I could barely look her in the eyes.
I felt like a coward and rightly so, but even after braving the horrors they unleashed on us it was the look in her eyes; a blend of heart ache and fear washed over with the haziness of someone who is slowly but surely bleeding out, seeing that in those glossy pale blue eyes is what did me in. "Marty, I-I can't do this. We're both about to die, and I can't take it to the grave. I love you." She said, her voice shaking as she bit back tears. I just pulled her close to me. I didn't need to say it. She already knew.
The violent tremors that had caused the chamber to shake and seem as if it would crumble at any instance had slowly decreased to a gentle rumble, then to nothing, to mine and most likely Dana's bafflement. I figured it was the calm before the storm, something like that. I just wanted it to be over. Dana and I just stood in shock and awe as thick, viscid deep red trickled down, overflowing the stone grooves outlining the fool. "But...I'm alive?" I said gingerly, my voice wavering a little in shock. "I-I don't under-" Dana's voice was interrupted by a intercom system blaring a saccharinely pleasant sounding female voice.
"The ritual is complete. Thank you for your participation, Marty Mikalski and Dana Polk." The woman said in soothing voice, slightly distorted by the buzz of the intercom. I quickly turned to Dana, fumbling to decide what to ask or say, but my mind goes blank, so instead I stare into her eyes with what must be the most pure bewilderment and confusion hoping that she might be able to make sense of things, but her eyes mirror mine, and as the pieces slowly fall into place in my mind, a smile creeps onto my face as a tidal wave of relief wracked through both of us seemingly simultaneously as Dana gleefully pulled my face to hers, and all I can think about is how her lips are just as soft and delicate as I'd imagined them to be, and how amazing they feel against mine. Dana just kissed me. Dana just kissed me. Holy shit. The coppery taste of blood mingling with her strawberry lip balm lingers in my mouth and I still can't fathom what's just happened. It was real, it was more real than anything I've ever felt. I've kissed girls before, and one thing I've come to realize is that a kiss is like telling a story, and this one painted wonderful scenes of the things we'd do together now we've been spared of certain death. It wasn't how people say it is - you finally are with the girl that you've been chasing for so long and it's disappointing, no, it's every bit as great as I'd hoped and she is every bit as passionate about me as I am about her. Fuck yeah.
"That was almost as cool as seeing giant evil gods." I said grinning, before kissing her again, excitedly lifting her off her feet into my arms and promptly setting her back on her feet seeing her wince. "We made it, Marty, we made it." Dana said joyfully, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist and her face pressed against my chest, where she remained as the relief fizzled into conflicted despair. A hidden elevator emerged from the stone wall, and two men dressed in all white stepped out and informed us they'd be escorting us, leading us down a long hallway that reminds me of a hotel a little bit. "She needs medical care," I explained to the men, as if it weren't obvious.
"We'll see her to the infirmary. She'll be fine." A gruff man with pale ginger hair and a stubbly goatee says. The infirmary wasn't far, but as the adrenaline faded the blood loss seemed to be catching up with her as she gripped my arm for support. As we neared the end of the hallway and approached a turn, she didn't protest much when I just picked her up and carried her. She felt so fragile and weak, it was almost unfamiliar to me. It stung a little bit where her fingernails had dug into the skin on my arms but it was reassuring, because I was already pretty freaked out when I moved my hand to carry her more steadily and felt warm, sticky blood caked through her clothes. I felt a little over protective as I laid her down on a padded chair that flattened as a woman who introduced herself as Dr. Weber pressed a button on a remote. I wasn't particularly keen on handing Dana off to the same people who killed our friends, but I didn't really have a choice. They lead me into an empty locker room, where I rinsed the gore and filth out of my hair and skin. I dried off and rushed to put on the grey t-shirt and jeans they laid out on a bench just outside the showers so I could check on Dana. I made my way to the infirmary when another man dressed in all-white stopped me and insisted on escorting me there. Figures they wouldn't let the guy who just damn near ruined their entire set up run around unsupervised in their facility. I kept telling them I was fine, but a nurse in purple scrubs insisted on bringing me into the room beside Dana's to disinfect the wound on my shoulder, it was a relatively deep puncture wound although it wasn't quite wide enough to need stitches, but there was some dirt in it so they pretty much just doused it with antiseptic and bandaged it and then I was able to go see her. Walking in was a sigh of relief because Dana actually looked remarkably normal, her beautiful pale face and damp fiery red hair clear of any blood and grime that caked her skin just a little while ago, you wouldn't know any of this happened if it weren't for the small welp on the upper left side of her forehead and the hefty bandage creeping up from under the neckline of her shirt. I braved the questionable stain on the seat beside the hospital bed and sat down beside her.
It felt like a dream, like some sort of twisted delirium they've inflicted on us to finish us off, but somehow, it isn't. I still can't shake the feeling though, she looked so flawless sitting there, like she always did, usually it just gave me a sort of warm fuzzy feeling, school-girlish if you may but given the setting it felt artificial and eery – she should have been dead, we both should have been and we're not and it just didn't feel real, hazy and inconsistent like a dream. I wanted to touch her, to verify that this is real, that she's really sitting there in stable condition and the world isn't ending, so I took her hand in mine. "How are you feeling?" I said.
"I'm alright." She replied softly. I didn't get the chance to say anything else before the doctor interrupted us.
"She has 12 sutures in her chest, you can take them out after 14 days, just snip them on the side and gently pull them out one by one. Change the bandaging daily for the first 5 days. She should be fine." She said as she briskly left the room. She seemed to be in a hurry to get out, and my guess would be she wanted to avoid the woman who walked in just after she left, a short blonde curly haired woman dressed in a pale pink button-up shirt with just a hardly noticeable speck of blood on the sleeve, white slacks and scuffed and stained white and blue running shoes, her hair in a messily frizzy pony tail. I could see why the other woman wanted to avoid her, she scared me a little bit too. Something about the way she held herself just seemed to ooze contempt and hatred, sugar coated in the way that people talk to children. She obviously looked like a harmless soccer mom as her most threatening, but I had a feeling it was on purpose - to make her look less threatening, and a failed attempt at that. She spoke with a slight southern accent in a way that could be interpreted as comforting if taken out of context, but only sounded saccharinely bitter in the reality of this situation.
"Hello, allow me to introduce myself, I'm Wilma Johnson. I'm here to propose to you a... Business agreement, you could call it." She said calmly. As she neared the end of her sentence every inch of my body was screaming to take off running, but running was beyond our options at that point. I could tell by the way Dana tensed up and subtly pursed her lips, She felt the same way a thousand times over. She was plainly trying to disguise her disdain for the suspicious woman, but Dana was so transparent it was almost painful to watch. I cleared my throat to draw attention to myself, somewhat foolishly thinking I could keep a straight face and keep Wilma focused on me considering I'm a better liar than Dana, not by much, but I still am. The way her eyes heavily fell upon mine and threatened to burn through my skull, any confidence I might've had flew out the window all I wanted to do was run. But we couldn't. Running was certain death for the both of us. We had to hear her out. We had to play nice. I just nodded because I wasn't sure what to say.
"I suppose you're lookin' for answers as to why you were spared, Marty."
God, I can't stand the way she says my name. She killed our friends and tried to kill us and now we're on a fucking first name basis.
"The short answer is, you don't fit the role well enough, sweetie. You must fit the role at the time of death, otherwise the sacrifice is worthless, so you were omitted from the ritual. Given the lack of time to inflict chemical personality reconstruction before eliminating you, we didn't have a choice. Since the incident, we always have our back up measures, an alternate, last resort sacrifice to appease the ancient ones. Now, by infiltrating our facility, you show great promise as a potential employee. Is that something that would interest y'all?"
She fucking called me sweetie. Hopefully if I throw up it'll get on her.
I glanced over to Dana and my eyes meet hers and an unspoken agreement is met immediately by the mutual disgust on our faces. I glance back to Wilma, and her head is craned ever so slightly and her lips are curled into an inviting smile, but her eyes are in an ever-watchful glare, like a predator waiting to entrap it's prey and for a moment I wonder if we are going to die in this place after all. When the silence becomes too heavy I clear my throat and carefully speak.
"No, ma'am."
And I've fulfilled my yearly quota of good manners. Her stare doesn't soften as she assures us it's alright that we didn't accept their, to put it her words, 'generous' offer, but after dragging on about that for a damn hour she agrees to let us go with the agreement of confidentiality at risk of our lives, so basically they just kill us if we tell anyone, and she steps out of the room for a minute before returning.
"Alright. We won't tell anyone anything about this." Dana says gingerly in a cautious monotone. Wilma smiles and hands us each a hefty stack of paper forums and a pen. Dana and I scribbled away our free will in stagnant silence.
We got into a black non-descript van and are blind folded for the ride back. They un-blindfolded us and basically pushed us out of the van and speed away. It wasn't cushy but I was practically drunk on relief, I pondered what would happen when that feeling wore off and we were back to our normal lives. I was too tired to entertain that thought. Looking around I realize we're outside of Dana's townhome. "I guess I should-" I start. "Hey Marty, why don't you stay? I-I don't want to sleep alone." Dana said nervously. "Sure, I don't really want to either." I said. Dana unlocked the door and I followed her upstairs. "You can sleep in my bed, I think we're past the point of being embarrassed if my roommates think we hooked up." She says nonchalantly, but I can tell it's actually a pretty big deal for her by the subtle flush on her cheeks. "Oh please, you know you just want your roommates to think you could get your hands on a fine piece of ass like this." I joked and Dana playfully punched me in the arm, and after that we just crashed onto her bed, hardly paying attention to the stabbing pains of our injuries as we hit the mattress with hopes of a dreamless sleep. I wouldn't want to see what I'd dream about after witnessing something like we did tonight.