Chapter 7
Dickie pushed his way down the hallway, chasing the phantom shadow. It darted under tables, in and out of rooms, him to trip over his own feet just to keep up. He panted and huffed, feeling his chest tighten. Damn, he needed to work out.
Pushing his physical issues to the back of his mind, Dickie crashed through a pair of double doors and bounded into one of the nearby rooms. He was right on the ghost's tail, and he was almost right on top of it until he ran into the room and the door was slammed shut behind him. He spun around in horror, realizing what had happened. He'd been so keen on catching Harris and giving him what-for that he hadn't realized that the ghost might have been leading him into a trap.
Immediately, Dickie began to scratch and claw at the door vainly, trying with all of his might to pry it open. To his dismay, it didn't move an inch. Realizing this, he took to banging his fists on the door and crying out, praying to whoever was listening that he would somehow get out, that the door would open and he could escape. But while the hallways had been nearly flooded with people before, they now stood barren, with not a soul in sight. Dickie stared in awe, his mind reeling. What the hell had just happened?
Suddenly, he felt hot. Not sitting-next-to-a-heater hot, but unbearably hot. The kind of hot you feel if you're standing outside on a humid day and the sunlight is reflecting off of 1,000 mirrors onto your skin. The air had suddenly become thick too, and before Dickie knew it, the room was beginning to fill with smoke. Quickly, he covered his nose with his shirt and spun around, trying to find where the fire had suddenly sprung up from. But the room itself had become engulfed by flames, making the walls dance with glowing orange and yellow heat and making the air in the room unbreathably thick and smoky. Dickie coughed and wheezed, noticing how quickly he was becoming lightheaded and dizzy. He dropped onto his knees and fell to the floor, his eyes burning. He felt his chest tighten and his consciousness begin to fade.
He was about halfway into unconsciousness when suddenly, the room was clear. All signs that there was or had ever been a fire had completely vanished. Dickie coughed and wheezed, looking around with his eyes still stinging. He had had another hallucination, but this time, it had been him that had been the one close to death.
"Consider this a warning, boy," Dickie heard a voice hiss into his ear. "Don't go running head first into things you don't understand."
…
"What the hell is this place?"
Ana walked tentatively down the road, gazing in wonder at the post-apocalyptic world she had been dropped in. She'd woken up in the dirt, cold and alone, and had had no other choice but to explore. But now she was regretting even leaving her spot, staring up at the broken buildings and smog-filled sky. Nothing around her told her where she was. There were no street signs, no store logos, not even an old newspaper flying around in the wind like you usually see in those zombie movies on TV. Ana rubbed her arms nervously. She'd never felt so alone.
From out of nowhere there suddenly came a howling wind, one that nearly knocked Ana off of her feet. She pushed her hair out of her face and looked around frantically, wondering where the hell the sudden change of weather had come from. She glanced around, but all she could see was the broken down city and its never-ending streets. She was about to begin walking again when voice called her to attention.
"Hello, Anastasia."
Ana's head shot up, and she found herself staring into the face of stranger. He was tall, with a neat tuxedo and polished shoes that seemed totally out of place in the abandoned city. He wasn't too bad looking either, sporting dark hair and a manly scruff that made him seem like an athlete. His entire body seemed well defined, and Ana almost believed he was human, until she saw his dark, piercing black eyes. A chill went up her spine, and her breath was nearly taken from her body.
"Am I in Hell?" she whispered, trembling from the cold wind and from the petrifying fear that was piercing her heart.
"No," the stranger chuckled. "This is not Hell."
"Th-then where am I?" Ana demanded, taken off guard by the sight of her breath as she spoke. "I…I don't…"
"Remember anything?" the man finished for her. "Yes, it seems you've lost your memory in all of this turmoil. But trust me, you might be better off without it."
"Where am I?" Ana demanded again. She was beginning to grow impatient.
The stranger smiled, as if laughing at an inside joke that only he understood. "Consider it a version of your subconscious. You're not dead, but you're not alive either. You're inside your own head, and I'm here to collect you."
"Collect me?" Ana stared at the stranger, unsure of what to think. "What does that mean?"
"You haven't figured out who I am yet, have you?" The stranger tilted his head slightly in surprise.
"No, I haven't."
"I'll give you a hint. Who comes to collect souls once they've reached the end of their time?"
"The Grim Reaper?"
"Close."
"Satan?"
"Not so close."
"The Flying Dutchman from Spongebob?"
"Oh now you're just being ridiculous."
"I'm sorry, I have no idea who you are."
"Alright, then I guess I'll tell you." The stranger smiled again, his eyes seeming to burn into Ana's soul. "I'm the one they call Death."
Notes: I kind of borrowed the in-between-consciousness thing from an episode of Supernatural, hope you guys don't mind. Also, sorry for not updating this story in..like...2 years. Actually, I hadn't really planned on finishing it at all until I got a lovely message from a reader, telling me how much they enjoyed this saga. Thanks to them, I was inspired to finish the story. It may take a while, but I'm going to finish it, not to worry. :) Thanks to you all for sticking with me, and wish me luck! -SilvrBlade
