Page 1 of Dark Soul

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Dark

Luke Dark closed his eyes and found himself back in the kitchen of his childhood home.

The floor was a patterned linoleum in shades of red, orange and white. The central table was made of scuffed wood, big enough for their family of five, with space left over for one or two guests. Sitting at one of the high chairs, his sister, a little girl in pigtails, waited for her milk.

Something he said made her laugh, a beautiful sound.

Outside, the neighbor’s dog barked.

He was barefoot. As he poured the milk, he could feel the cold seeping in from the floor, through the soles of his feet.

He blinked, and went somewhere else.

This time, it was snowing directly into his face, the frigid air making him gasp with every pained breath. It was so cold he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been warm.

Somebody behind him—one of his men—said something that made him smile, even though smiling stretched his lips and the skin around his mouth painfully. They had many miles to cover and only a few hours of daylight, but they were all together, and as long as they kept moving, Dark knew they would be alright.

He blinked again, and found himself back in the box.

He knew this one was neither dream nor memory, but for a few seconds longer, he could pretend.

Finally, it was the cold that dragged him back to reality. It made sense that all his dreams took place in the cold. It was so cold inside the box that his breath frosted with every exhale.

Dark pulled up his knees against his chest. He wouldn’t complain about the cold. Although the isolation boxes were colder than the cells in the main wing, it was also quieter here, and he’d learned he valued the quiet more than he valued the warmth.

This time around, he hadn’t even tried to get into isolation. It’d happened naturally, when an inmate who should have known better had come into Dark’s cell and tried to steal the single book each inmate was allowed to keep in their cell. If anything, Dark thought he’d been remarkably moderate in his response, only breaking the man’s hand and nose. He didn’t expect the man would try again—at least not with Dark’s book.

Dark shook his head, determined to get back to his earlier daydreams, when steps sounded in the hallway outside his cell.

That’s strange.

Guards walked by once an hour, every hour, but he could have sworn it’d only been a few minutes since the last time they’d been around.

If there was anything that separated military prisons from their civilian counterparts, it was discipline. Everything happened at the same time every day, allowing everyone—both guards and inmates—the illusion of control.

The cold must be making your mind foggy.

“Get up, Dark.” Dark recognized the voice as belonging to a young, heavy-set guard with a reddish beard. “We have a Christmas visitor for you. Hands up where we can see them. You know the drill.”

Christmas.

It’s Christmas again.

That meant he’d been here four entire years. Sixteen left until his debt to society was paid.

And then what?

You’ll be fifty-one years old.

Dark shook his head.

He couldn’t—wouldn’t—start pitying himself.

He wasn’t a good man.