• Shrieks of terror erupted into the stillness of the old, decrepit residence, of one Zion Amery. Of course, there was nobody in the vicinity of the house who would hear, and therefore no one near enough to care. And so the cries rang on into the night and beyond the stars. Four individuals were in a murky room, on the second floor, towards the end of a rasping corridor. One person of the assemblage, though one who certainly didn’t choose and had no aspiration to be with the others, was the human man, Zion Amery. The others, well, they could scarcely be referred to as human. There was a man and two women with him; they were known as Roan Farrell, the father, Ivory Farrell, the mother, and their daughter, Teagan Farrell.

    Their cloths were dark and their eyes soulless, empty all but for the mirth those wintry eyes detained, and the menacing smiles, which arched their lips. That was the manifestation of the three who drifted about Zion Amery, whom was held fast to an expertly carved, antique wooden, chair by chains and gagged by means of a strategically applied piece of fabric. Despite the fact that the cloth, used as a gag, was in position to silence the man’s earsplitting howls two of the three people around him smiled with wicked satisfaction at the sounds of horror he fashioned. While the adult two of the group sneered at their prey, the third simply stared at him soundlessly and devoid of sentiment.

    Blood oozed from a gash hacked into his left cheek, by the most solemn of the three. Teagan snaked the handcrafted dagger, which was utilized to afflict the now gushing wound, amid her slender, pale fingers. The disposition of the room changed to a particular sensitivity that was harshly ominous. The humor drained from the faces of the parents and they laughed but ceased their smiling. A mysterious hilarity hung in the room taking the place of the delight they had experienced only moments before. The mother leaned forward and loosened the knot of the man’s gag, pulling it free of his mouth. Saliva streamed from his mouth, producing a line from it to the thick strip of fabric, and trailing down his chin.

    Roan strode forward and stooped in front of Zion Amery. “You know why we are here, correct, Mr. Amery?” The man illustrated no intention of responding to Roan Farrell. Roan presented Zion with a photograph of a man about twenty-one years of age. “Do you know who this man is, Mr. Amery?” The man in the photo had a complexion that was fair, as were his hair and eyes; his hair being white-blond and his eyes appearing as striking, icy, lavender color. Something one wouldn’t see on a typical person, but this boy wasn’t exactly ordinary. “This boy is Aiden Tierney. But you already knew that I’m sure.”

    “Listen honey, if you just tell us what you know about the boy, we’ll let you go. We know you’ve heard of us. You know what we can do, right? So why suffer when you don’t have to?” Ivory smiled sympathetically, trying to encourage Zion with kindheartedness as an alternative to intimidation. When he didn’t respond to this, Ivory nodded to Teagan. Her approach was far different from either of her parents, as she was taught to be, different that is.

    She knelt down in front of Zion Amery, looking intently at him with her dark, wintry, gray eyes. She didn’t touch him, and for a while nothing was spoken; she merely gazed at him, her motionlessness undisturbed. Her feet were flat on the floorboards; she was curled into a ball with her knees to her chest. Observing him, she watched the fright he felt contort his face, every sweat drop that slithered free from the pores on his skin, each tremulous breath he drew from his straining lungs, she absorbed all of this. Then, at last, she spoke in a soft, mysterious, murmur, the words she was instructed to speak.

    “My name is, Teagan, Mr. Amery, Teagan Farrell. I, like my family and those associated with us, have the ability to make you tell us what we want to know.” She paused, tilting her head to one side, before continuing, in a less mechanical manner. “I realize you’re probably worried about what your people will do to you if you tell us. They will punish you, I’m sure. But if you don’t tell us, if you don’t tell me, what I want to know, I similar to my parents can and will do something much worse.” She got to her feet and bent forward; placing her mouth alongside his left ear, she whispered with delicately insinuated wickedness, “I can illustrate for you. I can show you what will happen if you don’t tell me.”