03 Saints (4 page)

Every shift I made, every breath I took, was catalogued by the creatures around me. My head started to hurt from their overwhelming stench, compounded by the pain Mama Dot’s touch had brought. Somewhere, water dripped, marking time. I felt my mind curl inward and search for protecting against the pain and the coming days of uncertain terror.

I wrapped a layer of numbness around my brain, sensing, knowing, I had more pain to come in the darkness of this place. I hoped for rescue, but my heart told me there would be none. My friends were dead. I was alone. Terror was my master.

There’s something about pain that destroys and incapacitates.

It erases thought and any sense of identity; more so than any numbered tattoo could. In one form or another, pain became my constant ally.

Master Limp left me alone for a long time. Days passed where I knew nothing beyond the stench of death and growls hungering for my life. I stayed confined to the minimal light I was offered, pacing in a small circle when I felt the walls closing in on me.

Finally, Master Limp started to visit me on a regular basis. The times he saw me, he had me wishing for the lonely, terrifying confines of the Nightstalker cage. His methods were always brutal. Sometimes, he would hit me, stopping only when I was close to unconsciousness, other times he would get others, dead-eyed Watchers, who were obviously further along in their ‘re-training,’ to beat me. He threw icy water on me a number of occasions and left me to drip cold water on the dirt floor. Other times, he would bring a sound system and play Mama’s Dot’s words of propaganda over and over again, until I couldn’t figure out where my thoughts began and the propaganda ended. It started to confuse me. I lost track of the truth.

A couple of times he strung me up from the ceiling and let the Nightstalkers out of their cages, to snap and paw in my direction. A couple got close, raking me with their teeth, their acidic drool burning holes in my clothes.

There were many other methods he used to try and break my will, brutal methods. Every day was a fight to simply give them what they wanted; the pain and repetition of pain worked its dark magic through my body. But every day I found a reason not to. Mostly, it was love that kept me from turning into everything I hated; love for Daniel.

I wrapped a wall of protection around my heart and brain; I drew on images of Daniel often. His green eyes remained my beacon of hope in the dark. I often got lost in the world of dreams. Days would pass where all I was aware of was the dreams. Several times, I wondered back into Marcus’ tower, his yellow eyes promising me a future filled without pain, without torture; a future full of love and immortality. Each time, I was pulled away by visions of Daniel. Some of the visions were painful – visions of him in obvious distress, his anger overriding his common sense. One was of him crying, a single tear tracking its lonely way down his face, before he caught it in his hand – others were beautiful. Several times I saw him standing somewhere with a magnificent view. While I never caught a glimpse of the buildings around him, I always knew he was up high. He was wonderful to see him standing there looking out over the nameless city, watching the humanity bustle below him. He was a Watcher again; he was back to his mission of protection. It fit him, even though I sensed chaos in his eyes.

Every time that Master Limp visited me, I got into the habit of imaging Daniel in the room with me. He whispered for me to be strong, to endure, that nothing was forever, especially this. He circled behind Master Limp, urging me to remember the strength I had, the love he had for me. I thought perhaps I was going mad, but I welcomed the help.

Around my withdrawal and my delusions, I sensed Master Limp’s growing frustration. His beatings got more savage, his methods more brutal. While I sensed he could keep the punishment up for a very long time, a part of him was eager to see me break. He wanted to best my will. I was too stubborn to give him that satisfaction, though I sensed some of his methods working all too well.

I felt a nameless clock ticking down until the day he either broke me or killed me. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping for more; that he would kill me before I caved, or that I would cave in before he killed me. My world was pain, and pain was my master…more so than Master Limp ever could be.

At the end of a long stretch of time, where I was ignored and left to rot in the pit, Anna came to visit me. Her meeting stood out among the blurred time in the timeless hole.

She threw back the heavy grate above me and crouched down. She stared hard at the ragged state I had transformed in to. Her face was a curious mixture of repulsion and satisfaction.

“A month and a half and he still hasn’t broken you, huh?” Anna asked, her voice suggesting she was impressed.

I had to clear my throat several times, before my voice would work. It had been so long since I had used it. Had it really been a month and a half? It felt like longer.

“‘Suppose so…I guess they didn’t kill you, huh?” I asked.

“No…they didn’t,” Anna replied.

Her dark eyes told me she had been punished in other ways.

“Pity…” I said.

“Give in…” she said with surprising emotion behind her voice. “It won’t end until you do.”

“I would rather die,” I said.

“You will, if you don’t do what they want,” she promised. “If they get tired of you, they’ll kill you without a second thought.”

I didn’t say anything in reply. I knew she was right, and I didn’t really care to argue her words; it didn’t matter. A part of me had given up on my fear of dying. Master Limp had done that much for me. Every time he hit me, I was a little less scared. It was almost peaceful knowing I didn’t fear death…to a certain extent.

There was a long pause in which we looked at each other in strange understanding. I wished for my strength back, so I could find a way to express my pain to the person who had brought me here. Anna had the same desire; she seemed to be looking for something to say. The words formed then lost formation, as she fought against the desire to say whatever it was on her mind.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” I said lightly. “But is there something I can help you with? I’m very busy, see. Got a lot on my calendar…” I gestured at the snarling Nightstalkers. “Lots of people just dying to get a hold of me.”

She glanced at the Nightstalkers and stood. It was almost as if she were afraid to look at them for too long.

“Sorry to bother you. I’ll leave you to it,” she said.

“Yep,” I said.

She stepped back and lowered the grate back into place. The sound of it shutting rang through the space. I cringed at the sound and put my head back to my knees, so I could find the image of Daniel again. I heard her boots strike along the floor as she walked away. I thought I heard soft words floating down the hall after her, though it was hard to tell over the growling surrounding me.

“Sorry…”

I shook my head, aware that I had really lost my mind. ‘Sorry’ was a word this place did not know. No one was ‘sorry,’ except for the people who found themselves in my situation, and they didn’t get the chance to voice that feeling out-loud. It was usually their yells that told me of their ‘sorry.’ I sighed, and accepted the weirdness of her visit as a mystery I wouldn’t be solving any time soon. I didn’t have the strength to worry about it on top of everything else.

Something about her visit woke up some of the dead emotions in my chest, though; emotions I couldn’t ignore. I had done my best to keep my emotions at bay, knowing they would use them as a tool against me, if I let them. But seeing her had made me angry and sad. Mad, because I blamed her for my visit in hell – sad, because she was a reminder of New Orleans.

A part of me had harbored the hope Daniel and the others were still alive, and hadn’t succumbed to the flames of Damian’s bomb – a hope that had been reinforced by the realistic-feeling dreams I had of Daniel. Seeing Anna was a reminder that my friends, that Daniel, would never just leave me here. They had always found me in the past. Alex, in particular, had a way of knowing where I was. She had even found me in New Orleans when she had nothing to go on, beyond a general location. She had said she had walked until I was there. I trusted my friends enough to know that they would come looking for me, if it was in their power to do so. They obviously couldn’t, and that meant they were dead.

Hope drained out of me. I could no longer see how the word applied to my situation. I would sit in a dark hole until the end of days…or until Master Limp got tired of beating me and decided death was easier. Either way, I would never see my friends again.

I stood up, unable to sit still any longer. Limping from Master Limp’s latest visit, I paced in the light. I wished I had an outlet for the feeling that I would never see the people I cared about again. I had no outlet. I only had time…and pain.

As I paced, I forgot to stay in the light. A Nightstalker started hooking its claws around the small spaces of the grate, growling and foaming at the mouth. It knew how unusual it was for me to stray out of the light; it had gotten used to my habits. I hadn’t gotten used to theirs at all – I hadn’t wanted to look any closer. But I knew they had one habit they could never break – murder. It was what had changed them in the first place. I could trust them to try and kill me. They wouldn’t toy with me or try to break my spirit; they would kill me as quickly as one heart beat took to get to the next. Not that I would make it easy. I wanted a way out, but I didn’t want to go out without a fight. It wasn’t my style.

My body aching, I limped my way over to the Nightstalker. It started gnawing on the silver bars, its acid falling into the dirt in a dangerous pool. I stepped around the acid and eyed the creature in detached wonder.

“You know what? I’m not afraid of you anymore,” I said.

I knew that the doors to their cages weren’t locked in the typical sense of the word. There were a row of levers in the far corner that Master Limp used to control the doors; levers he usually pulled with a rope, so he could be out of harm’s way when he let them out. I made my way to the levers, aware there would be no turning back once I reached them. I took a deep breath and pulled Daniel into my mind. Then, I opened the cage doors.

The Nightstalker so eager to get to me was the first out of its cell. It rushed at me, its red eyes full of excitement at such easy prey. I wasn’t out of reach this time; I was there, waiting.

I watched it rush me, wondering what I would do when it reached me. A part of me couldn’t believe I had been so bold. Another part of me felt alive at the risk I was taking. I crossed my arms and waited. I wasn’t afraid. Nothing scared me, beyond feeling nothing forever. I was tired of feeling nothing. I wanted to live again, even if it meant dying. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The Nightstalkers closed in their rippling growls a marker of the time between living death and actual death.

But the attack never came.

I opened my eyes again, prepared to fight, but there was no need. Was it a trick? Had I gone mad? The shock rippled through my body, as my brain tried to process the reality of what I was seeing. The Nightstalkers sat in front of me, their red eyes piercing me with their intensity. I had never seen such murderous eyes so curious. My body kept its tense alertness; I was fully aware that this could be a trick Master Limp had devised to throw me off balance.

“Have you guys gone all peace, love and ‘good dog’ on me?” I asked.

The Nightstalker in front of me whined in response, almost as if it was saying ‘yes.’

“I thought you guys were all about murder and mayhem?” I asked.

Another whine.

“Um…”

I looked up at the grate expecting to see Master Limp leering down at me, another of his plans in action. I didn’t see him, but I still didn’t trust the situation I was in. There was no explanation for the weirdness I was facing; no reason behind their actions. Nightstalkers were not supposed to
not
attack. It was in their nature to kill. I stared at them again for a clue to their strange behavior.

The first Nightstalker I had let out bent down and crawled toward me, much like a dog seeking the affection of its owner. I stepped away, afraid it was about to attack. My hands clenched into a ball, and I realized I was less inclined to die than I had thought. Going out fighting wasn’t nearly as appealing as not going out at all.

The Nightstalker lowered its head then raised it again, bumping my hand. In that brief moment of touch I got an image of what it wanted. It wanted out of this cell. It wanted to be free. They were prisoners. They might have been addicted to killing, but they were locked in here, same as I was. No creature enjoyed a cage. I lowered my hand to its muzzle to communicate fascinated it was asking me for help.

Its thoughts were instant, though fuzzy.

Help us.

Help you? If I set you free, you’ll just run around killing people,
I said, knowing full well that I couldn’t have helped it escape regardless.

No. We want to be free…we have had enough. We are tired. You understand. You are like us. We see you are like us. We did not see before. We see now.

Uh…
It was all I could think to say.

They keep us in this silver room, our powers confined. Help us, and we will help you. We promise…we promise to never kill again if you help.