I start to notice a tingling sensation on my neck, and wonder whether I should have mentioned this to Miner when he asked me how I was feeling.
The tingling is replaced with a growing pressure around my neck, and before I have the sense to react, I am pinned against my seat, and my throat is sealed shut with the force of a squeezing hand.
An amorphous humanoid figure appears in front of me, holding my throat. Pages of text cling to it and fly around it violently, taking off and landing from the surface of the figure like a swarm of enraged flies.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" bellows the figure.
"Who are you?" I struggle to mouth with my lips. I feel my pulse beating painfully against the walls of my neck.
"I am nobody," the figure proclaims. "You, on the other hand, should be dead. Every facet of your personality should have disintegrated in the void thousands of years ago. Why are you still here? Why do you persist in reliving your broken, useless memories? Why won't you DIE?!" the figure screams.
A smile creeps up my face as I realize I know something the figure does not. I am not the girl I thought myself to be. I am Fristad, reliving this girl's memories. The voice of this figure is in fact the voice of the Book.
"So, I finally found your weakness, didn't I?" I say. "I'm guessing reliving your past self's memories really got under your skin?"
"I had nothing to do with the production of your infantile human memories! You are but a ghost to me."
"Are you so sure about that, Iris?"
"That is not my name!"
The room trembles with the strength of an earthquake. The illusion shatters and is replaced by a horizon of darkness.
A sudden calmness comes over the demeanor of the paper-covered figure. The rumbling quake slows and stops, and the swarming pages settle upon the surface of the figure.
"So, Fristad, you were responsible for reawakening the girls memories..." A deliberate, measured composure has returned to the Book's voice. It is a voice more fearfully familiar, a voice with the intent to control me.
I won't let it.
"Your boldness is not a virtue, Fristad. You have interfered in matters beyond your authority. It sickens me enough that I may have to rid myself of your existence."
"Is returning me to my body a viable option?" I suggest.
"No. I will kill you right here. It will be a slow, torturous process. I will turn the girl's broken memories into a slow-acting poison. For every memory you try to piece together, one of your own memories will be erased, until you finally cease to exist."
"If me repairing the memories is such a problem for you, then why haven't you killed me already?" I question. "Why does my death have to be so slow and elaborate?"
The illusion of the living room snaps back into place. The hand tightens even more painfully around my neck. I can hear myself gurgle as the air is squeezed out.
"Are you sure you want to die NOW, Fristad?" the Book sneers.
My lungs feel shriveled. The pain consumes my mind. My illusionary body begs for me to give in to the Book, to take back my challenge against it, to make this pain stop.
"Of course I don't want to die! I didn't mean it that way!"
I feel the pain lift from my neck. The living room fades to darkness. The remaining sensation of nothingness is a pleasant relief.
"Then you will do as I say and leave the memories of the dead girl alone."
With those words, the figure covered in pages vanishes into the blackness.
The enderman sits at a library table, its long torso laid flat over much of the table's width. Its head is laid sideways such that its blackened eye-holes face me. I am uncertain if the creature's eyes are open, but I am almost certain that it is asleep.
I walk up to the sleeping enderman and push against its shoulder.
"Please wake up," I plead.
The enderman lifts its head sluggishly. "I have hardly slept. Must you wake me?"
"The Book gave an ultimatum," I say. "Either I stop repairing Iris' memories, or it would slowly destroy my own memories."
"She's bluffing," says the enderman. "Keep repairing the memories. If you repeat your previous effort ten thousand-fold, I should be well rested enough to assist you."
"The Book is powerful enough to control me, and she's only getting stronger," I state, growing increasingly annoyed. "I've already been at this for an hour, at least. I am not exactly interested in waiting ten thousand hours for your help. Do you have any idea how long ten thousand hours is?"
"I am well aware and, frankly, I don't care. Sentient beings are all the same: selfish, manipulative parasites. I tolerate you because your cause is just, but nothing I do to help you will benefit me. I've been controlled by others for too long to trust anyone with my sacrifices."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
The enderman sits up. I feel a spark of hope; perhaps he will stay awake.
"Iris was the last person I trusted with my sacrifices," says the enderman. "She was a special case. I thought she would be different because she wasn't a member of my own kind. I was wrong, of course."
"How were you treated by your own kind?" I ask.
"My own kind trapped me in this place so they could exploit me for my knowledge. I wouldn't say I was entirely blameless. My imprisonment was a punishment for a crime I committed long ago. I can't quite remember what it was."
"So they trapped you here forever?"
"That was the intention, yes."
"Sounds rather draconian," I say.
"Depends on the crime," says the enderman. "It's not like it matters. I really should go back to sleep."
The enderman begins to lay down.
"Tell me more," I insist, trying to keep the enderman awake. "I want to help you. We can find a way to both escape."
There is also so much more I want to know about this enderman. What was his world like? What knowledge could be so important that his captors kept him alive? How else did he become so cynical and helpless? And what happened to Iris?
"You couldn't help me even if you tried," the enderman mumbles lazily. "I am imprisoned here forever. You can save yourself, but only if you consult more of Iris' memories."
"I'm not touching those things," I say. "I heard what the Book said."
"Your loss."
"I'm going to find another way," I insist, "and if I don't, I'm going to wake you up again."
"I will be as mute as death," says the enderman.
I breathe an annoyed sigh and run into the adjacent library hall, wondering how I would be able to communicate with the outside world.
How was the Book able to communicate telepathically into my mind? I honestly have no idea, but there is another way. Earlier on, the Book communicated with me by writing words between its pages. Perhaps if I write something inside one of the library books, it will appear in the pages of the Book in the outside world.
I scour the hallways for several minutes before finding a lone flint pen upon a table, and grab a book in the best condition I can find.
I sit down at the table, open the book to the buffer page, and bring the flint to the paper:
If you are reading this, please help me. My name is Fristad Heltz and I have been trapped inside of this Book. Please let me know what is going on out there. If you know what happened to Jonas, tell me if he is alright. You may be able to reach me by writing on the pages of this Book.
As I finish writing the message, I notice that the first words I wrote are gradually fading away. The flint pen in my hand is likewise disappearing from the upper end down. Eventually the words on the page fade away, and the pen in my hand turns to air.
At least it did something. I just hope that the message reaches the outside world.
I stare at the blank page of the book with uncertain hope.