Into the Dark

I prefer the dark. They are afraid of what they might not see, I feel hidden and safe, knowing the darker it gets, the less likely I will be seen. That and my deformities do not become a topic of conversation in inky darkness. Not that I am embarrassed, I have come to appreciate my unique appearance and somewhat enjoy the initial shock when I come into the light. But I hate retelling the story over and over – that was a fire hotter than any I could have imagined, and remembering it brings ghost pains and sensations to my now nerve-dead limbs and face.

Leading a team into the dark was a job I was perfectly suited for.

After the gate, the light from the portal grew dimmer exponentially. Each step a new adjustment for those straining to peer into the void before them. The cold steps descending with nothingness on either side would have been much more unnerving if they could have seen the endless emptiness stretch away in all directions. Good thing there was a small ridge on either side of each step. I let the gatekeepers know to make the team practice shuffling down the stairs for days prior. Few knew that ridge was only inches high and the only thing preventing a step off into nothingness.

Down we went. I was in the lead, of course, and could see the silhouettes of the entourage behind me. …Six, seven, eight. Still all there. Only ever lost one once, but always good to check. This time they are all tied by their wrists and ankles. The portal behind us faded away now as we descended. The trip was not actually very long – even shuffling slow together it takes at best 15 minutes. But it seems an eternity to the first-timers. I had to keep stopping to let them catch up. We walked in silence, not knowing if anything was down here, or had come up from the unknown depths. There was always a noticeable updraft if you stuck your arm over the edge. Gives me vertigo and I feel like the staircase is falling. For all I know, it might be. Maybe the whole staircase and gate system will someday crash into the bottom of some extra-dimensional well.

We finally arrived at the shelf in front of the second gate. It was wide enough that 16 grown adults could have lain down with room to spare. The lock was still in place – so far so good. The team set up the sensing equipment around the door by feel. They had practiced blindfolded – again my suggestion. I stayed out of their way although I mostly knew the drill better than they did. In my imagination I believed that my eyes had grown somewhat accustomed to the eternal dark and although one could not see the glow from the upper portal from here, I imagined there was some glimmer from somewhere that let me almost make out what I believed to be shadows.

Once set up and running (you could tell by an ever-slight vibration when you touched the boxes atop each pole), I guided the leader, Sarail, to the lock. Only she kept the key. Or so the team thought. As usual I reached into my sleeve to feel the cool metal of my spare. I could lock it again if I had to.

Wedges in place to prevent the door from opening more than an inch, the leader placed the key into the lock and tapped on the handle in the right pattern. 3-2-5-1. The lock silently slid open and we went to pull it open to the wedges. But this time something pushed from the other side. Violently. Something wrapped around my dead arm and it burst instantly into pain. Sarail cried out and I heard an unpleasant thud, followed by a crunch as whatever it was tried to force her through the thin opening. Once she yelled the others panicked. I heard some fall and cry as they went over. I only hoped some crouched in place as taught. Whatever grabbed my arm let go, likely to get a better hold on Sarail. I went for my spare, but it was gone. The door slammed shut. I felt the lock with my still functioning hand and it was locked … and wet. Sarail’s injured body crumpled nearby. I felt around, her arm had been severed when the door shut. Part of her cloak was stuck there. I tried to tear it – but with only one hand it was not possible. At least I had use of the hand with feeling.

Something touched my right shoulder, I nearly jumped off the ledge myself. Whomever it was felt around me and Sarail and the door, then tore off a strip from Sarail’s cloak and bound my arm with it. We left Sarail there and found three others crouching as trained. The five of us ascended in silence. This time was an eternity for me, dizzy and nauseous. The light burned as always; I did not want to come into that light. I could see my arm was badly blistered and bleeding. It was also twisted and looked broken. It was only then that I realized I had felt pain when it touched me – as usual I could feel nothing now with that arm. Only my right hand and chest had any real clear sensation anymore. Except when that … whatever … touched me.

I could see the faces as I came through, appalled at my appearance compounded by my fresh injuries. I spoke for the first time in weeks, “I think Sarail is dead.” Then I faded from consciousness.

I awoke in the white and sterile hospital center. Someone had been kind enough to dim the lights for me – more than usual – and hung several deep blue UV shade strips from the top of the doorway to the hall. A woman was at my bedside and saw that I was awake. She asked me if I wanted a drink and told me I had been in an induced coma for 4 days. When she handed me the glass I absently reached out with my left hand, the glass was cold. I dropped it out of surprise.

"That … was … cold." Was all I could muster. The woman told me that I had been strangely healing while in the coma. My face had gone somewhat back into shape, one ear grew back, and the withered arm which had been blistered by … whatever … at the second gate now looked like the arm of a healthy 25-year-old. She handed me another glass and I grabbed it again with my left – fascinated by the sensation I had nearly forgotten. It was cold as I swallowed – something else I had not had the pleasure of in nearly 30 years.

I asked for a mirror and she gave me one as if she had been expecting the request. The burns were still visible and the scars pretty bad, but I definitely looked better. One ear was back as good as new, the other had little stubs around the earhole. And I could FEEL the lumpiness of the skin under the fingers of my once dead hand.

“It is slowing,” she said.

“What is slowing?” I asked.

“The healing is slowing. Whatever got ahold of you down there caused amazing regeneration for a time, but it has started to slow down. We estimate it will completely stop in a day or two – and we have no idea if it will last. We want to keep you here and monitor you for a few days.” She then produced a digital tablet with legal docs on it for me to sign. I told her I needed to think about it. She sighed and put the tablet down. Then she offered to pay me if I signed. Again, I told her to just give me a bit – I wasn’t going anywhere for the time being. “How long do you need?” she wanted to know. I asked for 24 hours. “OK, then I will be back tomorrow.” She smiled a somewhat unnerving smile and then left through the strips of UV filter shade in the doorway.

A nurse passed her on the way in and brought me some soup and asked if I wanted anything to drink. “Coffee,” I replied. “Strong and black.” It was as glorious as I had remembered it to be.

It was about 3 am when I awoke. Could have been the caffeine. More likely the diuretic properties filling my bladder which now needed to be emptied. After a much-needed draining, I simply left. Walked right out of the hospital like I knew what I was doing. Of course, I stopped in the hallway and exchanged clothes with the security officer. He should come to pretty soon even though he was locked in the closet.

Everything was too bright.

Every passing transport. Every glow from every window.

Although I had no idea how to get back into the gatestation and past the securefield, I had to get back down the stairs into the inky darkness. I had to get back there, I had to be grasped again and completely healed. And I had to find out if Sarail had had a similar transformation. Maybe she was still down there in the dark. Maybe she was taken past the door.