“Kaleb would tell me to search the house first. If she isn’t here there might be a clue to where in her mind she is? Did the house have to be so big?” I grumble, my voice the only sound outside of the air conditioner.
The house is fancy and huge, but it feels like a bunch of smaller homes legoed together, which will make it a bitch to search.
I start with the first hallway I come across, continuing to shout her name, but only find some creepy office that’s covered in occult stuff-- it has color so there’s that, a bathroom, and a library, which looks to be filled with more creepy occult stuff, only of the book nature. At the end of the hallway is a set of stairs going up, but I decide to explore all of the first floor before moving upstairs.
Returning to the foyer, I go through the formal living room and I’m about to head through the dining room to the kitchen, when I notice another set of stairs going up to the second floor. These are carpeted and more elaborate, which makes me think these are probably the main ones. More importantly, I notice a small trail of blood that starts from one of the stairs and leads down a nearby hallway.
I follow the drips of blood and it eventually leads me to a heavy door, like one used to enter from a garage, but it’s on the wrong side of the house for that. It’s unlocked, and on the other side is more stairs, these are concrete, leading down to another matching heavy door.
My gut starts to twist, because the blood trail is more substantial on the concrete steps. Carefully, I make my way down, walking around the blood, with my heart thundering in my ears. At the bottom, I know I’ve found where I’m supposed to be, because now I hear, though heavily muffled by the door, the sickening sound of Callie shrieking in pain.
I quickly try the handle and burst through the door, but what I find on the other side freezes me in place. I know it’s her, because the screaming is her voice, but the body I see tied with heavy ropes to a stainless steel table is nothing but charred flesh that’s still on fire. There’s a low flame that runs the length of her body, like a log of wood that’s been burning for a while, and it cracks with every pop of melted fat. There’s an industrial sized fan sucking up the smoke, but the air still smells of cooked meat and burning hair, causing my stomach to roll, and I start dry heaving.
Beside the burning husk that sounds like Callie, is a middle aged man yelling at her that if she really wanted it to stop, she’d save herself. Everything about him, except for the insane rage in his grey eyes, is neat and precise: dark hair combed back, dress shirt and tie underneath a lab coat, pressed black slacks, and loafers that shine-- the picture of a psychopathic serial killer.
A violent fury fills me at the sight of this bastard who has yet to notice I’ve entered the room. Looking around for a weapon, I find a bloody, aluminum baseball bat that’s been abandoned on the floor a few feet away. Slowly I reach for it, trying to be as quiet and stealthy as possible.
Callie’s shrieks have turned to coughing, raspy moans, and I don’t understand how she lived through this. Everyone is sure this is some type of flashback, but how? How is this possible? Magic is a complete mystery to me, but if this isn’t the result of her psyche going into overdrive, magic is the only explanation I’ve got. Who’s magic though? Did this sick bastard burn her alive then heal her only so he could torture her some more?
The son of a bitch is so focused on berating Callie that he doesn’t see me coming, and I take full advantage. I swing the bat as hard as I can and imagine cracking his skull wide open like an overripe pumpkin. He drops like a stone, his limbs crumpled beneath him and blood oozes from where I hit him.
My whole body shakes with fine tremors, and I breathe in stifled gasps, unable to get enough air into my lungs. I run an arm across my forehead, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. It feels like ice is pumping through my veins. Despite knowing this isn’t real, I can’t seem to stop the visceral feelings from taking over. The urge to keep bashing the bastard over the head with the bat is strong, but Callie needs me more.
The bat slips from my fingers with a clang against the concrete floor. Turning to Callie, I rip my shirt off over my head and do my best to put out the flames. I want to be gentle but I can’t or the fire won’t actually go out. Every agonized moan feels like a knife through my chest. By the time the flames are all smothered out, tears are streaming down my face, and I don’t know what to do next. Her skin is cracked and peeling away from her body like charred bark off a tree, and blood is oozing through the gaps and dripping to the floor.
“Let me die,” she whimpers to no one, lost in her pain. “Please, just let me die.” Her words are distorted, the syllables slurred together from her melted lips and swollen tongue.
I don’t want to touch her, afraid of causing more pain, so I do my best to lean into her line of sight. Her eyelids are burned away, but for some frightening reason her eyes seem unaffected, the whites of the eyeballs a horrifying contrast against the blackened skin.
“Callie, this isn’t real,” I weep. “We’re in your mind. You need to wake up.”
Her gaze slowly drifts to me. “Kill me,” she wheezes.
“No, no, no, no… Callie, please listen to me,” I beg, choking on my own tears. “This god awful nightmare isn’t really happening. You’re asleep, and we need you to wake up.”
“I want it to stop,” she pleads. “Please make it stop.”
“Okay. We’ll make it stop. Hold on,” I entreat, wiping at my face.
Kaleb said I had the potential to manipulate her dreams; I just need to figure out how. First things first, I have to get her out of this room.
The ropes tying her hands and feet are melted together and can’t be untied, so I search for something to cut them off with. Hanging on the wall is a horror fest of tools that I can’t think about being used, or I’ll start dry heaving again. I quickly retrieve a small hand saw and get to work. As gently as possible and careful to avoid hurting her more, I cut away the ropes. She only makes a small whimper when some of her flesh peels away with the ropes. I gag, no longer entranced with the ability to smell.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I curse, knowing there’s no easy way to do the next step. “God damn it, I don’t know what I’m doing.” I rub at the back of my neck, doing my best to push down what I’m feeling so I can be what Callie needs, and pray, “Please let this be the right thing to do.”
I lean back over her so she can see me when I speak. “I’m going to get you out of here, but I have to pick you up to do it, okay? It’s probably going to hurt. I’m sorry.”
She stares at me, but she doesn’t respond, which scares the crap out of me. How am I supposed to lead her out of this if she’s unresponsive in her own mind?
With deliberate care, I slide one arm under her shoulders and one under her knees, then lift her off the table. She moans quietly, more of a painful exhale of air. Her body sticks to my naked skin, but thankfully, all her flesh comes with her, only leaving behind a pool of blood and other fluids on the table. I take shallow breaths, desperate to keep my stomach from turning any more than it already has.
As I’m carrying her up the concrete steps, she rasps, “Are you an angel who’s come to take me away? Did I finally die?”
“Don’t let Donovan here you say that,” I joke with tears in my throat. “No, pretty girl, I’m Felix. Remember, we met your first night in Twin Cedar Pass. You’re alive, and you don’t live here anymore. I know this hurts and feels real, but it isn’t. I need you to believe me, so I can get you out of here.”
Elbowing my way through the second door, I do my best to keep her from hitting anything, but her foot bumps the doorframe. She cries out and an awful guilt grips my heart. I look down at her face to apologize and notice she has eyelids again, and underneath the flaking parts of her skin, the raw muscles and splintered bones are slowly knitting back together. I want to believe this is a sign that she’s waking up, but it feels more like the answer to how she survived this torture. The bastard didn’t heal her-- she did.
I walk as fast as I can, desperate to get her out of this house and away from all this. Once we’re out the front door, I collapse on the steps outside and cradle her in my arms. I’ve imagined what it would be like to hold her, but damn, not like this.
