"The chain's long enough for you to get out and feed on old Crabbyshaw when you get hungry," he explained. "But not long enough for you to get away. Sleep well!"
The lid slammed closed.
Rachel was immediately enclosed in cloying darkness. She reached up weakly, her hand coming up against the satin lining of the coffin. Panic tried to overwhelm her. She had always had a touch of claustrophobia, but it seemed intensified in that moment. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Rachel let her hand drop weakly back to her chest and tried to calm herself. She would just rest a while. She would rest and regroup, and when he left, she'd slip out and...
Her thoughts became fuzzy there. Slip out and what? Would she even be able to slip out? Without blood, she wasn't likely to regain her strength. Instead she would grow weaker and weaker and... Dear God, where was Etienne? Why wasn't he here getting her out of this mess? She'd saved his behind by ensuring he was left in his office where blood was readily available; the least he could do was come give her a hand.
It was growing hard to breath. There didn't seem to be enough air in the coffin. She must be using it all up. She would suffocate and die in here.
Rachel forced herself to calm down, telling herself it was just her claustrophobia. She wouldn't die. No one had mentioned lack of air as one of the ways they could die. She just needed to stay calm and wait. Etienne would come.
Etienne frowned and glanced toward the door. He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd heard something. Leaving the mess of burnt circuits he'd been fiddling with for what seemed like hours, he stood and moved to the door to press his ear against it.
"Etienne." The name was very faint through the door, barely audible, but there nonetheless. They'd arrived. Relief welled through him but was quickly followed by confusion as he wondered why his brother hadn't just tried to use thoughts to speak to him. The moment he wondered that, he became aware of several different thoughts hitting his mind at once and realized that they probably had been trying to reach him mentally, but he'd been wrapped up in tinkering with the computer and had unconsciously closed his mind to outside thoughts.
Etienne? Are you all right?
What happened?
We can't get the door open.
The thoughts flooded his mind all at once and were somewhat confusing, but he recognized that Bastien, Lucern, and his mother were all there on the other side of the door.
Pudge wrecked the door panel. He sent the thought back. I'm all right, but he took Rachel. You have to get the door open.
How? The word was clear but accompanied by various unpleasant thoughts about Pudge and concern for Rachel. Etienne considered the question briefly. If he were out there he could probably get the door open himself, but the rest of his family wasn't very technical. He could probably talk them through it if he could see the panel to see what was damaged, but without that, the fastest way was--
You'll need an acetylene torch. You'll have to cut through the steel around the door lock. He waited to be sure they had understood and that one of them had left to go in search of the needed torch, then asked, What time is it?
A little after six, came the answer, and Etienne closed his eyes. He wasn't positive, but he thought it had been around noon when Pudge had broken in.
That meant he'd had Rachel for more than six hours. God, he hoped she was all right.
It was loud rock music that woke Rachel up. She opened her eyes and stared into unrelenting darkness. Her breathing immediately seemed to come harder, as if all the air in the coffin was gone. Panic swamped her again. This time it worked in her favor; the rush of adrenaline accompanying it gave her the strength she needed to shove the coffin lid up. Rachel was so weak she only managed to lift it a couple of inches; then she had to leave her hand between the top and the coffin itself to prevent it closing. She winced at the pain as the lid pressed down on her hand, but it was worth it to have the added air that was now slipping in to her. Gathering her strength, she eased up, forcing the lid of the coffin upward until she could see out into the room.
The first thing she saw was Mrs. Craveshaw tied up and leaning against the wall. The woman was awake and staring wide-eyed at something at the far end of the room. Rachel tried to see what it was, but all she could glimpse was an open door. The position of the coffin didn't allow her to see much of the next room, only a sliver. She didn't see Pudge anywhere. Half-dragging herself and half-pushing, Rachel began to climb over the side of the coffin, suddenly recalling her first morning in Etienne's house, and the way he had sat up and leapt smoothly out of his coffin. She wished she had the strength to do that right now but considered herself lucky to be able to climb out at all. It was sheer determination moving her, Rachel suspected. She needed blood. She had to get out of there.
A grunt slipped from her lips as Rachel managed to force herself far enough over the edge so that gravity took over and she tumbled to the floor. The rattle and clang of the chain attached to her ankle seemed incredibly loud, despite the music blaring from the other room. She gave herself a chance to catch her breath, expecting Pudge to come stomping up and ruin her escape at any moment.
Rachel opened her eyes and peered toward Mrs. Craveshaw. The woman was now dividing her wide-eyed gaze between Rachel and the other end of the room. Rachel didn't know whether the look on the old woman's face was fear of her or fear for her but knew she had to move.
Not feeling up to standing, Rachel crawled to the woman on her hands and knees, dragging the chain behind her. "Are you okay?"
Mrs. Craveshaw managed a shaky smile. "Yes, dear. But I'm afraid Norman has gone quite mad. He seems to think he's a vampire."
Rachel followed her gaze to the door in time to see Pudge walk past it. The long cape she'd spotted hanging on the wall was now billowing around his body. Fake white fangs flashed at his mouth.
"Crazy as a loon," Mrs. Craveshaw said with disgust, as Pudge suddenly stopped and whirled back the way he'd come, drawing the edge of the cape up to his chin with one hand as he leered into what Rachel presumed was a mirror out of sight in the room.
"I vant to suck your blood, baby," she could just barely hear him say over the music, in a really bad Dracula impression.
"Yes," Rachel agreed. "Crazy as a loon."
"We can't call the police. What would we tell them?"
"Look," Etienne interrupted his brothers, who had been arguing ever since finally freeing him from his office. It had felt like forever but might have only been moments since he had been freed, but every minute wasted was too much to him. He had to get to Rachel. "You can call or not as you like, but I'm heading over to Pudge's house. He must have taken her there."
"You aren't going alone," Marguerite said firmly. "We'll all go."