Dark Whispers, Chapter 3

 The laborer sat in his seat, eating his dinner of boiled pork, potatoes, onions, and carrots, stabbing his food with a fork. He had finished his day's work, washed, and sat at the table to eat his supper, which was still hot and steaming. His wife and children had been forced to stay in the tent city across the street while they worked on the new house, and he missed them. He knew they were safe, but the separation was too long.

He had been working on constructing the new homes for the past six days, and he was happy and proud that the work was nearly complete. He had been given the day off today and slept in the completed home, which would be his once the final inspection was complete.

"Charlie?" his friend and coworker Doug, whom he called Dougie, asked, stumbling into the tavern in what seemed like a haze.

"Sit your ass down, Dougie," Charlie huffed. "Yer ass is drunk again."

"Charlie? Doug said, "Someone outside wants to hear that story you told me. You know, the one about the funeral home? The place was burning down. Those people you saw? They want to hear it."

"Damn it, Dougie," Charlie said, taking another bite and chewing. "That story is not for public consumption."

"Come on, Charlie, he's interested in your story!" Dougie insisted. "Come out here, and I'll buy you a drink. He is paying me a month's wages to get me to find you! And he said he will pay you, too."

"Damn it, Dougie," Charlie said, standing and walking out the door. "This is the last time you're pulling me away from my dinner to tell my stories! Fine. Fine."

Charlie and Doug stepped outside the tavern, into the rain-soaked streets of the docks district, and no one was there. A covered wagon stopped nearby, and the driver smiled.

"Dammit, Dougie!" Charlie spat as he punched Doug in the shoulder. "You and yer stupid games!"

Doug did not move.

"Dougie?"

Doug stood there stiff as a board, eyes glazed over.

Charlie tried to scream as a wad of cotton was shoved in his mouth and a black bag was yanked over his head, and three strong brutes grabbed him and started beating him with batons until he did not resist. They were tossed into the back of the wagon, and no one ever saw them disappear.

Charlie's body hurt like he had wandered into the wrong alley and a gang of thugs gave him a right good work over. He groaned and felt his body tied to a chair. The ball of cotton was still in his mouth, blood-soaked and heavy.

The bag was pulled off his head, and his eyes adjusted to the dim light of what looked like a basement. Doug was tied to a chair nearby. Six hooded men in black leather armor stood around them in a circle, and two others sat across from them. One was a burly man in the same black leather armor and hood, but he could tell this was some leader of this gang. The other was a woman in black leather armor, and he saw the strange goat-like pupils peering out of her hood at him, unnatural eyes with horizontal slits that made him think of creatures of the underworld.

Charlie spat out the cotton. "Where the hell am I? Who are you? I did not do anything wrong!"

The leader smiled. "Good morning, Sunshine. I have a few questions, and you and Dougie will be on your way. Is that a deal?"

"Sod off!" Charlie spat.

The leader motioned to the woman. "She has some tea for you, it will help you relax."

The woman stood, the creak of her leather the only sound in the room. She glided over to a small table and poured a cup of tea. She walked back to Charlie and offered it to him. Charlie sipped and spat it out on her armor. His mouth felt numb, and he spat again.

Charlie growled. "I am not drinking your tea, and I ain't relaxing!"

The leader sighed. "Pity. It would have eased the pain. Your loss. You should learn to accept the offerings of your hosts."

She grabbed his temples with her fingers as a wooden dowel was tied into Charlie's mouth, and he began to kick and struggle.

"This will hurt." Her goat-like eyes looked into his. "Make it less painful by focusing on what you saw last night."

Charlie bit into the dowel and struggled.

She peered from beyond her hood like a devil-woman, the depths of her eyes locking onto his.

Charlie's mind was picked through and ripped apart by the strange mental magic of the woman. He screamed and struggled as his mind was torn through and torn apart like a thief hurriedly looking for a diamond hidden in a merchant's house.

He could feel her inside his head, and his eyes rolled back. Blood came from his nose, and his vision blurred. He thrashed in the chair, screaming and falling into a darkness, where his mind was shredded and torn by the memories of the previous night.

"It is fun when people are stupid," the leader said to the room as the man's screams echoed. "They don't even know simple magic and how it can be used against them. Cannibalize thoughts is a basic spell. Mind reading is all."

Charlie's screams grew louder as the woman in black leather armor tore through his mind, and blood poured from his nose. He fought and struggled, but it was all in vain. The woman was too strong and skilled, and he was helpless as she picked through his memories and thoughts.

He tried to remember, to focus on what he had seen the previous night—the flames, the chaos, and those he had seen there.

She locked in on the people he saw, forcing him to stare intensely at each one.

The flame-haired Koada'dal woman.

The half-elf male with the reddish-brown hair.

The two ogre females.

And the nicely-dressed dwarf.

The images of the faces and bodies burned into his mind as she forced him to look at them deeply, to trace their features, to remember what they wore, and their faces burned into his mind. He screamed and struggled, his body covered in sweat. His body shook and convulsed as the magic tore into his memories.

"Focus," she said. "Remember."

"I... I..." He cried out in agony, thrashing and shaking. He could not speak, his voice was raw, and he could not form the words.

His body shook and trembled, his muscles tensed, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed. His heart beat so fast she could see it moving his shirt. She let him go, her goat-like pupils narrowing as she entered the light. Blood dripped from her nose, too. She turned to the table, picked up a pen, and began drawing.

Doug's voice whimpered from his hood. "What did you do to Charlie? Is he dead?"

The leader's foot tapped Doug's shin, causing him to jump. "He's not dead. He's just been through a traumatic experience, is all."

"Ogress one," the woman said, finishing one drawing and sliding it over the table. Then, she worked on the next.

The leader smiled. "These amateurs. Why are they leaving so many witnesses? They are making my job so easy."

"What are you doing?" Doug stammered.

"The other female ogre," the woman said, her skilled artist's pen tracing their features and replicating what she saw in Charlie's mind. She worked on the next person she saw in Charlie's memories.

"Just drawing some pretty pictures is all," the leader said as he traced his finger across the ogre female's throat, imagining himself cutting it clean. "No, you two aren't in trouble. But these folks sure are."

Doug nodded.  Hoping that staying quiet would keep him safe.

She pushed over the Koada'dal female's drawing.

"Pride and hubris, the downfall of many." The leader smiled. "Oh, these are pretty pictures. You should have them hung."

The roomful of hooded men suppressed laughs.

The half-elf and dwarf were the last two drawings the coercer replicated and pushed across the table. She lowered her head and took deep breaths.

"Nice work, Love," the leader smiled. She raised her strange eyes to peer into his and nodded, putting away her papers, pen, and ink.

"Thank you, Charlie," the leader said to the heaving body on the floor, still tied to the chair. "You've got an excellent eye for details. Craftsman, eh? I'd buy a house built by you. A good, sharp mind."

The room of hooded men shifted and suppressed another laugh.

"Oh, look at you," the leader said as he examined the dwarf. "Dressed up all pretty. A pretty little man, in a pretty little suit, with his pretty little group. With pretty little dreams of death and destruction. What is your name, little man? The Collector? I have a nice little collection of faces and pictures here, so I am a collector, too. I guess we have something in common."

"You are letting us go, right?" Doug whimpered.

The leader smiled. "Oh, we are letting you go, all right."

Doug heard the sounds of blades being drawn.

Soon after, Charlie and Doug were let go.