Shepherd's Apostle
The world faded into a thick haze, like a memory I wanted to recall but the further I reached for it the harder it was to grasp. The hard carpet dug into my cheek, it was soothing to lie down like this and just put everything out of thought, out of mind. It was impossible to describe how tired I was. But I had to press on.
I couldn't open my eyes. Everything had turned dark in an instant and I was alone, in silence. But for a dull throbbing. My heart, I decided. I felt my steady breath, about the most of my movement that I could manage. Okay, just for a while I'll lay here, then I'll be ready. I couldn't recall where I was headed initially, but I was standing on the ground floor watching the lobby.
There was a charge in the air. Palpable thickness as if something was happening or was to happen, I was on edge. People were presently on their rounds, dressed in clean uniforms, formal. They looked like normal people.
I managed to crack an eye open and gaze blearily into the musty carpet. The House of God. That's what I was looking for. The dull tingle worked its way through my marrow, it unnerved me. I closed my eye and returned to the fresh ground floor, just as people were running. I felt liquid trail across the bridge of my nose and soak into the carpet under my face. Blood soaked the floors, the desks. Organs twisted, bodies crumpled, skeletons splint from skin. The red droplets glistened oddly under the bright lamps.
One of Murkoff's security held a small Beretta between his hands, he turned the gun wildly on the walls and floor. The glass of the upper hall cracked but held against the bullets. I'm sure there should be a deafening clamor, but I can only make out muffled voices, sounds you'd pick up on underwater. He turns his weapon on a colleague as the individual is shredded from the inside out, muscle and lung drench the carpet below his skin. The panicked man shoots the mist as it evaporates.
I open my eyes and stare at the carpet. I want to get up, but the pain in my skull refuses to relinquish its hold. If I lay here in this doorway for too long I will be discovered, and without a doubt, killed.
When I shut my eyes, I'm in a white room with the mangled pieces of a body beneath me, wet blood spilling down the drain of a shower. The water left running swirls the black and reds into anemic pinks.
My eyes snap open and I lay for the longest time gazing at the doorframe across from me, my heart beating fast. What the fuck did that come from? Reports, files I had read too deep into. Too deep. Therapy was going to seem like a vacation.
I waited for the throbbing to subside to a tolerable degree, until I felt stable enough to get up on my feet. I couldn't afford to lose anymore time. The sewers, filthy and diseased, the shears Trager used to tear off my fingers. I had contracted something and it would kill me, unless I got out. I needed X-rays, antibiotics, I needed some real sleep!
Documents flashed through my mind — MKULTRA, the Hypnotic therapy, the Walrider legend, autopsies revealing tumors of lead. I was feeling sick all over again, but I had to push on. Take steps. I was so close, I could feel it!
There was still no way through the blockade of furniture crammed throughout the hall. My hand ached as I recalled the chair that had fallen on it, I learned my lesson. It was rare when that happened, but sometimes I did. I was defeated and I admitted it, I wasn't sure what I was admitting to, but I was done with this bullshit. I eyed the fracture in the wall on my right, metal sheeting had been torn out of the plaster and left on the floor. Looked like a path the patients used, due to the blockade. I squeezed through, first spying the patient, or disciple I should say, bent over a grungy bed and praying. His head low and hands clasped tightly in silent confession, I couldn't make out what he was mumbling about. His lips might've been damaged or he had lost his teeth… or his tongue.
A shiver trailed up my spine, and I held my face as the wave of pain it brought subsided. How long could I go on like this?
Till I die.
I wouldn't die. I refused to. The tangible quality of my old proclamation and what it meant, hit me with such a force that it sent me stumbling back into an empty bookcase. I froze, fearing the commotion would set the man off. He made no note of my presence. I recovered, consciousness whirling. The camera was between my palms, trained on him. The room was simple, only the bed and a nightstand, chair, desk on one side, on the other, a lamp cracked on the floor. What more did he need?
These rooms had originally been the residences of the staff before everything turned bad. Small but cozy, employees provided with everything they would ever need, by the 'non-profit' Murkoff cooperation. Now with the former occupants slaughtered and marinating the halls, the formerly suppressed rise up to take control. How poetic. I realize that not all of those affiliated with Murkoff deserved what happened, there had been good souls concerned for the cooperation's victims. They simply didn't want to see what was happening around them. People were like that. It was human.
The disciples legs were scarred, as were his arms, I imagine that was the least of the damage done. I crept from the room, shutting the door softly behind me. I still was wary of them and what intentions they could have. Trust no one.
It looked as though I went ALL the way around, from where I initially came up the stairs, just to get to this side of the hall. I scoffed, but nothing to do about it. Just keep my steady pace and try not to falter. I at least had a small break, though I couldn't recall what I had eaten ten minutes prior. I remained famish and the humming grew worse, as though there really was a choir in this hall behind one of the doors. I stood beneath the bright lamp and swayed. If I kept my heart pumping, I would be fine.
The hall reserved its featureless standard, the walls extending through the shadows that both welcomed and rejected me. To my left was another lavatory, I poked in and went through the stalls, startling flies from their nest. As I ventured from the glaring lamps, the little buggers gave up their pursuit, further reinforcement that the light remained my greater foe.
One door on my left had a starved and shirtless patient, in prayer as I'd seen the two before. The room was simple as I'd come to expected, bed, a desk, sometimes chairs. The room down from his was much the same, aside from rain and thunder pouring through a shattered window. I gave each room I came upon brief audience, filming the people, before I moved on to the next.
I was shocked by the number of people absorbed in this process. Was it a mass Hallucination driven by MKULTRA? I couldn't tell anymore. It was clear they had faith in Father Martin and his preaching's, but why? Questions buzzed through my thoughts as I tried to piece what I did understand together, but felt I was missing some vital component to the machine. That eerie trill. The sound I heard, a choir or was it a hymn? It didn't matter, maybe they were hearing it. I was tempted to ask what it was, but I feared one might answer. I feared someone would notice me at last, and I would be trapped, lost and confused as they brought about my bloody conclusion.
Aside from the room full of cold rain and thunder, I could see no way out of here. Let alone, I didn't know what I was doing here aside from 'witnessing' the disciples of Father Martin lost to prayer. I revisited the rooms, in perpetual fear that the trance would break. But I had nothing to lose as far as I could see. One room I stumbled into with its withered disciple, holding his head high as he spoke, had a folder placed on the desk beside the door. It was filled with pages, most held a handwriting style I was familiar with.
"I am an unworthy supplicant, who can serve our lord only by feeding our lord. Please take me, Walrider. Let my shepherd's Apostle see it and spread it with his lies for a greater truth. Your time upon the world has come. My flesh longs for your beautiful wraith. My blood is filled with you and waiting to be set free. This is my prayer. Write your gospel in my flesh."
For some reason this absolution unsettled me. What was it he planned to do? I feared the truth behind these walls.
With no other path available, I decided to risk the harsh rain in the window. The patient remained absorbed in his words, and as expected did not notice me as I climbed onto the soaked bed and stepped out onto the windowsill. A flash of light cuts the sky, I shut my eyes from the sting and saw images I didn't want to see. Everything I wanted to forget. I placed my hand on the jagged glass and stared down, my footing uneasy.
Three stories up. If I fell from this height I might not die all at once, but I'll pray for death. The lightening flashed, brightening the courtyard and thunder clashed against the stone building. I forced my feet to move and hold my weight as I slipped along the icy wall of the Asylum. Shapes flashed at the edges of the broken garden, I risked tucking my camera away as a precaution. Light stretched from the windows at my backside, but there was not enough radiance to brave the merciless storm. My heel slipped and I stared down, water trickled over my face and damaged hands. The sky sparked and shrieked, and below, I thought the skeletal shape of a person was there staring up, waiting for my body to fall and hit the pavement, starved to behold my guts torn loose to wash like crème down the drain. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting away my dreams. I focused on the ledge, on the dark coloration of my coat. Water splattered my pants and shoulders, but the eaves kept the torrent from soaking me to the bone.
I trembled with something beyond cold and fear when I climbed into the next window. A lightly decorated room with one bookshelf, a portrait on the wall, and a bed with another of Father Martin's disciples speaking to the Walrider. I didn't want to think of the blessings mad men asked for. Maybe just the simple relief from living and life, maybe to think as other men do? Or maybe for the world to be as they are.
The door of the room was open wide, encouraging me along. I kept caution close as I checked around the frame.
God hates sickness
Was scrawled in blood on the wall in large letters. Candles lit below flicker calmly, despite the draft on my backside. The wall flashed with light as another scream of fury came from the storm.
My left was blocked by stacks of metal shelving and chairs, I wiped the water from my hands as I struggled to fix my grip on the camera. The only relief I could find was that my right hand didn't seem to be swelling anymore, but the index finger and middle finger were stiff and painful to test. I considered myself fortunate, despite it all.
More messages and candles awaited on my right, competing with the artificial light of the corridor that refused to diminish. A cross was drawn on the wall, the blood peeling down appeared fresh. A plate on the wall read simply Chapel. That would be a House of God. The corner bent left and I leaned over to find, yet more candles beside the wall and the message above
God hates money
I spun back at the door slamming shut, and the firm click of the lock splint my head. Curious, I returned to try the handle and found that indeed, I was locked on this side. Away from the ground floor and the elevator. I sighed. My luck. It was a good thing I was never one to buy into stocks.
Voices drifted from the hall, and that sharp pain returned to the back of my head causing my vision to blur. I massaged my brow with my palm and continued, turning the corner and resumed the path now cut cleanly for me. The soft candle flames became an almost welcome change, compared to the harsh blaze of the NV. It made the walls and floors look soft and bearable, in spite of everything I knew that was buried in these grounds. I pause and looked to my left, upon familiar scratching in the plaster. I recognized the form and some of the words "Rest in peace" "He did not kill" Father Martin's preaching? The camera scolded my hesitance, but I waited it out to gain a clear image. I was nearly beyond my limit, but I could hold out. I was good at holding out.
God Annoys…
I blinked.
God always provides a way
I looked from the wet message and the cross, to the scarred patient standing before me, blocking my path. Head bowed and a candle clasped between his hands, he was emaciated to the point I couldn't believe he was standing. And the smell. This… was the first fucker to lunge at me from a wheelchair!
"Am I ready?"
I stepped away from him and looked over my shoulder, to where the voices echoed from in somber reverence. A chapel, candles lit and burning above a pristine tile floor, an entrance chamber that led directly into the cathedral. It didn't appear very large, with carved beams arched under a plain white ceiling, tinged yellow from age. It was a simple structure, but ornate and charming in its own way. I closed one eye and pressed my hand to it, the sound I couldn't escape. I had to keep my senses keen. Beside either stained glass door that opened into the main wing, stood a twin, glowering on me as I gave one a look, then the other. I straightened myself out to the best of my ability, I couldn't appear defective to them.
"You are. We will join the Walrider in just a moment." That was Father Martin. I was staring from where I stood, and I think he was nailed to a cross.
Holy crap, what was I doing here? I debated on just leaping from that window now and accept the fate meeting me beneath the rain, then I recalled the door was locked and I was trapped here with these people. Whatever was to come, I would fight until my heart was ripped from my chest. Which, given circumstances, could be very likely.
I took a deep breath and proceeded into the chapel, directly between the twins as they tracked my slow movement with their hostile stare. They reserved their right to freely expose themselves, though I kept my gaze forward and my camera close to my side. My hardcore reporter instincts told me soon I would need it. The doors gave a firm CLUNK of finality as I approached the podium, and the disciples of Father Martin. They were disturbed but not aggressive, they, like those I had passed to reach this wing, were wholly oblivious to my presence, or had been requested not to acknowledge it. Their attention was set on the man nailed to the wooden cross; I don't doubt they were upset by this revelation. They spoke and murmured, plead and mourned. It was all together and all at once, I couldn't make out a handful of what they were saying.
The crucified man gave a sharp gasp at my approach, the act so sudden I recoiled. "My job. You alone shall escape to tell them." Father Martin paused to gather his breath, he must have been in a good deal of pain. "This is your penultimate act of witness. The promise of the prophets was always the freedom from death," he groaned. "And here it is." He pulled at his arms, as though trying to relieve the pain, despite there being no escape. My only response was to blink.
The patients clustered about him, and the collection of timber at his toes. They pray and spoke in soft sentences, some bowed and sobbed. For the Walrider? Or for Father Martin's Gospel? The accumulated resonance caused the hair to bristle on my neck.
I moved to the side into the pews and sat down, making sure the camera was fixed on Martin. The frail patient from the hall stepped around the podium, to stand near his Prophet and gazed at him with sunken eyes. Martin whimpered, and resumed speaking, "You will watch and record my death, my resurrection. And together we will be free."
Martin let his head drop onto his shoulder and took another tight breath. "You are no longer in any danger. I've fixed the elevator. It will take you to freedom. We will all of us be free." I had to set my head down on my arm. That sound…..
"Now, my son."
I jerked my head up when Martin's tormented shrieks echoed off the high ceiling and walls. The patient that was holding the candle lit the timber beneath his feet and the Priest was on fire, twisting and howling in pain as his robs burnt like dry cotton and his flesh scorched and popped. I gawked wide eyed trying to hold my camera steady, trying to keep myself from tearing out of that seat and racing away. My stomach knotted at the harsh sting of burning flesh, reminding me sharply of the scorched bodies burning in the cafeteria. I clasped my free hand over mouth, it was all I could do to keep from buckling forward. Not here, not at a time like this.
His raving sobs finally died out as he succumb to smoke inhalation, or the heat cooked his brain inside his skull. He gave an oily groan before he went limp and the flames settled into his bubbling flesh.
When I shifted to reach for my notepad, I realized with a start I had bitten into my palm. Not deep, but the edge of my teeth had cut into my stained flesh and blood seeped from the shallow tears. I wasn't sure what to make of that, or the fact I hadn't noticed before I moved.
"I can't believe Father Martin one-upped Jesus Christ himself in shitty ways to die. And I don't believe I'm going to miss him. A way out. If he's telling the truth, now I've got a way out. And a story to tell. He wants me to spread his gospel. I'll tell the whole fucking world."
I sat a moment watching the patients mourn for their Prophet, and weep for his sacrifice. I didn't know what they would do now without their Guide in this twisted world, but I didn't want to hang around and find out. I gathered myself up and slid out of the pew. I took up the key gleaming gaily on the red velvet podium.
The twins stood still behind the stained glass doors. From a safe distance I stopped and observed them. Would they end it now, with Father Martin gone? Was this the time they would conclude the chase? I checked the room over, finding no other windows or doors, aside from the ones they stood behind. If I could lure them back into this room, I could get around both of them. If they cornered me, that was it.
I walked forward trying not to look at them, I needed to get by and find my way out before I was stabbed in the back.
They pulled the double doors open simultaneously to my approach, and I dithered before continuing forward. I doubt they needed weapons to kill me.
The bald one on the right clutched his head, angry or plagued by the sounds. I stepped between them quickly and got halfway down the hall before I remembered the door was locked. Or was it? I passed the final messages of Father Martin only to find the door was still locked tight. I returned to the chapel, looking to the twins for some sort of guidance but quickly gave that up when I spied the area, beyond where the wheelchair patient had been poised. A bookshelf, among other furniture pinned in the archway of the hall, encyclopedias and other tomes spilt from the shelves, clearing enough space I could wriggle through. But above was a vent in the ceiling, its panel off. I could reach it, and they couldn't follow.
I stuck the camera in its hoister and grabbed the edge and kicked at the wall until I was safe inside and felt around for my path. The piece of fabric shifted oddly in my gash, I poked around the backside of my shirt and felt only mild dampness but no excessive bleeding. I squeezed my eyes tightly and crawled along the weak metal. I was getting out. Damn Priest guy said I could go, I would not stick around.
But damn, I couldn't believe Martin was gone. In no way did I feel safer with his suicide, on contrary, it didn't feel like anything had changed. What had he been trying to prove? The only fact I could take comfort in, was that I wasn't the one nailed to that cross. Didn't mean I was no longer in danger, notwithstanding what he proclaimed. I've heard that song and dance before. Probably why it felt like his death was so unreal, in truth nothing had changed. The whole event had meant nothing to me.
The notion left a sort of emptiness inside me. I don't know how to describe it.
The next flue I had to force with my weight, as result I nearly fell through to the floor below. I managed to clamp my arms over the metal sides, before the rest of me tumbled out in a painful heap. I dropped and stumbled to my ass, god damnit. I sat letting my body settle and gave where I was a scan. The shelves and furniture I bypassed should keep Martin's disciples from catching up to me anytime soon. For the moment, it was safe to bide time and plan my direction. I needed to find that lift and get the fuck out of here. It was in the other wing of the Asylum, outside the kitchen. I could reach it through this side, down this hall?
I stepped into a patch of light from the lamps gleaming in the hall on the right, and sat down to think. If I was to reach the elevator, I needed to go through the kitchen, but I couldn't, that door was locked. I needed another way around… I could really use a map.
If my sense of direction was right— I looked up as a dark shape began from the opposite end of hall. I couldn't make out who it was. A twin? How did he find me? But as I gawked, the figure picked up speed, upon spying me huddled in the sloping light. I knew who that was.
I lunged to my feet taking the bright hall on my right, as he gave a thunderous snarl. I could feel his steps quake through the floorboards of the Asylum. His chains churning with his pace, gaining three steps with every one of mine. Needed a place to hide, needed distance! The hall was perpetual, same as those never ending roads in your dreams that extended into eternity. I glanced at the dried blood splattered at my left, staining the upper wall and floor, the hard copper hit me as I gasped. Above, the lamps flashed against my skull, doors lined the walls every few steps, many nailed with plywood and planks. He snarled and huffed gaining, his ire snapping at my neck. I couldn't bring myself to pause and try doors, I wanted to run forever.
When would the big fucker just let up! It was obvious he wasn't one of Martin's followers. All along, had he been against the Gospel of Sand? I couldn't know! That was not important! He would kill me regardless my affiliation with the Church of Walrider!
The hall came to an abrupt end, reluctantly I tried a plain door on my left expecting it to be locked. Trapped at long last, after I had succeeded at beating their game. I barely turned the knob before I shoved the door in, grunting against the sudden lurch in my rib. I swung the thin barrier shut after me and checked through the nightvision, but saw no worthwhile space to hide. The room was well lit, particularly on the left side where a flat screen sat on a table. I could crouch behind the two love seats set to view the screen, but three steps in and Chris would have me.
The door cracked in the frame, I was amazed it held when the raw rage slammed into it. I dashed across the room as the floor and walls shook, my head spinning, bits of light flittered through the cracks in the door as it absorbed another blow. I curled up in the darkest corner behind a thick armchair and stared through the NV as the visor buzzed. A final shattering blow and Chris plowed through, tumbling to the floor before climbing to his feet. I shrank down behind the couch and watched as he scanned the room over, huffing through his teeth he began pacing to the left. It was my right, the way I was facing him—
"On point."
While his back was turned, I crawled towards the gaping portal. One long step, I set my foot outside the doorframe and slipped out. I could hear the noise of the big fucker chains as he turned, to check the side of the room I had hidden. He'll make the conclusion, I needed to buckle down and think. Where was it I needed to go? What doors were open? I had to rattle handles.
The next door I tried was on my right, it opened into a small office with a desk, and the usual dead plant mandatory to Murkoff's memory. I entered and listened as the big fucker reentered the hall, grumbling about the pain of living. I shut the door gently and sat in the dark struggling to gauge his position, as his steps grew louder and heavier. I flipped the NV off as he continued past my door, and down the hall a ways before his steps halt. I could hear my breathing, but Chris was as silent as death.
I jerked back when the thuds of wood cracking vibrated through the hall. I braved pulling the door open a crack and let some light in, he was not far, just across the hall. With a final swing of his fists the pitiful door snapped apart, he kicked the pieces aside as he stepped into the small room. His backside quivers as he pants, blood leaks from deep cuts that never healed in his broken skin.
As before while he's distracted, I took the chance and slipped out of the room. He was going to hear me, he would detect my movement, smell me, something. He would turn around and grab me, and that would be it. I'll be pulled apart, my body torn out from under my head like so many of his victims. My last moments, watching him toss my flailing torso aside.
But Chris was still examining the dark cubicle of office before him, and I made it past the doorway without a creak from the floor. Overhead, before the intersecting hall hung the large, bold red words EXIT. This was the way. I was nearly there!
Getting away from the patients and their mass congregation had helped to high levels. My head still throbbed but it wasn't the twisting pain it had been an hour before. I wouldn't be too run down once I returned to civilization, I might be able to get medical attention before I had to start answering questions.
All right man, focus. Pat yourself on the back later, first things first. Find the way out. I was still so fucking lost, it was a crime.
I ducked into a doorway on my left when I picked up on Chris' chains slithering into the hall. Once I was on the elevator, I was home free. Warm heater, familiar surroundings, just all around good things. Keep thinking good, clean, healthy thoughts Miles. Keep positive.
A lavatory, very little to hide in. Most the stalls were shut, blood on the tile and flies lapped at the sticky mess. Their wings hummed impossibly loud against the hard walls as I disturbed their perch, I was terrified the sound would give me away. I ducked into the stall on the far end and climbed onto the toilet. The lamps blazed down warming the edges of my coat and neck, I didn't need the camera. Neither would the big fucker if he decided to roam through.
Chains dragged across the tile clinking with each step. Images of the sewer and bloated bodies became my vision, pellets scuttling through pipes. Shadows and shapes, faces in static. I pressed my nose into my bloodied shoulder and tried not to breath. Stay calm. Stay. Calm.
"Where?…fuck." He sounded dubious.
If he would just leave. You're seeing things like the rest of us. Go look somewhere else, this place is empty.
I cringed when the first stall swung open. Damn. The next door creaked open, and I situated myself to crouch on the bloody toilet. One.
Two.
Three—
Chris pulled the door open, seeming genuinely surprised to find me there. He made a strangled snarl through his mutilated sinuses and lashed out, as I sprang at the top stall and propelled myself over the side to the far end of the bathroom. I hit the floor and tumbled, searing white pulsed through my eyes and my concern went immediately to the camera even as I shoved my feet under me and charged out the door.
"Can't let contamination reach local town…" I ducked down as I passed the doorway, barely missing his arm as he tried to swat me. His wrist struck the tile near my head, dust and brick cracked under the impact.
I stumbled out the door, hands clasped over my head fearful he'd knock it off next. The broken segregation frame swept around me as I breezed through, first turning to the vent I initially dropped down before reminding myself of how bad an idea that was. I pivoted and dashed into the dark hall. The big fucker emerged from the lavatory, and snarled my way as we made eye contact. I brought up the NV as I felt myself tilt, I could see light at the halls end but I was having difficulty keeping my balance. The big fucker was somewhere behind me keeping pace.
End of the hall. End of the hall. Door. A door that leads to the cafeteria. I had no idea where I would wind up. I needed another lounge, a room with space I could maneuver or hide from Chris. It could have just been me, but it felt like he was desperate to kill me at this point. The idea caused my throat to dry out, I gagged as I panted. But I felt elevated, that perhaps Father Martin had been earnest and that I was now done with this place. That I was to be free once I stepped out of those doors.
Had to reach them first.
When I hit the light, I took a sharp left through the last doorway entering into a room full of tables and chairs stacked everywhere, some scattered over the floor. The cafeteria! But I was still skidding in the direction towards the windows, my momentum out of control. The patient that had been here staring out the muggy glass was now absent, or dead. The rain that once furiously struck the glass had diminished to some degree, the luminous beads of water now less and thin.
The door. There was a door on the left side of the room, across from where I just blazed through. Something strained in my knee as I twisted, and spun about as the big fucker came charging into the room after me. Door! Had to get to the door! I zipped around tables or chairs, struggling to maneuver anything between us, to slow him down. The big fucker bellowed, and ripped the obstacles away like weeds in the garden, I heard several crash into the darkest reaches, echoing under the high ceiling. I was only thankful he hadn't the presence of mind to throw one my way.
I had plenty of distance on him by the time I reached the door. I twisted the handle—
Locked! Door was locked! How was I supposed to reach the elevator?!
That was to be the least of my concerns. I cued in on the heavy breath of my pursuer as he sliced through the room, and felt his dead eyes on the back of my head. I barely whipped aside when he swung out, grazing my back, I lost consciousness for an instant as my brain sputtered out. The chains stunned my shoulder and I tumbled to my side, my vision blurred as sensation swung back into me at full force. All I could make of Chris was his shape looming over me snarling, his eyes blazing. I swore, they burned like fire in the dark.
"Get up!"
Fuck you! I crawled pitifully on my hands and knees across his boots to curl up under the nearest table. The big fucker took it in his hands and tipped it over, sending chairs crashing across the floor. I bit the camera strap between my teeth and ripped it off my hand, and scrambled away as fast as I could while he hurried around to intercept me. If I kept the windows in sight I could see where the table legs barred my way.
He couldn't see where I was exactly, he could only hear my panicked breath as I shuffled in the cramped dark. In response, the fucker gripped another table and hefted it up then slammed it down over my body. But the locks where the legs fit in didn't snap away completely, I lay there for a moment believing I had died and the big fucker might've thought the same. He was panting hard, hissing through his exposed teeth as he wandered around the set of tables hunting for my broken body.
My mind was wracked with questions, my ears buzzed and my bones tingled with that tremendous calamity. Out? Where was out?
I reached a trembling hand up slowly and took the camera strap from my teeth, I was nearly pinned on my stomach with just enough room to squeeze out. But the fucker would hear it in the dead silence that consumed the room. I coughed and tasted copper, I don't think a lung was punctured, at least I couldn't feel it yet. I turned my head scanning the room where the door was locked. Damn inconsistencies. A light shone from a square slot in the wall above, where a vent had snapped off. There. That was it! He can't follow me.
The big fucker moved to the other side of the table, ones he hadn't tipped or slammed down, and began pulling them out and scoping the floor. I slipped free of the broken table and pulled my body out from under the line of table legs. The big fucker must've seen my shape when I stood, he barked out a cry as I dashed to the fallen vending machine and clambered up. I was a little tipsy when I stood on the slick plastic cover, but managed to snag the flues edge and haul up into the tight space. A cold pain dug into my side, but I pushed the sensation away as I paused to gather myself. I was in one piece, mostly.
Below, Chris snarled his contempt for my success, but I knew deep in me, this would be our last encounter. I spared him a brief glower, the closets to pity I could express for him, before I turned and crawled along the top of the vents rigged from the ceiling. The muffled growls faded in my ears, as the familiar tingle resumed residence. It wouldn't last, I assured myself.
I never thought I'd be so happy to be in a kitchen before. A revisited and empty kitchen, but it was tame territory. I carefully climbed off a cabinet and hit the floor, wincing at the pain in my ribs. It was okay, nothing a little rest and no movement wouldn't help. That's all the doctors ever said, there wasn't much else that could be done. I took some slow, easy breaths to acquaint myself with the pain. I'd feel even better when I was in my jeep with the heat cranked up, and this place far-far behind me.
I found the door at the other end of the kitchen and half expected the damn thing to be locked, though it was clearly open and the dark hall visible from where I stood. Across, at only a few steps, the lift waited, with nothing in sight, no psychotic patients, just the wavering shades that haunted my memories. I kept shuffling the worst case scenarios to the forefront of my mind, geared for the despair that I was now accustomed to. What could possibly go wrong now? Nothing. Unless the computers had a massive crash in the hours I'd spent lost in this hell of an Asylum, my challenge now would be hacking the security systems.
I groaned when I realized, I'd never opened the main doors. I hadn't even begun, damn Martin had to drag me off…. It was all behind me now. Get to the Security room, hack the system, and say sayonara to this fuck awful place.
I dithered before entering the welcoming gleam of the lift. I had bad experiences with elevators. Bad memories. Once I was inside, I'd be trapped. But I was only riding to the ground floor. Before I could have another thought on the matter I stepped inside, and turned to the panel. I set the key in the lock and gave the panel a firm punch and let the metal gate shield me in.
No insane doctors to interrupt me this time. No burning cafeterias, no deformed giants with fuck started faces, shrieking specters, or cannibalistic twins. I was out. Done. Gone. Bye bye Insane Asylum!
The elevator made the short but noisy descent to the ground floor and stopped. I put the camera in its hoister and tried to pull aside the gate. It should open, shouldn't it? Of course it would. I peered through the large gaps and saw, indeed those doors were locked. I was hyped and ready to start this, it wouldn't be easy, but I would get it done. Sooner I started the better.
The gate should open now. I poked at the panel and tried turning the key, maybe it unlocked it? Or maybe I shouldn't have done that. The lift shifted and began descending all over again. I looked up alarmed as the exit, my doors to freedom vanished from sight.
No. No-No-No-NO! What was this? The elevator was fixed, I was supposed to get out, up there! That was my floor! Stop! I tried to pull the key from the slot, but it was stuck tight. Safety precautions and such, I was locked in! Where the fuck was I going?! Darkness filled the tiny space I occupied. The basement! I could find my way out of the basement easy. I vaguely remembered the layout, and there would be light too.
But I knew I was not going to stop at the basement. The lift continued to descend, and the air changed.
I stepped back and crouched down resting as what seemed like hours passed, but in truth it was only minutes. I had no idea where I was now and had a feeling I would never know. It finally ground to a halt and I glanced up as the gate slid back, allowing me to exit FINALLY. I glared beyond the doors, into a near pristine white brick corridor, above lights flashed and pulsed, a glitch in the wiring. I shut my eyes against their irritating glare.
My lip curled back over my teeth and I pushed myself up to stand, I set a hand to my side where my ribs warned not to push it. I was hurt, I needed to get out. What more did this place want from me?
A "penultimate act of witness" as 'Father' Martin put it. His last words. I should have been more keen to pay attention to his speech, he had told me precisely that 'my job' was not done with his death. Idiot! You walked right into this! This is all on you Miles! Walked into Hells Kitchen, and now you're eating what they've served! If I die—NO! No. No. And NO! I am not going there! I will get out of here because I refuse to have endured EVERYTHING these bastards fabricated, and then die at the VERY end of it! I was getting out! And I would make sure the world knew what I went through, what they've done to all these people, and what they tried to cover up!
But I still had doubt. I stepped through the doors and gave my new surroundings an indifferent glare. It was brisk, the air slightly fresher than the upper floors, a lot of tubes and thick cables ran along the walls. Probably recycled air. But…it was there. The old decay, the stale tang of rust and death. I was not done, not by a long shot.
I stumbled and brushed against the wall as I collapsed to my knees and sat there, staring at the two doors before me. The strobe light overhead flickered but held its illumination. I lowered my head and exhaled a coppery sigh. Not by a long shot. I raised my butchered hands to my face and buried my eyes in my palms, seeing only black. The cool, enveloping black that had been my ally throughout this entire nightmare.
Would there be no more shadows for me to hide in?
Penultimate as defined for me via 'net, is referred to as second to last. Father Martin is crazy genius about his religious stuff