Chapter 19 – Into the Nightmare

When she told him her destination, the for-hire coachman looked at Myria oddly, muttered "It's yer fyun'ral miss," and set off. She found her thoughts slithering past, difficult to grasp. At one point they passed a chocolatier, and she had the sudden urge to stop for more ammunition. But no. This was not then, this was now. These were not Auditors. Chocolate would not work.

She wished Jonathon were here with her.

The coachman refused to actually go into the Shades, and let her off at the corner of Twinkle and Elm Streets. He shook his head sadly. "Mind yerself miss. It'll be dark soon, and the Shades t'aint no place for a lady best of times."

She turned her eyes toward the dusk-darkened warren before her, shuddered, and started forward.

What Myria did not see was that the coachman turned the corner at the next street and halted, stepping down and leaning against the wall near a doorway. Something about the process of leaving his coach changed him from the merely rough working-class figure he had seemed before, to the kind of face that smiles with their teeth but not their eyes.[1] He spoke to the darkened entrance.

"Just like yer said Snakes. Though how yer guessed they'd send the lady's beyond me."

"Call it a hunch, and it could've gone wrong. Did you have the baker followed like I said?"

"Said I did, din't I Snakes? Sparkles will let us know if he ran to the Watch, but he sure didn't come this way."

"And she came straight here?"

"We went straight from that bakery, din't stop not wunst. That greasy palm-rubber was right, they must have been keeping it there."

Snakes leaned out of the shadows. Contrary to his nickname, he was actually rather handsome at first glance. No slitted eyes or reptilian features to be seen at all. He could have gotten the moniker because of his ability to slither around through the nasty underbelly of The Shades, or for the twisted plans he came up with, or even for his cold-blooded approach to executing those plans.[2]

He scratched at his cheek where a bit of skin flaked off.

"A shame for them. We could've handled all this clean-like. A cryin' shame." He scratched at his arm, dislodging another small patch of dried dermis. "Well, the boys've cleared the way to the snatch point. No need to worry about the rest of the riff and raff interfering. You keep your eyes peeled. I'll see you back at the flat." He leered. "This works, and we're gonna be set for life, living like kings in Genua or what have you."

"Hah, we'll havter live in Genua, Snakes. The Watch or the Guild get wind of this, and the whole Sto Plains will get too hot for us. Yer gambling a lot on this haul.

"Big risk, big payoff. Now off with you."

When Myria reached the corner she had memorized from the letter, it was fully dark outside. The Shades was not known for well-lit streets, and attempting to keep to the light just made you a clearer target anyway, so the demand for better lighting never went very far.

But darker than that was behind the eyes. Her body was going through what humans called "Fight or Flight Response", but she was no fighter, and flight was not an option. To actually force herself each footstep closer to this point, she had to override one terror with another. To beat down her personal terror with the terror of what would happen to Jessica. The strain was incredible and battered against her with every step. Her internal focus to achieve that was the only thing that kept her from jumping out of her skin at the voice behind her.

"Now miss, dun't turn around. You have what we asked for? Jus' nod nice and slow." Myria complied. "Good girl. Now. You and me are going to go for a little walk around the corner here where we can discuss the arrangements private-like. No reason to get excited. Jus' a business transaction."

"Jessica is unharmed? You will honor the agreement?"

"On my honor miss, not a hair harmed on her pretty head. Jus' business." She heard a soft scratching noise. "Now, if you please." At his prompting, she turned to her left into an even darker alley. "Now miss. I'm afraid we're gonna have to blindfold you. Can't have you seeing where we're going next eh? And then we'll complete our business and drop you both off right back here, nice as you pleases." Another scratching sound.

Fighting down more terror, she felt hands reach around to either side of her head and fit a band of rough cloth over her eyes. Now the darkness was truly equalized. She winced again as he cinched it tight behind her head. "See there, that wasn't so bad." He began to lead her forward through what felt like narrow alleys, then a more open street, and with prompting into a waiting coach. It seemed to go on forever, she had no way of telling where they were at this point, but it was many streets from their starting point.

There she was helped down and urged through what must have been a doorway. She heard a door open and close, felt the change in air from outside breeze to inside stillness. Then the blindfold was removed. She wished it had not been.

The room was practically empty, and dim. It obviously had not been used much. There was a doorway further down the wall to her left, and near that doorway knelt Jessica. Her hands were bound behind her back and her mouth partially gagged. Jessica's grimy face was streaked with tears, showing paler than normal skin beneath. She made small noises, her eyes pleading as she shook her head gently from side to side. As she stared, she realized there was a large purple bruise on Jessica's right cheek, and another on her bare upper arm.

Myria tried to swallow the wave of nausea that washed over her and focus on what needed to be done. She turned back to her escort who had moved into her peripheral view. "You misrepresented the status of the girl."

"Now now miss," Snakes replied, "not a hair harmed on her head I said. And as you can see, she's got 'em all still. Not our fault if she wasn't sensible like you."

Alarm bells were ringing in her head as Myria tried to find the flaws in this. This was not correct. This was, wrong. There was danger here despite the man's seemingly pleasant demeanor. She gathered her resolve. "I still consider this to be a breach of the agreement." She tore her eyes from Jessica to assess Snakes. He was unremarkable, at least from her experience. Nothing in his manner or appearance hinted that he was capable of kidnapping a young girl.

Snakes scratched at his throat, unleashing a gentle burst of dried skin. "Be that as it may, we can stand here, or we can conduct business and be on our way. You brought the gold?"

Hands shaking, Myria brought the velvet bag from among her clothing and pulled out the small gold ingot. Held it out to him. She was surprised to see his hands shaking as well as he took it. She watched as he examined it with glowing eyes before placing it on the table beside him. He looked at her and smiled.

And Myria despaired. There was nothing pleasant in that smile, in those eyes. Without hope she spoke. "You will now let us go. That was the agreement."

"Ah, yes. But you see, the agreement didn't say how much gold. Me, I suspect there is more. Much more. So, you'll bring us all of the gold and then our business will be complete."

Something inside Myria strained. She could not flee, that would doom Jessica. For a moment her hands moved of their own volition, and she was transfixed by the sight of the large knife in her left hand. She looked back at Snakes, who looked amused, not frightened.

"Oh dear oh dear. Are you gonna scratch me with that scary knife?" He laughed horribly. Then his face hardened. "Wouldn't advise trying it." He nodded to her right, and another man, an ugly lump of a man, moved into her view. His face was heavily scarred from numerous evenings of entertainment in The Drum and similar establishments. He had tufts of beard growing at odd angles as the scars interfered with the normal texture of his skin. His eyes held no emotion but watched her steadily. As steadily as the crossbow was held in his hand, aimed at her chest.

Then another man, whom she recognized with a shock as the coachman who had brought her to The Shades, entered from the far doorway and approached Jessica, holding a large butcher-type knife in an obviously threatening manner. Jessica flinched, and her pleading eyes bulged.

"No! You must not hurt her!"

"We don't want to hurt anyone of course, miss." Snakes continued. "Not 'less our hands are forced. We just want what's due us. Now, all you have to do is tell us where the rest of the gold is. It's in the bakery, right?" He smiled reasonably and rubbed his face with a rasping sound.

"No… no… not the bakery. You must not go there. You cannot harm that family any further! It is… it is in the residence!"

He frowned. "You're not making my job easy here miss. We searched that house, tore into the walls, the cellar, everything. We know it's not there. Think again."

"I swear, it is there, in the floor!" Tears flowed down her cheeks. They must believe me!

Snakes shook his head sadly, turning to the man with the large knife. "Butcher, it looks like we will have to take measures to convince the lady we are serious. Let's see how she reacts to seeing the little lady there in pieces." His smile widened. "Start with her right hand. She can probably still bake with just the left one." He pulled a wicked-looking knife from his own belt and began walking toward Myria. "Let's see if miss loverly here actually knows how to use that oversized butterknife in her hands."

Something inside Myria fractured further, and time seemed to slow. The man called Butcher moved behind Jessica and took one of her bound hands. The pressure of the bindings had cut into her wrists already, making it pale blue. Myria could only watch Jessica's eyes bulge and the young girl tried to scream through the gag in anticipation of what was to come. In front of Myria, Snake was smiling broadly as he moved forward, and the ugly lump of a man had a slight dreaminess to his expression.

This was being human. These were humans. Chaotic, selfish, ugly, hurtful, hateful.

She looked at Jessica again, then down at the ineffectual knife still clasped in her own hand. "I am sorry." She whispered. Something inside was stretching, snapping strand by strand.

"You will be, miss loverly, very soon. You should have done what we said."

"I was not speaking to you." Myria said quietly.

Myria continued focusing at the knife in her hand, a hand which opened as the knife turned to dust and filtered slowly to the floor. She slowly raised her gaze to the men before her. In those eyes was the coldness of space, the emptiness of the vacuum.

The finality of death.

"Gods what…what are you?" Snakes whispered as her eyes darkened to gray on gray. He froze, staring at the knife in his own grasp. Slowly at first, then with growing speed, it was turning to dust. With horror he realized that his fingers, his hands, Gods his arms! Were following suit.

His last thoughts were blank horror before his mind was consumed and his entire form collapsed in a wave of grey particles that spread in an inverted mushroom cloud as it reached the floor… to merge with the remains of the crossbow and its wielder, as well as that of the man once called Butcher.

And Jessica felt a sudden absence at the ends of her own wrist as well, to her horror.

There was screaming, but it was Jessica, not Myria.

There were no tears for Myria. Tears were a body thing.

There was no pain for Myria, pain was a human thing.

Myria brought her left hand in front of her face, staring emptily as she watched the fingertips change from alabaster to gray, a gray that washed over her form, purging all color. At the tip of the smallest finger of her right hand, she could see the texture begin to fray. But there was no pain.

She looked back at Jessica, still screaming and crying and retching through her gag on the dust that had been her captors.

"We are sorry."

Somehow more empty than before the Auditor first took possession of it, the body of Myria LeJean turned and left the room.

[1] You know the type. There you are, enjoying a simple night on the town and a smiling gentleman approaches asking if you can spare a smoke or a light. If you wake up the next day with all your organs intact you call yourself lucky.

[2]In fact the other kids had given it to him when he was growing up for chronic eczema, not all nicknames have nefarious origins.