• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

She moved through a pair of double doors and before passing again into darkness, saw the first few steps of a metal stairwell in the shreds of light.

There was nothing to do but descend.

She gripped the wobbly railing and headed down.

Baby steps from stair to stair, her footfalls causing the metal to resonate.

She went down three landings before the stairs ended.

Standing once more in darkness—no light, no sound, not even the drip of water—and the smell of must and mold overwhelming. She staggered blind for three steps until the point of her knife touched a wall.

She coughed violently.

It took her several minutes to find her way out of the stairwell into another corridor.

She went on, the sense of disorientation growing stronger with every step, the pointlessness of this setting in: she was wandering in darkness in the lower levels of an abandoned building with not the faintest concept of where she was going, or that it might lead her to Luther and Max.

At the next break in the wall she moved through a doorway and out of the corridor.

She could go no further.

Whatever room she’d entered felt small and more confined based upon how it killed the echo of her coughing.

She walked into a table, then several steps later, some object that stood several inches taller than her and much wider.

A panel of glass.

Plastic buttons along the right side.

A vending machine.

This was a break room.

Violet crawled through the dark under one of the tables and unzipped her jacket, which she balled up into a sopping pillow.

She huddled there with her knees drawn into her chest, and it was a long time before she stopped shivering and longer still before her mind and body succumbed and sailed her off into sleep.

Andy

HIS voice was suddenly in my ear, but it wasn’t coming through the tiny speaker.

I could smell the lemon candy on his breath. The peculiar odor of Windex.

I hadn’t heard him enter this room, hadn’t heard his approach.

He’d simply materialized beside me.

"She ripped her earpiece out," Luther whispered. "Now I have to go find her. This is okay. Not as planned, but okay. You’ve been wondering about the control in your right hand, no?"

I said nothing.

"It isn’t on yet, but it will be soon. I have this thing I’ve been dying to try out. Well, two of them actually. A his and a hers. I can tell you think you love Violet, but have you ever wondered how much? How deep it runs? I invented a way to tell. It answers a very primitive question, Andy—do you love the ones you love more than you fear incomprehensible pain? Is there a point where the pain becomes so all-consuming, that if you had the choice you’d shift the agony to the one you love most? We’ll know shortly."

"Stop this," I rasped, and there would have been tears in my eyes but for the severe dehydration.

"Andy, I’m giving her the chance to see what she’s capable of. To see the darkness in her heart and not turn away from it."

A light clicked on, far overhead.

Luther held a spoon to my mouth.

"You’re going to need every bit of your strength," he said. "Eat."

It smelled like rancid apple sauce, but I was so hungry.

He fed me four bites out of the baby-food jar, and I had just begun to suspect that it wasn’t apple sauce after all, but some other putrid fruit or vegetable, spoiled beyond recognition, when he set the jar aside.

"Yum," he said. "Right?"

I was fighting the urge to vomit.

"It’s amazing. What is it?" I asked.

"Beets."

I threw up all over myself.

"That’s disgusting, Andy."

"Honestly, Luther. Did you kill him?"

"Kill who?"

"Max. Her child."

He just smiled.

I stared into his face for the first time in over a year. His hair was shorter than I remembered, only down to his shoulders, but still a coarse, pure black that held an unnatural, quasi-purple sheen, like the skin of a black snake. His face also shone with a preternatural paleness and his teeth were rotting. He popped a lemonhead into his mouth.

"I think it’s great that you’re writing again," Luther said.