XVII
Henry
watched first Josh and then Paige vanish into the old factory with a sense of
rising terror. He didn’t think he could
follow them. He wasn’t sure he had the
energy to climb inside for one, but there was also some terrified, irrational
part of him that could not bare to face whatever was inside the old ruin. He tried to calm himself down by telling
himself that it was all just in his head, but that was little comfort. Knowing that you’re having a nightmare
doesn’t make it any less terrifying.
As the
silence and the darkness seemed to grow and thicken around him with the fog,
true panic began to set in. He tried to
channel it into anger, something he was good at, but the voice of rage inside
his head sounded impotent, pathetic.
Are they just going to leave
me out here? he thought, Have they no consideration for an old man?
The air was chilly, and as his
eyes began to readjust to the dark without Josh’s torch, he saw that the ground
beneath his feet glittered slightly with frost. His odd combination of trousers and a hospital gown suddenly
seemed very insufficient clothing.
I’m a fool, he told
himself, a stupid, old, fool. I should
have stayed in the hospital where it was safe.
But even as he thought it he
realised he had trouble believing it really was safe.
Nonsense! he thought,
trying to calm himself.
As his eyes continued to adjust
he began to realise that there was more light than he had been expecting. It was almost as if the fog itself gave off
a very faint glow. By this slightly
unearthly light he was able to pick out many more details than he would have
thought possible. After a few moments
he was even able to read the graffiti on the wall and almost instantly he felt
a sudden jolt of terror.
There it was again.
The cross of Saint Margaret
of Devara. Two möebius loops
overlapping, perpendicular, the symbol of an endless cycle. I have to be dreaming all this, I have to
be, and then another, more rational thought came to the forefront of his
mind and horrified him even more. But
what if I’m not?
There was a scream from within
the factory which made Henry jump, then turn towards the empty window. He glanced back up the street at the
grotesque wall which blocked their progress, then at the fog which closed in
all around.
I have no choice, do I?
he thought resentfully, no bloody choice at all.
So, slowly, with all the grace
of a frail, uncertain old man, Henry climbed into the factory.
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