Chapter Tease 1st Draft

Darkness surrounded by the intense pain in his neck was pierced by the distant ringing of bells. Church bells. A wet chill permeated his clothing while he lay on the grass of somewhere unknown. Opening his eyes was useless. His head was covered by dark bag with the drawstring pulled tightly around his neck. The loose end of the drawn string tied to ropes that were binding his hands and feet together.
To somebody walking by, it would look as if he was a human bow bent over backward with his hands and feet tied together and connected to the drawstring around his neck. Hogtied. All he could do was lay there. Any movement tightened the neck binding and began to strangle him.
         He didn't know how much time had passed but knew it was getting colder. Wherever he was, he knew it was daylight when he woke earlier. The sun warmed him as he lay there. That warmth had gone now. The chill was getting worse and his clothing wetter from settling dew. His body began to shiver. It didn't take long under the right conditions for hypothermia to settle in. Ian knew his quivering body was a self defense mechanism initiated by his brain to combat the onset of hypothermia. Darkness closed in.

#

"Is he dead?" The female voice woke Ian. He felt as though his bones were frozen solid and his muscles ached. The accent was undeniably French.
         "You see the breath, don't you? He's alive. Come on, help me." Ian felt the pressure around his neck release immediately, the drawstring had been cut, freeing his hands and feet from the connection to his throat. Blood rushed back into his extremities as they were straightened out to their natural state.
"Are you ok, Monsieur?" Ian focused his blurry eyes as the shroud was pulled from his head. A young man and woman knelt next to him. Night had fallen and he was lying in a cemetery next to an ancient head stone.
"Beloved Maria" was all that was written on the grave marker. The young couple stared at him as he rubbed the rope tie marks from his wrists and ankles. For a moment, he forgot where he was, only concentrating on the soreness caused from his ordeal. Ian looked at the woman, she was beautiful and very young, maybe eighteen from the looks of her eyes and she wore a black cassock with a large crucifix suspended around her neck. The male was a bit older, late twenties or early thirties he guessed and was dressed in the brown robe worn by Capuchin monks.
         "Where the hell am I?" Ian found his voice barely audible when he spoke. His throat dry, he cleared it and swallowed trying again.
         "Where am I?"
         "Monsieur, you are in Montreal. In the cemetery of the Montreal Convent of the Hotel-Dieu. How did you get here, Monsieur?"
"Montreal?! As in Canada?"
"Oui, Monsieur. Montreal, Canada."
         "I don't know. Someone...hit me. Drugged me, I think."
         The woman gasped. "Oh, Monsieur! Drugged you? This is terrible!" Somehow the trite fact that he had been hit over the head, taken thousands of miles from his home and dropped in the middle of a cemetery with his hands tied behind his back and half dead escaped the young lady. Being drugged was the only thing she keyed on.
         "Oh, you are American. What kind of trouble are you in? We do not want your trouble here, Monsieur."
         "Listen, last thing I knew I was minding my business in a library in Warren, Michigan." Ian began to push his feet underneath his thighs to stand. The young man stood up, taking Ian by the arm pit and assisted him to his feet.
         "Thanks." His vision shook as blood rushed back into his head quickly. Reaching out to steady himself, he grabbed the man's arm and stood up straight.
         The man took Ian by the arm and motioned him to begin walking with him. Walking through the dark wooded cemetery, Ian could see a large mansion through the trees being silhouetted by dim light.
         "What is this place?" Ian asked.
         "This is a convent, Monsieur. Over there..." pointing to the right near the bottom of a hill,"...is the Montreal Convent of the Hotel-Dieu, and up there is the Church of St. Maria." The man directed Ian's gaze to the left and atop a hill.
         "The Hotel-Dieu?"‚ It rang through his head. His research flooded back to him. Maria Monk. Rape.
"St. Maria...like Maria Monk?"
         "Oui, Monsieur. St. Maria."

         In all the research he'd done, Ian never came across any documentation of Maria Monk being anything other than an outcast of the Catholic Church and a victim of the very convent he was quickly approaching on foot.
         The mansion rose from behind the wooded cemetery and stood at the bottom of a large hill rising to his left. A circle asphalt paved road circled the grassy grounds in front of the mansion and flowed back out the way it came through the trees.

         Once inside, Ian was in awe of the majesty surrounding him. Figures forged of gold and a Marble statue of a woman holding a rolled piece of parchment dominated the foyer.
This place looks like a cult. Ian held the thought to himself. He still had no idea how he ended up where he was and didn't want to spark any kind of anger in his gracious hosts with his thoughts of idol worship.
         You may shower in here." The male of the two walked quickly down a long corridor and pointed to a closed door with a half opened hand near his waist.
         And this is your room."
         Thank you. But..." Ian's confusion was evident.
         Your questions will be answered soon. Shower. There are clothes laid out for you on the bed in your room. Come back down the way we came into the main foyer and someone will meet you there in thirty minutes." With that, the monk turned, closed the door and was gone.