Night. No stars. No moon. No clouds. Nothing.
Tick…. Tick…. Tick….
Sound. Drumming. Screaming. Wailing.
Tick…. Tick…. Tock….
Dirt. Must. Knife. Cavernous nothing.
Tick…. Tick…. Tick….
Dirt floor. Musty smell. Pocket knife.
(Someone, miles away, tossed and turned in his sleep.)
She was running -- the girl with the long, orange hair. She was running down a never-ending corridor, running toward a vast, open room, running fast enough not to notice how the ground was sloping downward, and how she was going deeper into a hole in the earth, deeper into a trap. She was running as dark, underground night swallowed her. The girl with the orange hair was racing fast enough not to notice the puddle of crimson, waiting in the dark, for her to slip and slide on her right side into a dirt wall.
Everything went white.
Behind her there were footsteps, voices speaking in a dead language, a language she was trying to teach herself. She could almost make it out, not quite, something about needing a virgin’s blood. She wasn’t a virgin. Something itched at the back of her neck. There was a little tingling sensation, like a spider. Trying to wipe it away, she felt nothing. There was nothing. That was when she remembered: Jake.
(Someone, miles away, tossed and turned in his sleep.)
Above her, broken rock and grey clay and stone. If she freed some of the rock, she could hide inside of it. Looking, but not seeing past the crimson smear in this nightmare’s darkness, she tried to see them. Nothing.
Her focus shifted to above her. She stood, and sunk her toes and fingernails into the soft clay dirt, tearing some of it away, tearing it away and climbing the wall until she was near the cavern’s ceiling. What she did notice, however, before she did so, was that the long crack of rock on one side was split into the other side of the corridor. If she did this correctly, she could separate herself from her pursuers. The girl with the orange hair began clawing at clay. Clawing… clawing… clawing…. She broke off pieces and on the ground they went. More pieces fell. The cavern began to fall apart. Somebody was digging. That was what she heard. She heard the distinct sound of a metal shovel hitting hard-packed clay. It was going to collapse on her. Everything would collapse. Collapse. Collapse. Clay fell on her face. A hand. Why was there a hand?
She felt water. Tasted it on her tongue. A creak? What was above her? Was she crying? No, they were not salty water droplets. It was pure water. Now, she was tearing at more of it. Her fingernails bending backward from the excursion. A profession of guilt washed over her. He could see it on her face.
(Someone, miles away, stopped tossing and turning.)
“We gotta go.” Somebody was cradling her in strong arms. Somebody she loved. He began to carry her away from the mess.
Life hadn’t even begun yet; neither had death.
The girl with the orange hair whispered, and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”
“I wish you’d stop saying that.” His voice was deeper than he’d imagined it to sound, but he carried her, and would fight for her even if it meant he’d die for her.
She knew she should stop trying to take advantage.
The girl with the orange hair sounded like her five-year-old self, even though she was sixteen. “But it’s true.”
“You’re supposed to love Cole.”
(Someone, miles away, awoke.)
ns 15.158.61.13da2
