Читать книгу Atlantean - E.N. J.D. Watkins - Страница 5

Even though it was the last thing I wanted to do I couldn’t help but fall asleep. When I opened my eyes, I was hardly surprised to find that I wasn’t in my dorm. I wasn’t even in Eden Prep. I was back in New York City in the home of Catherine and William Angel, stark naked and scared to death.

I knew this was a dream, or rather, a nightmare. One of many nightmares I’d had ever since I could remember. But my nightmares weren’t exactly what you’d call normal. I am not even sure that they could be classified as dreams because for some reason I was able to experience pain in them. And that’s all these dreams were for me—pain. Whenever my false parents would brutalize me, I would have to relive the experience in my dreams. There was no escape. I couldn’t even stay awake all night. Every time I tried, my body would betray me and go to sleep anyway.

Tonight was no different. I had been hoping—in vain it seems—that a change of scenery might provide me a goodnight’s sleep. But I guess my mind doesn’t work that way.

I was now about to relive one of the worst beatings I ever received at the hands of William and Catherine.

I tried to push the fear from my mind but it was proving difficult. Especially, since I was now ten years younger.

I began to sob as one of the family servants placed a collar around my neck and attached it to a leash.

Ignoring my tears, the man got to his feet and proceeded to parade me around the house like an animal. But that wasn’t the worst of it, for the servant led me into a room that was filled with my parents’ silver-eyed friends.

I barely had time to register the fact that they were all holding various weapons before a whip cut into my flesh like a knife.

I fell to floor amid gales of laughter, crying hysterically.

Through my tears I watched as a second servant bent down to collect them from the floor and distribute them amongst the guests.

The whip cut my flesh again and again. I cried, screamed, and begged for them to stop. But my pleas fell on deaf ears. My tears were far more precious than my life to these people.

When the whipping subsided scalding hot water was poured on me. After that, I was stabbed, punched, kicked, and even burned.

I wished they would just kill me, but I knew that was impossible; my body healed much too quickly for me to die.

Several hours later, I lay curled on the floor sobbing into a puddle of my own blood.

My parents’ friends seemed to have had their fill of torturing me, for they were talking among themselves as though I wasn’t even there. Among the chatter, I was able to discern Catherine’s voice.

I looked up and spotted her not too far from where I lay. I proceeded to crawl toward her, my body being in too much pain to walk.

“M-Mother,” I sobbed reaching out one hand in her direction, “Mother—help me.”

A sour expression passed over her face.

“Get this boy out of my sight,” she barked to one of the servants.

My hand fell to the floor as a servant proceeded to drag me out of the room. The dream went black, and when I opened my eyes I was back in my dorm.

I sat up and I heard the clatter of several crystal tears hitting the floor.

Looking down I examined my sheets. They were covered in blood. This was another weird thing about my nightmares: whatever happened to me in the dream world also happened to me in the real world.

There was a knock on my door.

I started.

I half expected an Angel family servant to enter my room and collect my tears as they used to do back in New York. But I wasn’t in New York and my false parent’s couldn’t hurt me anymore—except in my dreams.