"Are my eyes too blind
to find illusions from deep inside, growing?
What I lost to find,
and what I find brings me here."
-Akira Yamaoka, "When You're Gone"

Chapter 14: Hunted

The cold struck me more sharply than it ever had before, piercing my skin and making me gasp in pain. The figure was out of sight, obscured by a wall of ice that had sprung up between us. I turned around, but the door I had come from was frozen over and unreachable. Rubbing my arms to try to reduce the cold, I looked around. I could still hear sobbing.

"Hello?" My voice sounded weak and strange, as if the icy chamber was swallowing it up. I moved forward slowly. "Is someone here?"

The floor was slippery, and I nearly lost my footing. Taking careful steps, I realized that the sound was coming from the other side of the icy wall. Once I reached it, I examined it from top to bottom. There were no cracks and nothing to suggest a way of getting to the other side. The room was solid, inescapable.

Fear struck me. Trapped. Truly honestly trapped, just like in the room, except that here there was no door at all anymore.

"Let me out of here!" I gasped, not sure who I was addressing. There was no chance that the murderer would listen to me. "Please! Let me out!"

It's safer here.

I spun around, wondering who had spoken. No one was in sight, and I swallowed hard. Was it a ghost? No, the ghosts had an actual presence. This voice was different, more human. It had to be another hallucination. But…was the hallucination actually speaking to me this time?

"Hello?" I asked uncertainly. "Please, who are you?"

Stay here. They will come for you.

"I don't want anyone to come for me!" I cried, feeling a jolt of panic. Who would come for me? The cult? I could just imagine them creeping into the room, wearing their robes and staring at me like they wanted to kill me, or worse. No, I wouldn't stay here and wait around for them. I would never go with them.

Turn back from your quest for the Ultimate Truth.

"I can't," I whispered. "That's where I have to go. It's the only way I can make this stop. It's the only way I can save myself, and Eileen!"

That's what Joseph said. But Cynthia said Joseph is crazy.

I hesitated. I was no longer sure what made sense and what didn't. Could this possibly be right? "What can I do, if I don't go forward?"

Your friends will come for you and show you the way back.

"And…what does that mean?"

You will be free. You will walk out into South Ashfield and never have to worry about the Otherworlds again.

My heart leapt, and sudden excitement filled me with warmth almost strong enough to combat the ice around me. "And Eileen?"

There was a long silence before the strange voice spoke again. She cannot follow you there.

"Why not?" I asked, feeling my hope crack and threaten to shatter. "I can't leave without her!"

She and Joseph will never turn back. They will press on and on until they reach the horrible end that awaits them, and they want you to go with them. That is who they are. You cannot convince them otherwise. They cannot exist if they deny themselves, and so they will always press onwards.

The temptation was so great that I put my head in my hands and ground my teeth together. "If I could just talk to Eileen," I began, but I never finished the statement. I didn't have to talk to Eileen to know what her answer would be. I could see her in my mind and hear her words. She would say that we couldn't trust this world, and that such an easy escape might be a trap. And she was right. She would say that Joseph was the one we had to trust, because he had survived here for so long. We had to move forward.

"I don't trust you!" I shouted at the voice. "You're a murderer! You just want to trick me so that you can kill me! Well I won't listen, and I'm not turning back! I'm going to go forward! Forward, do you hear me?"

The whole room shuddered, and cracks appeared in the ice in front of me. As dark lines, they appeared one after the other, forming jagged letters.

You'll never find the Ultimate Truth
There are those who would
KILL
The answer lies in the numbers of the rooms

"The numbers of the rooms?" I read out loud, frowning at it. The rest made perfect sense, as I knew very well that this was a dangerous place, but what did that part mean?

As I stared at the message, more cracks formed, obscuring the words. The ice cracked and cracked until pieces started splinting off. Soon I was forced to retreat backwards, shielding my face as ice fragments pelted me. When it finally died down, the backs of my hands were cut from the battering they had taken, dripping with blood. I pressed them against my shirt, trying to stop the bleeding.

A jagged archway had formed in the wall of ice, a door leading to an icy chamber beyond. On either side of the door, a large 1 was printed. Yet some deep instinct I could not explain told me they marked the room I was in, and not the room I was entering. They signaled not a welcome, but a farewell.

"The number of rooms," I muttered. "Very well, one."

I crossed through into the next area, and the weeping got louder as I did so. The second room was a terrifying mess of icy crystals that looked like they could impale a person, on the floor, ceiling, and even the walls. My skin crawled at the thought that they might all start moving towards me at once, pulverizing me and splattering my insides across the ice. But I inched forward anyway, both because I knew I had to go on, and because a woman was huddled between two of the crystals.

"Who are you?" I asked. She was lying on the ground, sobbing. Her long, black hair covered the ice around her. As I approached, I saw that she was extremely pale. Her arms were so white that I could see each dark vein. I almost imagined I could see the blood flowing through her, if there was even any blood left. "Can you hear me?"

Her delicate arms strained as she tried to get up. Her head lifted, and I saw a face beneath the flowing hair. Bloodless lips, soulless eyes, and features that I knew I recognized from somewhere. She rose slowly, and I saw that her shirt and skirt were torn and covered in blood. She wailed and drifted towards me, not touching the ground. Pain assaulted my body.

A strangled cry escaped me as I realized she was one of the ghosts. I backed up, trying to see her face, needing to know why I recognized her… She lunged towards me, and I realized it was Cynthia.

My heart stopped for a moment. No. That was impossible. Cynthia had been with me when I first heard the woman sobbing. It couldn't be her. Cynthia was alive, alive—even if I had seen her murdered, she had to be alive. If she wasn't, who was the woman who looked just like her?

Dazed by my confusion, I lost track of the danger I was in and let her get too close to me. With a wail, she darted towards me, hand extended. For a moment, I felt her hand on my chest, and then she had plunged through me like only a ghost could. Pain bloomed outwards from the point of impacted, and an icy chill closed around my heart along with her hand. I struggled, staggering backwards, but she stayed with me. Her hair drifted through the air under its own power, and I flinched when it touched me. I grabbed her arm and tried to force her away from me; her cold touch inside of me was reaching an extreme and turning into a burning pain that made me choke.

Her eyes met mine, and I saw a trace of the Cynthia I had met in the subway station. Spots of blood marred her drawn face, and the glimmer in her eyes that had once been flirtatiousness now was a capricious desire to cause pain. As I gasped for breath and tried to force her hand out of me, she tightened her grip, sending shockwaves of agony through me. I couldn't breathe.

No!

With a last effort, I ripped her away from me and fell backwards. I struck the ground hard and nearly blacked out. Gulping air into my lungs, I shook myself, trying to clear my head before she attacked me again. She was already drifting closer.

I got to my feet with difficulty and looked around, trying to orient myself. I had to get to the next room…

I saw the door past the rows of jagged crystals and forced myself to move. She was following me; I knew she was… and worse yet, the wall to my right was bleeding and cracking, the hated, pasty face of Jimmy Stone emerging to glare at me. I told myself that I could make it. I was going to make it. I wouldn't let either of them touch me again.

He freed himself even as I reached the doorway, and he joined the chase, red robes of the Order billowing out behind him. He was whispering something barely audible, creating a susurrant harmony to Cynthia's continuing wails. I broke into a shaky run, reminding myself distantly that I had to count the rooms. This was the third.

Ice. There was nothing else of note. It was dark in areas and light in others, creating a spectral effect that would have been lovely if I wasn't in such a dire position. I could see the door, not straight ahead of me, but over in the corner of the wall to my left. The floor rippled and wobbled beneath my feet as I ran towards it, tossing me into the air. When I landed, my ankle twisted, and I gasped in pain. A quick glance over my shoulder showed me that Cynthia and Stone had been joined by a third ghost, and I kept moving anyway.

Fourth room. If there was anything to see, I missed it. All I was aware of was the stabbing pain that assaulted me with each step and the chill in my chest that had yet to diminish. I limped forward, telling myself that I had to go faster even if it hurt. I couldn't let them catch me.

The fifth room was not as straightforward as the others. I halted, gasping for breath as I looked around for the door. Everything looked the same—smooth, blue ice with currents of red running through it, like horrible veins feeding this place. I saw a passage leading off to the side just as a cold hand touched me from behind. Breaking into a sprint, I reached it and soon realized to my dismay that it was not the next room. Instead, a labyrinthine passage twisted around, forcing me to make several sharp turns as I struggled to reach the end.

A ghost burst out from the wall beside me, and a blast of heat assaulted me. I screamed as my hair and clothes caught on fire; I raced away from the ghost I dimly recognized as Jasper and batted at the flames. The skin of my hands blistered at the heat, but I managed to stifle the fire and keep going.

Just three more turns and I had reached the sixth room. This had the appearance of a frozen-over area, but as I stopped to try to see what objects had been concealed beneath the ice, my ghastly pursuers reached me at last, and I had to start running again. I felt dizzy, being assaulted by pain all over my body. Part of me whispered that I should just give up, but when I threw open an icy door and burst into the seventh room, the floor cracked beneath my feet.

The bloated ghost of the prison guard pulled itself up, mumbling something. I couldn't understand all of the words, but I made out kill in there. With a grimace, I jumped around him, windmilling my arms to keep my balance, and I kept running.

How many of them were there? In the eighth room, three ghosts appeared suddenly in front of me, shooting towards me and grabbing me before I could move. I struggled, trying to get away from their clammy touches. They pinned me down, and I looked into their eyes. I thought maybe I should recognize them from somewhere—I wasn't sure where—but all my mind could latch onto was the look of utter ruthlessness. They were going to kill me, and there would be no reasoning with them.

Fighting as hard as I could, I managed to free my right hand. They lunged to grab me again, but my hand closed around the hilt of the sword I still carried. I pulled it free and threatened them with it, remembering that it was a weapon to be used against ghosts. They released me, backing up and raising their hands as if to ward away a blow. I turned my head and saw that the ghosts who had been chasing me from behind had stopped, as if not willing to approach me while I held the sword.

Grinning a manic grin, I raised it above my head like a torch and limped my way into the ninth room. The ghosts kept their distance; if one began to approach, I slashed the blade in its direction, causing it to retreat. I was safe, now, safe. Letting out a sigh of relief, I looked straight ahead, not wanting to study the ghosts any more than I had to. There were so many of them—could they all be the murderer's previous victims? If I understood correctly, that meant that there were nineteen. No, eighteen, unless the madman himself had joined them.

Halfway across the room, I paused and turned to look at them. Cynthia was supposed to be one of the victims, even though she seemed to be alive again, and her ghost was here. What else might I learn from looking at them? What if I saw Joseph's ghost?

They chose then to mob me, all rushing forward at once. I struck out with my sword and knocked several back, but there were still enough to grab me and dig their icy fingers into me. They were dragging me down, down to the ground and down into darkness. Still trying to knock them back with my sword, I managed to get my other hand into my pocket and around the revolver I had taken. I pulled it out and fired wildly, not sure it would have any effect even if I managed to hit something.

It was just enough.

The ghosts' hold on me lessened slightly, and I was able to fight my way free. I charged forward, running and fast as I could and gripping my weapons so tight that spasms of pain shot through my burned hands. They were right behind me, howling and wailing and whispering, gnashing their teeth and clutching at the air with their lifeless arms. If they caught me…

My lungs burned and it felt like there was a tremendous pressure on my chest. I choked for each breath as I made it into the tenth room and squeezed an extra burst of speed out of my aching legs. I could do this. It felt like it would kill me, but I could do it because the alternative was certain death at the hands of the ghosts. I could barely see; everything blurred together in my hazy vision. The next door was just a few feet away. I had to keep running. Another icy, burning breath. Choking, wheezing, but just enough energy to propel my legs forward. Jolts of pain as my weight rested on my ankle, but I needed another step, just another step. Hands screaming in pain at being forced to cling to these weapons, but they were all that could protect me. One more step, almost to the doorway. My thoughts were unfocused, fading. I couldn't remember why I was here. Couldn't remember why these ghosts were chasing me. My name…couldn't remember my name… It didn't matter. All that mattered was another step, and then another. The doorway was getting closer and closer.

Eleventh room.

I could see no doorway. My mind cried out in despair, but I didn't have the energy to do anything except stumble forward. There had to be something. There had to be…

The unearthly light of the ice vanished, leaving me in utter darkness. Silence descended over me, and I hoped that meant the ghosts weren't chasing me. But why was it so dark? I couldn't think… Unable to go another step, I collapsed on the ground. The ice was cool as my chest heaved against it. It felt so good to be still, to let my aching muscles and stabbing injuries have a rest at last. Only my hands refused to relax, wrapped around my weapons and refusing to let go. I lay there, feeling drained and weakened. I had to get up and keep going… There had to be a way out…

The numbers of the rooms… My thoughts stumbled around through a fog. Why had I been supposed to count the rooms? If this was the last room, was it significant that it was the eleventh? A fuzzy image formed in my mind. It was something I had seen once, something in a forest. Earth was all around it. Some sort of box, long and dark, in a hole in the ground…

Numbers… the 21 Sacraments… the Holy Assumption… 11/21…

I focused in on the image of the coffin, and a hysterical laugh escaped me. Oh, I was in a lot of trouble. My lips opened, numbly trying to say something that would sum up my situation, but I seemed to have forgotten all obscenities and found myself laughing instead. I had been so convinced that this was the way to go, that the other way was the trap. Yet here I was, in room eleven, the number of the murderer. He had even been kind enough to have his Otherworld alert me that I should count the rooms, and I still hadn't picked up on it until it was too late.

Through the darkness, I heard a footstep.

My laughter cut off sharply, and I lifted my head to look around. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness just enough that I could see a distant figure moving towards me. "Who are you?" I croaked. With several deep breaths and a lot of straining, I managed to sit up. I lifted my sword and revolver. "Don't come any closer…"

The shape melted away, and my shoulders tensed. I didn't trust it. I didn't trust anything in this place now.

The sound of footsteps came again, this time from behind me.

"No…" I told myself I had to turn and face my stalker, and that I had to try to fight, even if it wouldn't work. But an unreasoning fear had swept over me, washing through me with no explanation. Terror and panic rose up to choke me, and I ducked my head as my blood ran hot and then cold in turns. I was no coward! I could overcome this!

"No… no… no…"

The tiny voice was desperate and pleading. It took me a moment to realize that it was my own. It was frightened of something, something strangely specific. Not death—the voice felt a strange calmness in response to the thought of being killed. Yet the menacing figure lurched through the darkness from behind held a special terror for it nevertheless.

Get up! I ordered myself, trying to rise. Face it! Fight!

"No…"

I cowered as my limbs disobeyed my instructions for them to help me stand up. My hands were still clenched around my weapons, but I didn't know what good they would do if I was facing the wrong direction. I tried to move, fighting against the irrational voice that counseled hiding, as the footsteps got closer and closer.

I could sense a presence in the air now, a figure right behind me. Even as I fought myself, a hand clapped down on my shoulder. The icy touch of the dead leached my strength away from me, and I slumped. The mad voice that kept whimpering and refusing to struggle seemed resigned and hopeless—or hopeful? Hopeful of what? That at last this would be the end? That I would find peace at last?

But I don't want to die! I protested against the voice, twitching as my paralysis started to leave in face of peril. The dead hands gripped me tighter, holding me still, and I imagined I heard a voice whispering into my mind, daring me to turn and face my destruction.

Turn. Look at me. Look at me!

I shook my head, not wanting to do it, but my assailant had hit upon the idea with some sort of insane glee. Cold hands moved me with an inhuman strength, forcing me to turn around. My stomach dropped. Even in the darkness, I could tell that I was looking straight into a gun barrel.

Slowly, with dread creeping into every aspect of my being, I looked up into the face of the dead man who had attacked me. For a moment, I saw his eyes staring back into mine… Then there was nothing but the sound of the gun firing, and terror, and pain.