Untouched (Untouched #1)(Old Work)

Chapter Four

Ellen ran a finger down the glossy page, continuing to look at the figures in the group photograph that stared back at her. She let her eyes wonder along the lines, quickly realizing that they were all men. She paused on one of the gentlemen in the third row, closest to the right; his lifeless eyes piercing into hers.

Those eyes. They seemed vaguely familiar!

Ellen struggled to come to grips with where she had seen them previously, and bit her lip. She knew she would remember eventually; she usually did. But nothing irked her more than seeing something that she had come across before and not being able to place it. She struggled for a brief moment more, the throbbing of her heart filling the daunting, silent void around her. Drawing blanks, she resigned the thought and stowed it in the back of mind. With a single finger, she snagged the corner of the page and turned it to the next one. It was a solid page of text, the word History blazoned across the top in bold, black wording. Assuming her normal study position – her head propped up by her hands with elbows on the desk – she began to immerse herself, the words dragging her into the story that was purposefully penned to be told. She was so consumed within the book that she hadn't realised that there was now a figure sitting on her bed, gazing; waiting. His arms were folded and his face neutral as if it was set into stone.

"There is only so much," he said softly, drawing out each word as they came out from his mouth. The words were almost filled with disdain. "That you should believe when reading books." His words sliced through the silence like a knife.

Ellen leaped out of her chair in fright, the trance that held her to the book now broken. She pushed herself up hard against the wall and noticed that the book was pushed onto the floor in her haste. It was now sprawled open to the page with the group photograph. It took every ounce of self-control to not let out a scream from the fright that riddled her body. The man that occupied the throne in the image, the man that had visited her previously, was now sitting on her bed with his eyes taking in Ellen's state. The light from the desk lamp distorted his features, making him look more foreboding than he actually was. Deep, dark shadows stretched across his face and the entertained smile on his face seemed sinister. He had changed clothes, and was no longer donning a long robe. Rather, he was impeccably dressed in a burgundy turtle-neck, three-quarter sleeve shirt and black, long cargo pants. These were complimented by a pair of highly shined black boots.

"Hello," he mused. "It's quite alarming how much humans can disengage themselves from reality when they are gripped by something. It makes it easy to attack them from behind without them knowing that you're there."

He flashed his pearly white, perfect teeth at Ellen and picked himself off her bed. his body weight leaving a neat groove in the blankets. The man moved with grace, light on his feet, across the room and pulled the chair away from the desk. He knelt down and retrieved the book, closing the cover to analyse the front of it. His eyes glazed over as he scanned the aged, peeling-gold title. The words glinted eerily at Ellen. Ellen was still pushed up against the wall, a hand over her heart, trying to regain her elusive breath.

The man furrowed his brows.

"Ah," he sighed. "I'm all too familiar with Hiddlestone's work. He was a prime researcher back in the day but his integrity took a hit and he became lacking. By the time he had finished this particular book, he had entwined so many old wives' myths into it that it can hardly be described as being accurate. Quite frankly, this isn't even worth the paper it's written on nor the glue that holds it together."

He gazed up at Ellen, lifting one of his arms, and motioned for her to sit back down onto the chair which he had now positioned back at the desk. Ellen pushed herself off the wall and complied. He slid the book back onto the desk, open at the page with the photograph, and stood behind her. He reached over her left shoulder, pointing at the picture, and began speaking; his gentle voice carrying her into another world.