"Where am I…?"

Rows and rows of red velvet theater chairs appeared before him, tucked away in darkness as light shined only from an elegant lamp on the small stage. The annoying squawks of a nearby crow perched on top of a dresser mirror placed in the middle of the stage filled the silent void that was this mysterious place. Ancient wood floor boards creaked underneath him with each step up the stage's stairs. He would have grabbed the stairs' railing if the wood didn't look like it would give him splinters.

A fancy, golden cord next to the dresser dangled from the high ceiling above which was not there before he came upon stage. It swayed side to side gently even though there wasn't any kind of draft or breeze in the enclosed space. Russel grabbed the tasseled end of the rope and gave it a little tug. The chime of a small bell rang throughout the room. The blackened out mirror revealed an image to him as the chime echoed into the distance. Not a still image, but a video feed of an unknown creature's eyeball. Yet, there was no type of video equipment or wires connected to the dresser to make that possible. Unless the equipment was hidden off-stage somewhere or behind the red curtains. The eye never directly looked at him. It twitched and moved about in a spastic manner without pattern.

"Nasty Doctor N," a loud and raspy voice muttered to Russel from the mirror. "He hurt poor, little Russel…"

"Who are you?" said Russel to the eye. The image of the eye was too zoomed in for him to tell what creature it belonged to.

It answered, "I am the CROW, of course! I will get you out of here." It paused for a brief moment then said with amusement in its voice. "Unless Russel want to stay?" The Crow continued when Russel responded with silence. "Ah! I thought so! There are two doors leading out of this place. One of them will simply take Russel back where he belongs. But behind the other one, there is a GREAT REWARD for him! It's something he always wanted, something he longs for every day…"

Russel examined the left side of the stage, then to the right but saw nothing of interest. "Where are these doors? I can't see them."

"Just walk back to the right side of the theater," The Crow replied, "My dear Russel can't miss them."

As ordered, he stepped down from stage and walked back to where he started from. To Russel's surprise, there were two normal looking wood doors just out of sight of the stage that weren't originally there before. He approached the doors, more than eager to leave this strange place. Russel's steps halted as from the dark depths, two tall and grotesque dolls stood firmly in place while they guarded their own door. Their large heads craned down towards Russel, painted on eyes held emotionless stares as they waited for his next move. A crimson red substance covered sections of the dolls' white porcelain skin and stained their red and white floral pattern dresses. They smelled faintly of copper pennies.

The Crow spoke up. Its voice no longer had an exact location but sounded as if it was all around him. "Does Russel like my girls? I knew he would."

He locked eyes with the doll on his right and 'she' stared back quietly. His skin began to crawl the longer he kept his eyes on 'her', which then turned into sharp needle pricks. Russel couldn't hold eye contact anymore and turned his head away, "Whatever they are, tell them to stop staring! It's rude."

"But they are here to guide Russel! They are the guardians of the doors! They know which door he should enter to get his reward. But there is a slight problem…" The Crow's voice trailed off with uncertainty to it.

"There's always a problem," said Russel, annoyed. "I'm not surprised. Which door should I go through then?"

"I will leave that to Russel's own best judgment," replied the Crow. "But this might be his only chance to find what he had lost, and Russel will never get it back. Russel has only one question and he can only ask one of my girls. He must choose wisely…"

"Fine, I can do that." Russel said. "But I know there's always some Catch 22 with these type of things. What's the catch to this?"

"It's very simple. One of my girls ALWAYS TELLS THE TRUTH...while the other one ALWAYS LIES."

"And I'm guessing you can't tell me which is which?"

"It's something I've forgotten a long ago myself, Russel. But does it really matter? Said the Crow. "One question is all Russel needs to find the right door." And with that last statement, The Crow fell silent and Russel was left to his own devices. One only question, only one correct choice. He could easily fuck up and who know what may happen then. As much shit had already happened to him, nothing could catch him off guard anymore.

Russel looked at the doll to his right then to his left. He needed to ask something that the dolls would know about its counterpart. "Which door would the other doll point me to?" He asked the left doll. Small bells chimed and the right door glowed with a soft, yellow light, indicating the doll's answer. Russel was back to square one. What if the doll was actually lying and that wasn't the other's choice of door? He already used up his only question and it was a fifty-fifty percent chance he would choose right or wrong.

Assuming that the glowing door was incorrect, Russel went for the door on the left. The doorknob turned with ease and the door swung open into the room. Darkness welcomed him like an old friend. He stepped inside and the door slammed shut behind him. A sudden beam of light broke the blackness in front of him. A small, wooden coffee table sat under the light in the center of the room with something on top of it: A vase of flowers. A silver, metal vase full of red roses on top of a burnt orange tablecloth to be exact. The sight of the roses' blood red petals, their beauty, brought anger to Russel. He hated them with a passion. In his eyes, flowers carried only but pain and despair with them. Why did people like receiving those overgrown weeds as gifts?

"Is this supposed to be my reward? Flowers?!" Russel shouted out at the darkness, he knew 'the Crow' could hear him. He stormed towards the table and said, "I hate flowers!" as he flipped the table over. Both the table and the vase clattered on the floor, roses littered the area around his feet. "You lied to me."

The wind picked up and the gigantic, twitchy eye of the Crow appeared from the shadows. Its' voice sounded upset like a parent scolding a child. "Did you really think there would be anything precious waiting for you here? Look at these lovely roses. Just like everything else, in the end, they just turn to ash…" The Crow's eye faded just like they came and the roses wilted in seconds, turning into ash and scattering in the wind.

A door similar to the one he entered through previously appeared on the other side of the room, accompanied with a soft bell chime. Freedom, sweet freedom. The heavy scent of mothballs wafted underneath the door when Russel approached it, he could feel the air temperature drop dramatically.

A gust of wind rushed pass Russel and forced the door open. He was staring at the candle room inside the King of Maggots' home. He entered and closed the door. The mothballs smothered the smell of flowers and ash. The King was nowhere to be seen and the house seemed the same like when he first arrived here. No drastic changes except for one candle at the end of the row of candles he had blown out days ago. Or was it weeks ago? The drugs that the hospital gave him must have messed with his head. If this was like the last time, he would just have to blow out another flame and then cut his fucking arm off. Russel shuddered, feeling a small pang of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach as the memory repeated in the back of his mind. Maybe the result would be different since he came here another way? Well, he wouldn't get anywhere by asking questions.

"Here goes nothing," the man muttered as he leaned in over a candle and blew out the flame in a single breath.

Russel opened his eyes and, looking down at his hands, flipped them over from his palms to the backs. His skin tone now lacked pigment. His whole body had been painted monochrome to contrast his black surroundings. The sound of something wet being squished repeated between someone's hands filled the nothingness. His grey body illuminated the darkness around him. Russel walked ahead into the unknown. The squishing sound grew louder as he drew closer to the source. The noise was coming from a black body bag. It rested on top of a mound of bloody limbs inside a rustic dumpster, wiggling to and fro like a trapped animal.

The stench of decay and iron could bring nausea the strongest of stomachs and Russel was no different. He held his breath as curled his fingers around the bag's cold plastic and pulled it down to the ground. The thrashing ceased when it fell over on its side with a heavy thump. Someone obviously wanted to get rid of a body but didn't want to burn or bury it. Russel gripped the bag again and flipped it onto its back, exposing the zipper that ran down the bag's length. He took the zipper in hand and pulled on it, shaking his head at himself. He must be insane wanting to know the contents of a body bag. Like a body wouldn't be in there. With the bag now open, Russel slowly parted the plastic flaps to find…

his own dead body.

His white eyes shot open with a startle and he gasped for precious air, frantically searching around his new surroundings. He rose from the bag like a reanimated corpse and he looked at himself. His hands and arms were caked with smudged, bloody fingerprints. He had to bend his fingers several times to believe that they belonged to him. A simple, red plaid shirt Russel had been wearing was littered with holes from his stab wounds. But somehow, he was perfectly fine besides the large amount of his own blood on ¾ of his skin and clothes.

Russel's mind still swam about in a fog, trying to wrap his he around all of this. A scream, a woman's scream of pure anguish tore through his ears. It was like sharp claws ripping apart his brain and the fog that consumed it. The familiar stench of old blood and rotten flesh filled his lungs again. It seemed that breathing in fresh air was a luxury for only happy folk. Four cream colored padded walls and an old, dilapidated wood door formed the room around Russel. The room looked unused for years, or even decades. A note stapled on the wall got his attention: My name is Russel Hobbs. I live alone in this two-bedroom flat… It was his own suicide note but now with blood droplets soaked into the paper. The good doctor either wanted his death to look like another suicide or just hung the note up like some sick trophy.

"You treacherous, dirty bastard!" Rage coursed through his veins. He dug his nails in his palms hard enough to break the skin. "I opened my heart to you and you stabbed me to death in cold blood! You'll pay for this, I swear you will…"

He felt so stupid. Stupid for trusting a slimy snake like that doctor. That doctor was bad news straight from the beginning. Then two and two clicked together in Russel's head. Doctor N killed him but he came back to life hours later. The King of Maggots was right, he was certainly immortal. Alanah; she told him she was seeing the doctor for regular therapy sessions what became of her? He hoped the young lady didn't fall to the same fate as he did. She was truly a nice girl. Chatty but nice.

Revenge was a dish best served cold, and Russel was willing to give the doctor a full course meal. But he wasn't dumb enough to go charging in unarmed. He either had to find a weapon or create one. A silver, metal pipe plunged deep in the chest of a decaying black-haired woman gave off a shimmer in the flickering light. He was about to take the pipe from the woman but he froze in place when he realized who it was. It was Alanah. Her body slumped against the wall and blood covered her nurse scrubs. Who knows how long she was down here. Russel reached up to touch her face but retracted it. No amount of sorry would bring her back. Only the downfall of her murderer would avenge her death.

Russel grabbed the pipe and pulled in out the woman. The motion caused her to fall over onto her side. The pipe had a nice, sharp point to it. If long enough, could make a low grade bastard spear. Russel chuckled to himself as he smacked the bloodied pipe against his palm. He felt his sanity slipping with each passing minute.

The ancient door to the padded room creaked open. He was surprised that the doctor kept it unlocked but then again, he was supposed to be dead. Why lock doors for the deceased? The shrieks of agony continued outside the so called safety of the side room. The smell of death was much stronger out here.

The whole building appeared unfinished as if construction progress had stopped and was left to rot for years under the hospital. Lucky for the doctor, no one would even consider coming down to this creepy place. Yellow-orange lights barely kept the place lit up and the shadows looked more menacing in this color of lighting. Wires bolted to the ceiling ran down to a gold picture frame with the painting of the Mona Lisa in it. No, it wasn't the kind of painting Russel had seen before, only heard about. The wires kept the woman's neck and arms in the right position even through rigor mortis. The perfect garb and make-up made this woman into the spitting image of the great Da Vinci painting.

No amount of make-up could cover the bloody fluid seeping out the nose and mouth or prevent the eyes from bulging out their sockets. It was like the Living Paintings series but instead was a woman's body tied down to a wooden chair. The Birth of Venus, the Girl with the Pearl Earring, Lady with an Ermine; the whole underground area was full of dead women posed to look like famous paintings. Russel's nose curled at the sight. The doctor was killing off his patients for his dirty pleasures. He hated violence and sexualized violence was the worst of the worse. He couldn't let another woman die in the doctor's hands.

"You're going to pay for this, you bastard," said Russel as he tightened his grip on his pipe. He passed through the morbid gallery of dead, and sometimes naked, women. It was time to end all this insanity once and for all. He followed the screaming to a back room separate from the doctor's human gallery. Russel pressed his back up against the wall and peered into the room.

"I don't need eyes to enjoy your fear, dearie." Murdoc said to the woman tied up in front of him. She tried to turn her head away but the doctor grabbed her face and forcible twisted her head back. His nails dug into her tear stained cheeks. He released her and reeled his right hand back then slapped her across the face. "Scream louder, my dear! Scream your damn lungs out!" He bellowed. She let out a deafening screech.

He sighed and gave a satisfied nod underneath his comedy mask and blindfold, "Yes, this is by far my favorite of songs. Would you like me to dance for you?" He began to sway his body to the screams, humming a soft tune along with it. "Unlike you, I know all art needs to be appreciated. Your scream is like a poem without words. And your body, an instrument. You make every fiber of my body tremble with excitement! Your body will forever be admired by those like me, who understand only the pure and true form of art!"

Russel didn't want to hear another word out that madman's mouth. This had to stop. He rushed in the room and lunged forward, wielding his sharp pipe. The pipe pierced the doctor's neck and exited out his mouth, knocking off his mask and blindfold. Doctor Niccals slowly fell to his knees and shook violently. Blood sputtered out as he clawed at the pipe in desperation.

Russel pulled the pole out the doctor like a sword from a stone and swung the pipe with all his might, connecting with the doctor's head. Murdoc Niccals fell onto his back and stared up the large man towering over him with widen eyes. The doctor shakily raised his hand towards Russel before the pipe, stained now with his own blood, stabbed right into his chest.

"This is for Alanah," Russel twisted the weapon deeper in the doctor's torso. All his movement had finally ceased after that.

Panting and shaking, Russel released of the pipe. Anger made his blood run hot. He wanted to claw at his head and scream to the high heavens. But he did not. He kept himself calm and collected on the outside. He undid the rope bindings holding the woman wrists and legs together. The woman crumpled to the floor after her release. Russel headed for the door but stopped when he heard the woman speak up to him.

"Thank you, thank you so much," she said in between sobs. "He would have killed me like the others. That animal. You gave him what he deserved. But…who are you?"

Russel remained with his back turned to her and responded, "I'm just a dead man walking. Now, get out of here. Call the police. I'm going home."