Page 8 of Going to Hell
The light in the hall grew brighter, and I tried to think of a way to save myself.
“She never plays. No, not like this. What does it mean?”
The orange pool of light on the floor gave way to an enormous shadow that tilted up the nearby wall. Whatever creature cast that shadow was huge.
The thudding footfalls slowed, and I knew I now had the attention of two creatures.
The cold from the stone increased my shaking as did the silence behind me. When the reanimated one spoke next, my blood ran cold at the dire warning in his rage-filled tone.
“Leave now or, mark me, blood will flow.”
A worried grunt came from the torch bearer before the creature lumbered away, taking its light with it. The other one remained quietly watching me.
What did it mean that he could scare away a creature twice his size?
It meant I was screwed, that’s what,I thought as I trembled harder.
“Look at her cower,” he repeated, his tone once again soft and smooth. “Her skin calls to me. Teasing. Tempting. I want it.” He made a frustrated sound and breathed in. “She smells real. She always smells real. Will this never end?”
The remaining light completely vanished while I struggled to understand what the creature with me was saying. The man was clearly insane. He had to be. Why else would he think I wasn’t real? Yet, if he believed I was a figment of his imagination, did that mean he wasn’t going to do anything to me?
My gut said he wouldn’t.
Confusion morphed into hope, and a shuddering exhale escaped me as I took a chance and lifted my head from the wall. The reanimated man paused his pacing, and his chains clinked. But he didn’t attack.
Swallowing hard, I turned and took a step.
“Goddess, pity me,” he murmured. “I forgot to put her hair up.”
The warmth of my long hair disappeared from my neck and upper back. My hands twitched, but I stopped myself from reaching to feel what he’d done. My hair didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting away before he realized I was real.
Keeping my gaze down, I anchored my fingers on the wall and moved forward.
“She caresses the stone. What does that mean? Does she like this stone? No. Never. Game, game, game. Always the same. More pain.”
He continued to talk to himself, nonsensical observations that let me know he saw me even though I couldn’t see a thing.
Between his muttering and the rattling of his shackles as we moved, my nerves felt stretched to the point of snapping. So much so that I didn’t immediately register the bite of pain in my palm. When I did, I unclenched the fist of my free hand, loosening my hold on the key.
He noticed.
“My treasure. My purpose. It must be returned to me. How? How?”
I ran my fingers along the rustic metal and debated what to do. He clearly wanted the key. The idea that he might leave if I gave it to him tempted me. But I couldn’t hand it over, no matter how much he wanted it. If I did, he would know I could hear him, which would prove to him I was real. It was safer for me if he continued to think I was a figment of his mind.
Lifting the key, I tucked it into the wrap binding my breasts.
A thump sounded behind me.
“In all of creation, I thought nothing could bring me so low. Oh, how I have misled myself.”
Ignoring him, I pressed on. A rattle of noise followed a few moments later, and I knew he’d risen to follow me.
My hand left the stone wall and brushed a wooden door. Something inside grunted and rumbled. The creature behind me struck the door hard and fast, and only years of practice kept me from reacting.
“She belongs to none. Never forget.”
The noise inside quieted, a response that disturbed me greatly. What had that kind of power?
