s been a mistake.” The men released the chains from the bed. In one smooth move they flipped him onto the floor, roughly. He felt the wind knocked out of him. They quickly wrapped the chains around his body tightly.
“Stop!” he screamed. It hurt. The chains were too tight, cutting off his air.
Nicholls bent in front of him. “I’m sorry, my boy. I realize this isn’t your fault, but you must realize the position you’ve put me in. I cannot have you running around feeding off people.” He shook his head. “No, that will never do.” He looked up at the men. “Take him to my estate and lock him in the dungeon.”
His dungeon? Ephraim’s stomach rolled. Nichols was known for being one of the most religious and straightforward men in the area. He was honored and accepted by every member of the ton. He was also known for being a sadistic bastard who took his job seriously. He tortured men, slowly.
“Please, sir, no! Get my father! He wouldn’t want you to do this! Please!” He began sobbing.
Nichols knelt beside him at a safe distance. “I promise you I will make this quick out of respect for your father. He wouldn’t want to know that you suffered.”
“Oh, god no!” Ephraim shook his head and tried to fight his restraints.
“Grab him!” Nichols snapped.
The footmen scooped him up, careful to stay away from his mouth. “Father! Henry! Marc! Please help me!” he screamed.
He was quickly carried down the servant's stairs, out the back door and thrown into the back of a carriage. Nichols stood at the door. “I promise you will not feel a thing, my boy.”
He closed the door.
“Noooo!” Ephraim screamed as the carriage took off.
*******
The large door to his tiny cell opened with an ominous creak. Nichols stepped inside followed by five heavily armed footmen. Ephraim pushed his long knotted hair back from his face. His bony fingers shook violently from hunger.
Nichols ran a hand over his now bald head. He sighed heavily as he looked down at Ephraim’s ghastly figure. A look of disgust and revulsion spread over Nichol’s features. He raised a cloth to his face, trying to avoid the stench. Ephraim dropped his shaking hands to cover his gen**als. His clothes had long ago worn away to nothing. His skin was practically black now from the mixture of dirt, burns and dried blood.
“What now? Are you going to set me on fire again? Or perhaps chop my head off for the tenth time? Hmm, oh no, that wouldn’t do for you. Let’s see you’ll want to try something new of course since it’s been five years since you did anything original,” he prattled on, mocking Nichols.
He didn’t care anymore. He stopped caring about everything years ago. The pain didn’t bother him, the hunger even less. They had become his friends, his companions. In an odd way he’d come to depend on the pain to make him feel alive.
Nichols sighed behind his cloth and then coughed from the stench. “I’m tired of your mouth, boy. Before we continue today I would like to say that you have been my greatest and most frustrating challenge. It’s a damn shame this has to end today.”
Ephraim chuckled. “Oh, so today is the day that you finally figure out how to once and for all end me? Why, I’m impressed.” He slowly dragged himself to a standing position. His body was literally skin and bone now with too much hair on his head and face. “Let’s have a go at it then.” He had no illusions over the matter. He would remain here for eternity.
“Bring him.” Nichols left the room.
The footmen were careful to remain out of reach of Ephraim. He was weak and looked brittle, but they’d learned long ago to remain out of his reach or they would find themselves attached to his mouth.
Nichols waited in his favorite torture chamber with another five men and over a dozen buckets of something. Ephraim couldn’t smell anything over his own stench. That was a good sign at least. That meant it wasn’t oil. He hated being burned alive. It was perhaps the most painful of Nichols’ methods. The pain lasted for weeks.
