Chapter 7

7

" G ood. You are finally awake," a manly voice drawls. It's deep and lyrical, and quite pleasant.

"Five more minutes," I grumble.

I stretch, yawning as I slowly awaken. God, I had the most terrible dream. Not only was I trapped in a fictional world with no idea how to get back home, but all my role models turned out to be assholes. To top it off, I also annoyed some talking mummy who was just about to jump on me for stealing its finger.

Good thing this nice voice woke me up, or I would have experienced the wrath of the mummy in my dream. A shudder goes down my body. Why am I even dreaming about talking mummies? Do I have some unresolved trauma or something?

I smack my lips together, a little thirsty.

"Can I have a glass of water?"

Why am I so thirsty? I always hydrate well before bed, but now it's like I haven't had a sip of water in ages.

"Wake up, female!" the same voice commands.

My eyes flash open.

It's dark. Too dark for this to be my room.

I'm also holding on to something.

I gulp down in apprehension.

The ridges of the ring are familiar. But there's something else clinging to the ring. Something…

Oh. My. God.

Everything comes back to me, together with the realization that this is not a dream.

"Stay away from me!" I cry out, jumping up and scrambling as far away from the talking mummy. I hold the finger with the ring in front of me as some kind of crucifix, hoping it might save me from its wrath. After all, if it wants to hurt me, it might accidentally hurt its finger first. Awful logic, I know. But at this point, my brain is as mushy as the mummy's insides.

"Cease your hysterics, female," he decrees. But his imperial tone only makes my anxiety skyrocket.

"Don't come closer. You'll regret it," I tell him, backing away until I hit the other wall of the cell. "I… I'm not someone you want to mess with," I mumble, wildly looking around. It's too dark to make sense of anything around me, and my heart is beating too loudly in my ears to be able to hear anything else.

Oh, God! I won't even get to my execution because I will be killed by a mummy. Damn Ivan! He did this on purpose, that blasted man.

"Is that so?" he mocks me.

"Y-yes." I raise my voice. "I…" Come on, Barbi, think of something. What could a mummy be afraid of? It's already dead!

"You may not be aware, b-but I…" I swallow. "I was locked in here because the Dark One is my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend?" A low chuckle echoes in the cell.

"Y-yes. He is my boyfriend. He… He is very bad and dangerous and he can summon dark clouds and kill anyone with the snap of a finger," I enumerate the things Jerry had told me about him. "He also loves me very much. I am the apple of his eye, his most beloved treasure, the beat of his heart—not that you would know since you're a mummy and your heart is likely not beating—" I stammer as I try to think of more descriptors. "I'm the reason he wakes up in the morning, the light to his dark, dark soul—emphasis on dark ," I add, proud of my quick thinking.

"He would burn the world for me, you know, and you might be dead, but mummies can catch fire, too. In fact, you'll probably be easier to incinerate than a non-mummified body, so you'll die faster." I clear my throat. "So you see, if you do anything to me, you'll be the first one to pay the price."

Silence greets me.

"Are you done?" he eventually asks in the same lazy voice.

"Uhm, no? He's bad. Very, very bad."

"So you have said," he drawls.

I frown. I may not be able to see him, but I have the vague impression he's laughing at me. And I can't have that. He needs to understand I am off-limits.

"Well, he's the worst villain Akkaya has ever seen. He's so scary, people are afraid to even say his name because he might kill them."

"You do not seem too afraid to say his name," he notes drily.

"Everyone but me. I am his heart," I repeat the lie.

Although wouldn't that be nice? I release a wistful sigh as I let my foolish self dream once more about true love; the eternal kind that would withstand any test—as if I haven't already been disappointed enough by my own delusions.

"I see. So you are the exception to the rule," he utters, his tone skeptical.

"Of course. I told you. So don't even think of trying something with me because he's going to come and get me out of here and if I tell him you've been bad to me, he's going to make sure you never see the light of day. Not that you see the light of day here since it's a little too dark. But you know what I mean," I snap, pushing my chin up. "He's going to turn you into mummy dust."

He doesn't reply, and a smile pulls at my lips.

Aha! My ruse worked. Since everyone is so afraid of the Dark One, and psycho Damien already declared me his lover, why shouldn't I make use of his reputation?

"And here I thought he was dead," the mummy murmurs.

I blink. How the hell does he know that?

"Oh, that is…he…he faked his death, but he's going to save me," I huff aloud.

Seconds stretch into minutes and no sound comes from him.

"I just want my finger back," he eventually says.

My lips flatten as I consider his words. I did steal his finger—and his ring. Now a pang of guilt stabs at my chest. He's probably a poor enemy of psycho Damien and he's been wasting away in this cell for God knows how long.

"If I give it to you, you won't hurt me?" I ask tentatively. Just to make sure.

"No."

"Really?"

"You have my word," he promises.

"Okay. I guess I can do that. I'm sorry I took it when it wasn't mine to take," I add apologetically.

I dangle the finger with the ring, waiting for him to come get it.

"You will need to come to me," he decrees.

"W-what?" I squeak.

"Come to me, female. I gave you my word I will not hurt you."

"But… But…"

"Your big, bad, and dangerous boyfriend will make sure I never see the light of day if I do anything to you."

"Are you making fun of me?" I ask in outrage.

He sighs.

"My finger, female. I would like to have it back."

I stare at the darkness for a few moments as I debate what to do.

"Fine," I mutter under my breath.

Mustering all the courage I can get, I get to my feet. I make my way toward the other end of the cell, but due to the darkness, I can't see where I'm walking.

I take small, careful steps. Yet it only takes one wrong move for me to lose my balance. I wobble on my feet, a strangled cry escaping me as I flail my arms around.

"Ahhhh," I whimper as my foot catches onto something solid and I fall.

Against all odds, though, I don't hit the pavement.

I hit the mummy.

"Uhm, I'm sorry?" I whisper as I realize my fingers are pulling on the already tattered material of his clothes.

He grunts but makes no effort to help me up.

I hold on to him to raise myself up, only to fall once more, this time flat on top of the mummy.

"You can have your finger back," I say as I search in the darkness to give it to him. Up close, there's an inviting scent coming off him—not at all what I would have imagined death and gloom to smell like. It's a mix of tobacco, musk, and ash with the lightest hint of coffee.

I find his hand and I put the finger where it belongs. That's also when I realize why he could not move. He's chained to the wall. There's a heavy metal chain around his wrist, holding him in place.

"Do you need any glue? Or clay?" I ask innocently. "I can try to put it back together for you, but?—"

"It will mend itself just fine," he strains a reply.

"Oh. Okay," I murmur.

It hasn't escaped me that I should have moved ten seconds ago. But he's comfortable. And warm. Surprisingly warm. And I'm so damn cold and shivery.

"I'm really sorry about your finger. I promise I'm not a thief, especially not a body part thief," I add nervously, just so I can buy myself a few more moments with his body heat.

"It is fine," he replies.

His warm breath brushes against my skin. Goose bumps erupt all over my body, accompanied by a light ticklish sensation.

"You're surprisingly big," I murmur appreciatively as I shamelessly feel up his shoulders. Hmm, they are quite broad. "I thought mummies were shriveled up, but you don't seem to be all that dry…"

A blush stains my cheeks as my thoughts go in a different direction.

God, Barbi! You're having dirty thoughts about a mummy of all things. You should be ashamed of yourself!

"Do you always talk this much?" he suddenly asks.

I blink.

"Only when I'm nervous."

"Why are you nervous?" he counters.

"Uhm." I swallow. Why does it have to be so dark? Why can't I see him? And why does he have to smell nice and feel nice. This is too deceiving for my poor, already messed up mind. "Because you might hurt me?"

"Strange creature." He tsks at me, and if it weren't so dark, I would imagine him shaking his head at me. "I have already given you my word that you are safe with me."

"Hey, I am not a creature, nor am I strange." I push against his chest, belatedly stopping when I realize I might cause more damage.

"Sorry," I mumble.

I am hopeless. I'll destroy this poor mummy in no time if I keep this up. But as I continue to feel my way around his body, I encounter more chains. One is around his neck, the other at his waist. A pang of sadness pierces my heart at his situation. He's chained to this wall like an animal, barely allowed any movement.

"You are strange. But I welcome it," he adds in a wistful tone. "It has been a long time since I have talked to someone."

"H-how long?" I ask on a whisper.

"Years? Maybe more? I no longer know at this point."

"How could you be here that long?"

"Does that surprise you? I am a mummy , after all," he mentions drily.

Oh, my. Did I offend him by calling him a mummy?

"If it makes you feel better, you're a toned mummy," I say as I pat his chest. Yes, that's quite nice. Not shriveled up, nor dry. "Of course, I am not an expert on mummies. I've only watched a couple of movies, and those mummies looked pretty disgusting before they did some magic to get back their looks—not that you look disgusting," I hurry to add. "I don't know what you look like since it's so dark. But you don't feel disgusting," I say as I touch him some more. Yes, very nice and warm, snuggly too if I were to lean closer. "Those mummies had holes and tears in their flesh, and bugs were crawling through their orifices, but you seem quite whole to me—except for the finger I broke. Did I apologize about that?" I laugh nervously. "Oh, my. I hope you don't have bugs crawling through your skin or something like that. I can't imagine feeling them move on your skin and inside your body…"

A sudden, deep laugh erupts in the air.

I stop mid-sentence, my lips parted as I feel the vibrations coming from his chest.

"Where did you come from, female? I have never met someone like you before."

"What do you mean?" I demand in indignation.

"You are…interesting," he murmurs in a low, barely audible voice.

"Oh." I nod. "Interesting good or interesting bad?" I ask, just to make sure.

He doesn't answer.

"Come on. You can't say something like that and not qualify it," I complain. I've often been told I am too curious for my own good, but I prefer to call it inquisitive. I merely like to have all the facts before me.

Once more, he doesn't reply.

"Hey!" I jab my finger in his hard, not quite mummy-like chest. "I'm talking to you."

He releases a deep sigh.

"Interesting good or interesting bad?" I repeat. "Please don't say bad, though. Maybe choose another word. I'd rather not have that hanging over my head while I'm already in such a precarious situation with all this death and gloom. But if it's interesting good then you can say so. Maybe use another adjective as well, as long as it's complimentary," I yap happily. It's been far too long since anyone's said anything kind to me, so any compliment would go a long way considering I've been told all my life what a disappointment I am.

I await anxiously his next words. I am not sure why the validation of a stranger—of this stranger that I haven't even seen—matters so much. But it does. My heart is in my throat, beating loudly and making me choke on absurd anxiety.

"You talk too much. Be a good girl and go back to your corner of the cell. I would like to have my peace back," he drawls, effectively ending the conversation.

I blink in the dark, swallowing hard at being dismissed like that. To make matters worse, he turns his face away, the sudden absence of his warm breath on my cheek making me feel rather bereft.

I grit my teeth. I am not one to let myself be intimidated by a rough, manly voice, so I feel compelled to continue making my case.

"Psycho Damien and stupid Jocelyn also think I am interesting. Well, not in a good way, seeing that they want to sacrifice me for some nefarious purpose, but not in a bad way either since they need me. So you see, I am quite important." I sulk. "And, of course, I am the Dark One's heart," I add grumpily when no reply is forthcoming.

With a loud huff, I get up to leave, stumbling again on my way and almost falling a few times. As I reach my corner of the cell, I slump my shoulders and I drag my knees to my chest, finally able to let out the weary breath I've been holding in.

My lips tremble and tears gather at the corners of my eyes. My awful situation is dawning on me, as well as the fact that there is little I can do to save myself and my PomPom. I can put on all the bravado in the world, but in the end, I have to face my fate. I'm going to die in a goddamn fictional world—one that I, ironically, worshiped for half of my life.

I stare at the darkness, coldness seeping into my bones once more. My arms tighten around my knees in an attempt to preserve what little body heat I have left.

He's there. In the dark. I can't even make out his shape, but if I focus hard enough, I can hear his quiet breaths. They're short and clipped, just like him. There are other sounds in the dungeon. Moans and whines of other prisoners still alive. But they're all a low, muted sound. Removed from my reality, or perhaps, I have yet to accept that this is my reality.

A deep sense of shame envelops me as I realize I've been taking out my anger on the wrong person—a poor mummy who is also Damien's victim.

But just as I'm about to apologize for my abysmal behavior—I did steal his finger first—more sounds erupt from deep within the dungeon. My head whirls around as I drag myself closer to the bars. There is a source of light at the end of the tunnel—one that's becoming stronger with each passing moment.

I smack my lips together. I'm so thirsty. Do prisoners get water benefits? Somehow, I doubt that. But that still doesn't stop me from asking.

"Excuse me. Is anyone there?" I call out to the flickering light.

The only response I get is the piercing moan of pain from a random prisoner.

I feel for you, buddy.

"Can I speak with someone, please? Someone higher, preferably?" I stop myself short of asking to speak with the manager. Gosh, am I becoming a Karen? But I suppose these are completely different circumstances. I'm not complaining about a perfectly rendered service, nor am I calling the cops about the kids loitering around the neighborhood. I am merely asking for some human decency, although I doubt that's a concern here.

Akkaya has no human rights council, though I now see it is in dire need of one. Take my mummy friend for example—not that he's my friend, but he's the only one around. He's been left to rot here. In my world, that constitutes about a hundred human rights violations.

My voice echoes in the dungeon, but there is no reply forthcoming.

Why is everyone ignoring me today?

"Someone? Anyone? I would like a glass of water, please," I call out. No response. "In case you haven't heard, I am to be executed on the new moon. I doubt your mighty King will like it if I'm dehydrated and weak. What's the joy in killing someone who's already down, no?" I ask hopefully. Executions are supposed to be a spectacle (not that I want to die anytime soon).

The light flickers and comes closer and closer.

My lips slowly spread into a smile as I dab at the errant tears falling down my cheeks. Maybe someone heard my plea.

I blink repeatedly, shielding my eyes as the source of light stops right in front of my cell. But as my eyes get accustomed to the light, I realize that I might be in more trouble than before.

Ivan looks down at me with malice in his eyes.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you?" He laughs at me.

I yelp as he gives me a kick, falling to my ass a distance away from the bars. He opens the lock and enters the cell. He's carrying with him a torch that lights up the entire room.

"I'm surprised you're still so cheery after spending the night with this freak," he sneers. Right at that moment, I gaze back as the torch lights up even the darkest corners of the cell.

My mouth parts in an O as I stare at my cellmate. His long, dark hair is draped over his face, reaching his waist. I cannot make out his features, but it's clear he's not a mummy. He's not in the best shape, that's for sure, but he's human and alive. His skin has a sickly hue, an ashy brown color. His body is big and broad, his chest just as large as I'd felt with my hands.

My eyes immediately go to his hand, and I note that the ring finger had attached itself to his hand—just as he'd said.

I swallow hard.

There are over a dozen chains keeping him tied to the wall—around his neck, chest, arms, and legs. He is thoroughly immobilized.

A pang of hurt echoes in my chest as I take him in. He can't even move, can he? But why go to such extremes? Why so many chains when one would have done the job?

As the light shines over him, he turns his head to the side, avoiding looking at Ivan. The nasty man takes a step forward.

"Leave my friend alone," I burst out before I can stop myself.

He turns to me, a sick smile on his face.

"Friend?" He chuckles at me. "What do you have to say for yourself, freak? You have a pretty young woman in your cell and you can't even move," he mocks him, using his foot to kick at the man's leg. The chains rattle, but his leg doesn't move—it is too tightly secured. "Can your cock even get hard after so long?"

My cheeks burn with embarrassment at his crass words, and I scurry backward.

Ivan moves his torch back and forth over the man's body, stopping above his crotch.

"Why don't we put it to the test." He guffaws as he flings the torch.

My eyes widen as I realize what he means to do, and before I know it, I throw myself against him, kicking him off balance and causing him to miss. But instead of helping the poor man, I make everything worse.

My breath hitches as I see the torch fall on his chest, the fire engulfing his hair. The scraps of material on his body catch fire, spreading further and burning his skin.

"No," I whisper in shock.

Ivan laughs maliciously as he admires his handiwork.

The fire engulfs the man, but he doesn't make a sound. Not one whisper of pain. He bears it all in silence, letting the flames lick at his body.

The pain must be unbearable, yet he withstands it all.

How? How can he not make a sound when his flesh must be aflame and blistering?

Tears course down my cheeks as I turn my gaze to Ivan. Hate unlike I've ever known fills me.

"You evil man," I cry out. I curl my hands into fists and hit at him. "How could you do that? How could you?—"

I don't get to complete my sentence before his palm connects with my cheek, the blow hard enough to send me flying backward.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" he bites out at me.

I bring my hand to my cheek, rubbing at it while I give him a mutinous look.

"I hate you," I grit out.

But that makes him laugh harder.

"Do you think I care?"

He takes a step toward me, his lips pulling into a lascivious smile as he regards me.

"Tell you what. His cock might not get hard, but mine can."

At the same time, his hands go to his belt and panic flares in my chest, as well as the realization that no matter what world I might be in, women will always be targets for this type of violence.

I blink wildly as I crawl back, shaking my head at him. He comes slowly toward me, almost as if he's enjoying this cat-and-mouse game, and he wants to make sure my fear is at its peak before he reaches for me.

I try to think of anything that might help me, but my mind blanks on me, fear echoing in my ears under the guise of an erratic pulse.

He's a few steps away from me when the light goes out in the cell.