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He struck her a second time in the black—a savage blow to the back of her head—and this impact hurt, but only for a second.

Andy

WHAT broke me out of the agony was the sound of a door opening somewhere behind me. After several seconds, Luther emerged into my field of vision, carrying Violet in his arms across the concrete floor of the warehouse.

"What have you done?" I screamed.

He laid her limp body down upon the wooden gurney that stood ten feet away from mine, and I watched as he buckled in her ankles and wrists and secured her head to the board with a leather strap that ran across her forehead.

Then he came over and cinched down the identical restraint across mine.

"When we begin," he said, "the first thing you’ll do is try to knock yourself unconscious. That would be a crying shame, as they say."

"Luther."

"What, Andy?" He stared down at me through those soulless, black eyes.

"What are you going to do to her?"

He looked over at Violet’s gurney and cracked the faintest smile.

"I love her, Luther," I said. "I know you cannot possibly understand what that means, but there is nothing more powerful in this world—"

"I think I might disagree with you," he said. "I’ve come to the conclusion that fear and pain trump everything. Those are the elemental building blocks of humanity."

"If you honestly think that, how have you not killed yourself?"

Luther looked down at me.

"It is not to be thought that the life of darkness is sunk in misery and lost as if in sorrowing. There is no sorrowing. For sorrow is a thing that is swallowed up in death, and death and dying are the very life of the darkness." He patted my hand. "A German theologian named Jacob Boehme wrote that beautiful sentiment, which your brother shared with me many years ago in the desert. Can you not imagine that in the same way nature and love speaks to the hearts of most people, that this—" he swept his arm, gesturing to the warehouse, the control panel, Violet, the three canyons of scourged flesh down my right leg—"speaks to me?"

He turned away and walked across the warehouse, disappearing through a door I hadn’t noticed before, near where the control panel stood.

Two seconds later, the lights went out.

Her voice came to me through the darkness—terrified, confused, pained.

"Andy?"

"I’m right here, Violet."

"Where?"

"About ten feet away."

"I can’t move."

"We’re strapped to gurneys. Are you hurt?" I asked.

"He hit my head with something. I have a crushing migraine. I heard you screaming."

Though the pain in my legs had receded, it was still all-consuming. I could barely handle it.

"I’m okay," I said through gritted teeth.

"What was he doing to you?"

"It’s not important."

"I’m sorry, Andy." She was crying. "I came back here to find Max and you. Where’s Max?"

"I don’t know. I’m so sorry."

"He’s going to kill us, isn’t he?"

"I don’t know what he wants," I lied.

"I killed this homeless man," Violet said, and I could hear the tears in her voice.

"I heard everything," I said. "That wasn’t you. He forced your hand with Max."

"We’re going to die," she said. "Aren’t we?"

I couldn’t bring myself to answer that.

"There’s this part of me that thinks we’re still up in the Yukon," she said. "Living in those woods. Just you, me, and Max. And that this is all a terrible nightmare. We could’ve been so happy."

"I know."

"We could’ve been a family."

Tears ran down the sides of my face.

"No matter what happens," I said, "when he comes back, just hold onto this—I love you, Violet."

"I love you, Andy."

"There is nothing he can do to touch that."

Violet

OUT of the darkness, a light appeared, shining down into her face from the ceiling thirty or forty feet above her head.

Her first instinct was to crane her neck to the left so she could finally see Andy, but she couldn’t move her head.

It made no difference.

If she stared straight ahead, an enormous mirror leaning against the wall reflected the two of them, ten feet apart and strapped to identical wooden gurneys.

Andy was naked.

His skin held a sickly, gray