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I take in a deep breath and concentrate on the space in front of me until the air starts to warp and shimmer. Flames appear out of nowhere, marking the outline of a door. Through the door, the green-blue of San Francisco Bay turns to grey.
I step right through.
Still in the room, only there’s no air, no color, no life.
“Hello?” I say, and I’m surprised to hear my voice, albeit dull. It’s not that there’s no sound in this place, it’s that there’s no echo.
I stare out the window, at the city that had stopped in time, and then I turn around and go out the door.
I remember there’s no need to hurry in here, so though I’m quick by nature now, I don’t panic as I make my way out of the hotel. Or at least, I try not to.
It’s so fucking eerie here. The place is usually bustling with people; now, there’s not a soul to be found. No smell, except a faint burning, perhaps the updraft from Hell. It reminds me of an old movie I saw once on TV late one night, The Langoliers, based on the story by Stephen King. Yup, this definitely feels like a Stephen King novel.
I walk through the empty lobby, the lack of echoes unnerving me, then head out on to the street. I don’t have to run today, but even so the longer I spend in here, the more out of sorts I feel, like my sanity is slowly unspooling. I don’t know how the hell the first vampires spent six months in here, it must have felt like an eternity to them. They probably all went mad.
So I start to run through the black and white world.
Running through the nighttime was one thing, but now that I’m heading down Powell Street, past all the empty cable cars, all the vacant stores, it feels like I’m in the actual apocalypse. It’s so painfully empty.
Of course, I see shadows. Lurking in the spaces between the buildings, along the streetcar lines on Market Street. Spirit-hijackers. They make me run faster.
Finally I get to my apartment, creating a portal right inside my kitchen until I see the blue linoleum tiles on the floor. I step right through. The flames dissolve.
I’m back inside.
I take in a deep breath and look around. It’s stuffy as hell, so I open all the windows to get in some fresh air, then I go to the front door, checking that it’s locked. It is. I was able to open it when I was in the Black Sunshine, so it’s good to know it remains locked in the real world.
I putter about the place, trying to make it look a little more lived in, otherwise Elle’s going to really think something is off. Then I go into the kitchen and pull out an Anchor Steam that’s been sitting in the fridge for ages.
I close the fridge door when suddenly I hear the front door close behind me.
I whirl around, and gasp, the beer slipping out of my fingers and shattering to the floor.
Atlas Poe just unlocked the door, no key needed.
I open my mouth to scream but the sound dies in my lungs.
Atlas walks toward me, his dark coat flowing behind him, and with a flick of his fingers, my arms slam to my sides, my legs doing the same, cementing me to the ground.
I can’t move. It feels like I’ve been wrapped in electric metal chains, squeezing me tight, making my hair stand on end.
Atlas slowly approaches, his finger still pointed my way, blue sparks in his eyes. Like before, he’s wearing all black, and in the daylight of the kitchen, he looks like an ink blot, a horrible stain.
“There you are, Lenore,” he says to me, a sinister edge to his voice. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I try to move again, try to focus on breaking the chains, but my mind is going wild, competing for speed with my racing heart. I can’t think, can barely breathe.
“You won’t be able to break these binds,” he says to me, coming closer, stopping just a foot away. He reaches down into his trench coat and pulls out a glowing knife, the blade of the mordernes. I stare at it in horror, intense fear prickling my skin from head to toe.
I manage to tear my eyes off the blade, the blue electricity wrapping around it, matching the blue sparks in Atlas’ eyes as I stare at him, trying to talk, my mouth moving but nothing coming out.
“Ah,” he says. “Perhaps I should allow you to speak a little. Don’t bother screaming, it won’t work.”
I feel a jolt through my throat. “The fuck are you doing?” I manage to say, but the words come out in a low whisper. I’m unable to raise my voice even if I tried.
