He opened his eyes to find a wasted space, an infinite boundary, a void devoid of anything but a void of darkness. It was as though he hadn't opened them at all; the effect was disconcerting, even nauseating. Being alive, however fragile a fact, was literally the only truth the could cling on to, and cling on he did, as the distaste he immediately felt for his surroundings was only second to his confusion – a rapidly growing fear, an inevitable terror, that something was horribly off.
He closed his eyes, and opened them again. When nothing happened, he repeated the process. Close, open. Close, open. Still nothing.
Where was he, and how long had he been here?
He felt like a bubble, light-headed and disoriented. It was as though the oxygen supply had been cut off, though it wasn't at all difficult to breathe. Focusing on nothing, staring into blackness and dreaming of elsewhere – in other words, clearing his mind – seemed the only logical thing to do; he imagined each second hypnotising him in a slow trance, relaxing him like a good massage until he gradually drifted back into concrete thoughts and places, or at least got some answers. And so it was that in this position of trying to erase reality from his conscious state of mind, he missed what would have offered him the subtlest of clues, opening the paths to hope and despair at the same time: two orbs, dull as they were, appearing in the darkness like a train approaching in the tunnel, reflecting every candela of illumination like a ping pong player going berserk.
"So, you're awake. " A deep voice suddenly rumbled in the darkness, breaking the silence and his thoughts with a rubber snap. He jumped in surprise.
"Oh! So I was asleep." He found his own voice as naturally as a child picking up a toy, though it was nonetheless a shock to hear himself produce sound when he'd assumed the environment, himself included, was somehow muted. Finding the pair of eyes – they were right in front of him – and putting two and two together, he cleared his throat and directed his attention to his speaker. "Would you please, kind sir, let me know where I am?" However peculiar this person seemed to be, asking him for help was his best shot at getting information, which he was beginning to fear he would die without.
At least, that was what he told himself.
"'Kind sir'?" The headless voice quoted with a tone of unmistakable amusement, even irony, though the pair of eyes themselves remained cold and emotionless. "Since you know me, there is hardly a need for formalities."
Still not used to conversing with a stranger in a pitch-black environment, he nonetheless stiffened. "I… know you?"
Like an automated machine, the response came readily, sharp and ready for offence. "I am your enemy."
Fear jolted through him like an electric shock as those four words registered themselves in his brain. He didn't respond. He couldn't.
His self-proclaimed enemy laughed – a hollow, empty chuckle whose only effect was to intensify the already unnerving atmosphere. "Fear not. If I had wanted to get rid of you I'd have done so a long time ago."
Exactly what his enemy meant by "get rid" was not lost on him, but he wasn't in the right mind to speak. All he knew – indeed, all he had to know – was that he was stuck in the same room as someone who seemed aware of what was going on and, more to the point, was opposed to him. Diametrically, unremittingly and unquestionably.
The prospect that this was some far-fetched nightmare, or even just a melodramatic hallucination, suddenly seemed an appealing one. So clinging on to this final hope, he closed his eyes once again and willed even more strongly for a means of escape. Dear God, he clasped his hands in desperate prayer, please let me out of this haunted memory. I'm just a madman who's seeing things, due at work in two hours. I'm just an unpredictable psychic staying overnight at a mental hospital. I've done nothing wrong. At this he paused to consult his memory. Was it possible that he was being punished for committing some devious sin in the past? He bit his lip, considering. Nothing, not even a faded image, seemed to register in his mind. If he told an unintentional truth about being a criminal, it was likely that his prayer would be ignored. Then again, if he told an unintentional lie proclaiming his innocence, it was almost certain that this agony would continue. In the end he gave up and settled for neutrality. At least, I think I've done nothing wrong. Crossing his chest for effect, he imagined himself sending his prayer before opening his eyes, half imagining a new world unfolding before him.
Nothing changed. The pair of eyes belonging to his enemy didn't express anger or even the slightest irritation. If anything, his enemy seemed even more amused by his actions, gazing at him in what might be said to be condescending at worst, affectionate at best. "Somewhere in the middle," he muttered, voicing his thoughts. It didn't matter if his enemy heard or understood him. For all he cared, his enemy could have taken the shape of a cuddly teddy bear whose offensive power was next to nothing. Nothing mattered now that this was reality. His life was gone.
"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you," his enemy replied ambiguously, flashing a mysterious, calculating expression. "But if I were you, I would trust me."
His head was still rather muddled, and it was still pitch-black in the room, such that he couldn't see a thing besides those eyes. Yet, he somehow knew at that moment with absolute certainty that his enemy had reached out a hand for him to shake, and that the choice he would have to make would matter greatly.
His first instinct was to turn away and run. It had been, after all, an assumption all along that he was confined by four walls. Even if he was to run smack into an obstacle, he'd make sure it was a good accident – in other words, he'd make sure he passed through or passed away. But if this was reality, that could only end in even more pain. And speaking of pain, was danger really an issue? For all he knew, his enemy really was a teddy bear. True, the odds were low, but there was always a chance. Besides, if it was information he sought, then it wasn't a question of safety anymore. Even under torture, he would know more about the character of his enemy, in which case he would be as resourceful as he could and improvise, hopefully turning whatever situation to his advantage. Unless, of course, his enemy planned to lock him in this room until the end of time. While improbable, that was the worst possible scenario as far as he could visualise, since his enemy, however terrifying, was the key to answers.
The key to escape.
His enemy's expression didn't change. At least, it didn't seem to change.
Indeed, within that one moment it took for the handshake to take place, a twitch of the face, a contraction of the muscles, had begun to give rise to a fleeting flicker of the eyes, a sharp intake of the breath, and the unmistakable traces of a blossoming, iridescent smile.