I'm a horrible updater. I know I can only (hopefully) make it up to my dear readers by posting two chapters. Life is relentless, work is ruthless. Alright, I must confess. My story has taken an entirely different route. I do hope everyone enjoys. Please, do let me know how you feel but tread softly. Be sure to keep a look out…

Chapter 15

A shot of terror bolts through me as I'm electrocuted awake by the ground's frightened tremor. Its shrugs involuntarily to dislodge the mounting fear. The stone wall sweats feverishly as the ceiling shudders overhead. I rise slowly. A hollow boom swells around the hall, through the gaped bars and into my cell. The sound is immense, deafening were it not muffled by the level above.

A storm?

Another vociferous clamor then fizzle of dying static confirms my suspicion. Unless a war is waging above me there's no other logical explanation I could conjure.

"He really should turn the T.V. down." I mumble as I stretch onto my tip-toes to observe through the bars, mouth parted and breath ragged.

A menagerie of underground creatures scamper their way across the dry spots on the cement. Few are landlocked but most caught in the deep pools. It leaves them batting their soaked wings and buzzing near silent pleas for help. I watch as a flying beetle whirls upward, weighted by wet wings. It dives down, hitting solidly onto the bottom of the puddle. It is a snapping sound of exoskeleton being crushed. It shoots upward again, delirious from the impact then dives into the pool once more. Its dying wing beats tread the surface like a failing motor trying desperately to start.

I listen to the fading.

Moths burn themselves on the flickering light bulbs, scorching in defiant sizzle, they burn. A line of their dried corpses splatters the fluorescent tubes like thrown paint. The hall is alive with retreating creatures. I can hear them all. All their legs, all their wings, the movement of their hard skin. The itching of their spiked feet cackling as they scratch and scrape across the ground. I can hear their tormented moans…that plaintive whine of such a small life…of such a stolen life.

I wish I were them.

They can hide.

"At least you can hide."

I slam my fist against the steel.

"At least you can fucking hide!" I scream.

"Burn, you bastards, fucking burn! Let freedom fucking drown you!" I pause to hammer the air with a forceful downward blow.

"FUCK!"

My own desperation terrifies me.

Movement around my ankles. I look down, rats. Many of them. Beads of water hang from their whiskers as they haunch their damp backs. I do nothing. They don't bother me. I am not considered much more than a heat source. Furry mounds sit below me, drying saturated faces with dirty claws.

There is a flood.

I glance at their homes in the wall which is undoubtedly inundated with water.

"Strange. Never thought it would be drowning."

My fingers clutch the bars.

"Not by water anyway.."

I let go and rest my head below the bars. A tune somberly drifts toward my direction. Its tone deep and not unlike a machine gun's rasp. The inside hollow of his cell makes it sound closer. No joy nor pleasure can be extracted from his melody. A voice of pure boredom. Something burns impatiently behind it.

"I'm sing-ing in the rain…just sing-ing in the rain…"

My head perks.

"…what a glor-i-ous feel-ing…!"

Wetness on my arm. I look up. Tiny drops of water slip through the ceiling's crevices. Dotting my arms, one landing in my eye.

I blink rapidly and start to laugh, loudly. I hear its echo filter into the hall. I rush the door, singing, my left eye batting fervently.

"I'm hap-py again! I'm laugh-ing at clouds! So dark above…"

I stop at the those words.

"Lovely voice." The voice is strangely quirky. Hitting certain syllables with unsuspected pitch then bringing a deep and menacing undertone, a true tenor.

"You're a veritable Gene Kelly." I retort.

His laughs disingenuously, enunciating each 'ha' with mechanically painful mock.

I slide to a sitting position, momentarily scaring the rats, who soon scamper back to curl around my freezing feet.

"How…how's the established order treating you, mm?" His voice is brass crackling, the violent embers bashing themselves vicariously against his brazen.

I pause to think.

'Much kinder than you, my friend.'

"I tried to push for game night…I don't think we'll get it."

I stand back up to see who I'm communicating with.

He laugh is frantically high and hysterical. The rushed maniacal outbursts of a man who can not amuse the situation fast enough. I watch his scars work their folds. Suddenly I suspect becoming a target. Silently I revel at his fervor.

'I dare you to test your will against mine…'

"Tell me, is it…is it that Crane is as small as the rest of 'em? Ah, mm?" I watch him nod his head and scrunch his scars into a giant red clot. I follow the glint of his yellow teeth, a sick, hardened ichor.

A shot of pain soars through me, I feel my cheeks burn.

"In comparison to your budding sanity?"

"Ah, ah, ah." He clicks disapproval at me with a paint grimed hand.

The venomous voice hisses, drawling it out in deep contemplation. I wonder if just possibly, there is a man more frightening than my dear Doctor.

He sounds closer now.

I listen to him clear his throat, more so to catch my attention.

His head cocks to the side. I catch a fleeting shimmering of a red tongue moisten a plump bottom lip. The action makes me wet my own in doubtful curiosity.

"You see, a guy like Crane needs…a certain type of handling…ah, you don't look...built for the job." His hands cringe reflexively, as if urging his next thought.

"I just may surprise you." I spit.

Transfixed as I watch him smack his swollen lips as he paces his cell, tonguing the inside of his paunch scars. I admire the swift awkwardness of his gait, accentuated by his high, square shoulders. It is a quick, physical reflection of his rapid thoughts which seemingly ignites the space between us.

Despite his unmistakable scars and haphazardly painted face, I can not avert my gaze from his eyes. Where his eyes should be. I look for irises, but can only focus on the whites. They are dashes upon two bottomless ink blots. They radiate ghoulish quality, a milky apparition as they appear to make the background retreat.

Disgruntled, guttural sounds chill my spine as another loud boom resonates from above.

"You see, a guy like me…"