CHAPTER 19: You didn't see that one coming, did you?

Somehow, through the pain in my body and mind, I fell asleep. It wasn't pleasant. Images of Erin being raped and tortured kept flashing through my head, and I felt even more helpless as the images came unbidden. Her eyes, pleading for me to make it all stop, her screams becoming ever so much more desperate, eventually just screaming at the hopelessness of screaming. I kept forcing myself to wake up, so I wouldn't have to face it all again. At one point, I awoke with a start to the jab of a needle in my arm. I struggled the best I could with my useless limbs, but a warmth spread up my arm and through my body, and then I was back into the depths of my personal horror show; but this time, there was no escaping.

I listened to her scream forever.

Eventually, I woke up. I was stretched out on the floor, with rough splints on my leg and arm. My hand was bandaged with gauze, as was my foot. Sometime during my drug-induced nightmare, someone must have given me some sort of painkiller, because even though my body throbbed in time to my heartbeat, I could think above the pain when I tried to move. A mixed blessing at best. When the pain abated enough to allow me to think, all I could think about was her. What they did to her. I punched my leg, hard. A horrific agony swelled out of my leg and into my brain. The pain was easier to deal with. I punched my leg again. I blacked out.

When I came to again, it was still mostly dark in the room. I noticed the door was open slightly, and an orangish glow crept through. Someone must have given me another shot, because the pain was again at a manageable level. I groaned, and rolled onto my stomach. I managed to push myself up, and get my good leg underneath me. Gingerly, I made my way to the door. I hesitated when my foot stepped into the light. What if this was a test? What if they were waiting just outside, ready to inflict more punishment after I proved I was grounded enough again to try to escape? Fuck it, I thought, either they are or they aren't, and nothing's gonna change if I stay here. I grabbed the edge of the door and swung it open. It was a corridor, still looking as if it were hewn out of rock, but hanging off one spur in the wall was a heavy outdoor coat, and leaning under that, a cane. It was slim, black, with a silver handle in the shape of and antler. It looked strong. I limped over, shrugged the coat over my shoulders, and grabbed the cane. What the fuck. Parting gifts?

I stood still for a moment, and listened. Inside my head, Erin whimpered. I tried to push the memory back down into my subconscious, feeling waves of guilt as I did. Now wasn't the time. There might never be a time. Slowly, my mind stilled. I closed my eyes. The corridor starched out to my left, and right. I stood, waiting. Then, I heard it. Off to the left, a subtle echo. To the right, nothing. Chances were, the exit is where the noise is. Wincing, I hobbled to the left. The left-hand path. How fitting. The corridor went on for a long time. Or at least it seemed like it, what with all the limping. With every step, the sensation of knives jabbed through my leg. Every so often, I had to stop, to focus away from the pain that was making my vision cloud, and brought back the screaming in my head. It was like the pain was connected with my final memories of Erin. Half-delirious, I almost didn't want the pain to end, because that might also make me start forgetting her. I thought back to other people I had known who had vanished, died, or left. Their faces were half-erased illustrations on corroded paper, while Erin's was as fresh as the meat that was cut off her bones. I couldn't lose her twice.

I was so wrapped up in my own head, I almost didn?t notice the air getting colder, and the quality of light getting better. What brought me around was the sound of a fire, and the smell of coffee and roasting meat. My stomach growled, and my mouth filed with spit. Swallowing, I turned a corner, and saw the mouth of the cave tunnel, looking out over the twisted trees of the Mountain. Off to one side was a small campfire, and sleeping, with his head on his knees, was a man in olive green pants and a black hood. I made my way as silently as I could, getting as close to him as possible. It could have been Erin's murderer, my torturer. It probably wasn't. I didn't care. I raised the cane above me head, willing all my strength to keep me standing upright.

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