Oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray's
In deepest Consequence.
--Shakespeare, MacBeth
It was dark and warm, and Philip burrowed deeper into the soft down comforter as his mind drifted in the fuzzy greyness. Some tiny spark of worry flared sluggishly to life in the back of his mind, but he felt too comfortable to do anything about it . . .
The bed was so comfortable -- he thought at first it might be Nick's, although Nick wasn't really the down comforter type. And the bed felt too small to be Derek's . . .
_Derek._ The tiny spark of worry burst into a roaring conflagration as memory broke through the cottony fog wrapping his mind. _Oh Sweet Jesus -- where am I?!_ he thought, panic starting to grip him. The last thing he remembered was . . . the library! Someone had actually thrown a bag over his head and -- and what? That was the last thing he could remember.
He strained back, trying to remember -- an instant of pain then . . . fog.
_Someone drugged me!_ he realized with dawning horror. Suddenly awake, he sat up in the bed and then nearly fainted as a wave of dizziness struck him. "Mother of God," Philip moaned, clutching at the comforter beneath him in an attempt to steady himself. "This is bad . . ." he muttered as the room slowed -- but didn't cease -- its spinning.
He gradually let go the comforter and reached out in the darkness, groping for a nightstand. His fingers came into contact with a lamp; by touch he located the switch and turned it on, groaning in pain as his eyes slowly reacted to the light. When he could finally look around without pain lancing through the back of his head, he saw that the room was elegantly furnished in dark wood and upholstered with deep forest green velvets and brocades. Even the curtains were thick and dark, blocking out any light that might be coming into the room from outside.
The room seemed to be a hotel room -- or one in an expensive bed and breakfast -- but something about it just wasn't right. After looking around, puzzled, for a few minutes, Philip realized what was different: there was no telephone in the room. He forced down the panic and slowly stood, leaning on the nightstand for a moment before relying on his own two feet. The room spun again, but less wildly this time, and he finally managed to make his way to the door.
Unconsciously holding his breath, he tried the knob. His resolve faltered when he found the door locked, but he knelt down and checked the keyhole, just in case -- no key. Unbidden, thoughts of the unpleasant possibilities rose up in his mind: obviously if he had been the victim of some random criminal, he wouldn't have been drugged and brought here. That left either some twisted individual who had grabbed him for unknown reasons, someone who knew him as part of the rather wealthy Luna Foundation and planned to hold him for ransom, or -- the most worrisome -- someone who knew him as a member of the Legacy . . . They had more than enough enemies, both human and otherwise, and there were more than enough dark and greedy individuals who would be willing to do the dirty work for any one of them.
_Oh God, help me . . ._ he thought, forcibly reining in his imagination. Panicking wasn't going to help him in any way. Once more under control, he walked carefully to the window and pushed the heavy curtains aside, his hope once more dashed as he encountered a shuttered window. After trying to unlock the window until his arm shook and sweat beaded his brow, he had to admit it -- he was trapped and had no idea *where* he was or who had him.
What was it Nick had told him? The first duty of a prisoner was to escape?
_Tha's great, Nick, but I don't know *how* . . ._ He walked back to the door,
feeling steadier now, and sighed. _Maybe if I find out who, I can find out
where, and get out o' here!_ he thought, raising his fist to pound on the
door.
"Hey! Let me out o' here!" he yelled, thumping his fist against the
door as loud as he could. The thick door seemed to swallow the sound so he
raised his other fist as well, pounding on the door and yelling until finally
the sound of footsteps neared the door and a voice called to him.
"Father Callaghan, calm down!"
The fact that this person knew his name did not reassure him, but he stopped pounding on the door and fell back a step, ready to rush the person when he opened the door. This plan went by the wayside immediately when the door opened and Philip caught his first glimpse of the man. He could easily find work as a bouncer in one of the rougher bars in the city, or even as a member of the 49ers' front line. There was no way -- especially not in his still-woozy condition -- that Philip would ever make it past this man.
"What is it?" the man asked, looking down at Philip with an annoyed expression. For all of his size and obvious strength, the man seemed to be well-spoken and well-dressed, but he wasn't anyone that Philip recognized. Philip decided he *had* to be the hired muscle, and part of his mind wondered absurdly whether this man had carried him out of the library tucked under one arm.
"I demand t'know where I am an' why I'm here!" Philip said as boldly as he could, relieved when the man's expression lightened slightly and he nodded.
"I was coming to fetch you for dinner anyway. Come with me, Father Callaghan. And please, don't try to run -- I *will* stop you." He rested a large hand on Philip's shoulder and steered him out of the room, the strength in even this light grip convincing Philip that the threat was very real.
A short trip down an elegantly decorated corridor didn't help Philip identify his location, although he was now convinced that he had to be in a bed and breakfast, or some other elegant old house set up to house guests. And that other than his captors and himself, it was deserted. That narrowed it down to those who were already rich enough to rent the entire place and then send the staff away -- unless his captors owned the place and all the staff were loyal to them . . . He swallowed convulsively, feeling the panic rise up again. _Where *am* I?!_
The large man steered him down an elegant dark wood staircase and through a beautifully appointed sitting room, then through a double door into a dining room lit by dozens of candles. Philip felt the panic jump up and grab him by the throat as he saw the man sitting at the head of the biggest table. "Ah, Father Callaghan, so good to see you. Come, join me for dinner -- I'm sure you must be hungry . . ." the man purred, a dark smile creasing his face.
"Victor Arkadi," Philip whispered, feeling his knees suddenly go weak but determined to appear strong in front of the enemy. He forced himself to walk calmly to the only other place set at the table and sat down, refraining from picking up any of the utensils because he knew his hands were shaking too much. "What d'you want with me?"
"Would you like some dinner? I'm sure you can't be feeling your best right now," Arkadi asked smoothly.
"This is kidnappin' -- it's a federal crime," Philip answered. "If you think the Legacy is jus' going to let you go--"
"Father-- may I call you Philip?" Arkadi asked, looking him in the eyes and seeing the fear he was trying to hide. "Good, Philip it is." He paused, signaling to the large man who nodded and left the room, then he continued, "Derek isn't going to call the authorities on me, Philip. He knows me well enough to recognize this invitation for what it is."
"Wha-?" Philip blurted before he could stop himself, "Invitation?" He paused as the large man returned with a tray of food -- roast chicken with herbed potatoes, garden salads with some exotic vinaigrette dressing, and fresh baked sourdough -- then continued once the plates had been filled and the man left the room again. "Kidnappin' isn' Derek's idea of an invitation -- Nick'll come t'get me if nothin' else. An' he'll probably kill ya if you give 'im half a reason to."
"I seem to remember that murder is a crime, too, Philip," Arkadi purred, then he calmly ate a mouthful of salad. "Mmm -- excellent. You really should eat, Philip. You look so pale, and I'd hate to be accused of mistreating you."
"You drugged me, y' bastard," Philip said angrily.
"You were in a library -- it was the best way to ensure you'd come quietly. Wouldn't want to upset people by making a lot of noise, now would we?" Arkadi answered, allowing the slightest edge of a threat to enter his tone. "Now eat your dinner, Philip -- you needn't worry, it isn't drugged or poisoned in any way."
Reluctantly, Philip admitted to himself that he was very hungry and the food smelled delicious -- he wasn't going to be able to escape if he was fainting from hunger . . . He missed the triumphant gleam in Arkadi's eyes as he picked up his utensils and began to eat.
_So trusting, Philip. You let your guard down so easily,_ Arkadi thought, continuing with his own meal and watching Philip carefully. The man was relaxing somewhat, which was just the effect he had wanted.
Philip paused after a few bites of the salad and looked up to see Arkadi studying him. He frowned and asked, "Now what on earth makes ya think Derek's not gonna call the cops on you? Soon as he knows where y've got me, he'll do it! The Legacy isn' gonna risk itself for me, and neither is Derek." The slight smile curling Arkadi's lips made him feel very uncomfortable all of a sudden.
"Derek would risk it for *you*," Arkadi said with certainty. When Philip shook his head, he continued, "I know how close the two of you are . . ."
"I don'--"
"Don't insult me by claiming you have no idea what I'm talking about, Philip," Arkadi said, the threat now more prominent in his tone. "Why do you think I chose you? Nick could probably get out on his own, and Derek isn't involved with either of the women -- you are the perfect invitation."
As Arkadi said this, Philip felt a cold dread spear his guts and spread through him -- the fact that Arkadi knew this terrified him. What else did he know -- and how did he know it? Then a third question made the icy fear clutch at his heart: *Why* did he want Derek in the first place? Philip shuddered, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Nick had told him about their last encounter with Arkadi, and the fact that he had all but confessed to the murders that brought down the Cairo House -- did he want to destroy San Francisco House the same way? Or did he want to finish that ritual he'd attempted years ago that Sloan and Nick's father had interrupted? Or--
"Derek still doesn't tell you much about himself or his past, does he?" Arkadi said softly. "It's funny how he keeps so much to himself, despite the fact that he has two lovers who would stay with him no matter what . . ."
"What do you want with him?" Philip asked, praying he'd sounded angry instead of afraid. "I know what you did -- in Cairo, and here, tryin' t'grow that demon . . ."
"So, Derek told you *all* about me, Philip?" Arkadi asked, amusement now colouring his tone. "Or did he perhaps neglect to mention that he and I were lovers?"
Arkadi smiled darkly as all the colour drained from Philip's face, then continued, "Well, you *are* a priest -- perhaps he was too afraid to tell you he enjoys being tied down and whipped. After all, we *know* how the Church feels about these things . . ."
Philip swallowed hard, tried to speak but no sound came out. He shook his head and tried again, his voice trembling. "No. You're lyin'. Derek's no' . . . you're lyin'!"
Arkadi laughed, watching the horror in Philip's eyes and knowing he was fervently praying he was imagining the entire thing. "So, he neglected to tell you he used to wear a collar for me and beg to be fucked? That the sight of a cat'o'nine tails makes him so hard it hurts? He must be really suffering then . . ."
Philip whispered, "No, you're lyin'," but Arkadi continued talking over him.
"But then again, you're not the type to give him what he wants -- perhaps he's told Nick and the two of them have indulged his baser instincts while you've been away from the House."
"Derek's no' *like* that," Philip whispered, shaking his head again.
"Oh but he *is*, Philip," Arkadi said. "I wonder how well any of you truly know your exalted Precept . . ."
_Mother of God!_ Philip thought, his blood running cold as Arkadi sat back and calmly returned to his dinner.
"I have proof, if you'd like to see," Arkadi added, watching his reaction with amusement.
Philip shook his head vehemently and said, "No, thank you." He looked at his half-eaten meal and realized his appetite was gone, put his utensils down and stared at the wall. His head was spinning with the possibilities -- if Arkadi was lying, then he had obviously done it to upset him and unsteady him. Which had worked, very well. If he was telling the truth, though . . . just how much *had* Derek hidden from them? He remembered Derek's confession about the ritual and how sad he had seemed when Nick threatened Arkadi . . . _My God -- Derek, tell me y'don't still love this bastard!_
That possibility was bad enough -- for the moment, his mind shied away from the others, refusing to go further into the darkness that had suddenly closed in around him. He shook his head again and said, "Either let me go, or let me go back t'my room."
"What's wrong, Philip?" Arkadi asked lightly, "Not hungry anymore? All right, you can go back to your room. If you'd like, I can have Josef bring you the photos -- you might like some of them."
Philip shook his head and repeated, "No, thank you. I don' want t'see them."
"Very well," Arkadi sighed, "It's your loss." Then in a slightly louder voice he called, "Josef, come take our guest back to his room." The large man returned and nodded to him, then waited for Philip to stand.
"You're wrong, Arkadi, Derek's no' gonna fall for your tricks," Philip said as he walked out.
"We'll see, Philip, we'll see . . ."
To be continued in part 10
Poltergeist: The Legacy is (c) 1997 MGM/UA and Trilogy Entertainment. This
story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights.
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