Light. I could see a place very much like the watermill’s bridge, but far more extensive. A settlement.
I had no illusions. This wasn’t a safe place. The danger here would be danger of another kind. People would be vicious to retain whatever they had here.
All the same, I started plotting a path. A great many bridges, real stone ones and makeshift pipe ones, as well as improvised bridges cobbled together with debris. The path to the settlement area was a winding one. I memorized the route I needed to take, one that would involve interacting with the smallest number of people.
Progress was slow, but that wasn’t a bad thing.
Priorities. Getting information was one. Green Eyes had suggested a way out. Maybe there was another way out.
If the Witch had a measure of respect and power, maybe I could get something, or barter my knowledge and meager expertise to obtain something. A better weapon would do worlds for my mental well being. Medical care too, if it meant not letting my body be corrupted or degraded or whatever this place wanted to do to it.
But a weapon, after that run-in, sounded like a fantastic idea.
Hobbling footsteps carried me to the first bridge. Stone, natural to this place, with no railing. The stones had been smoothed by droplets of water that had fallen down from above and run off either side for decades.
A man was there, oblivious to me, hands clasped behind his back. Black hair, black beard, black scarf, black jacket, black slacks, black shoes.
It was hard to convince myself that he wasn’t going to simply turn around and push, just because he could. Something about him made me feel uneasy.
I edged around him, and when I was close enough to be pushed, I took one quick step, putting me out of reach. I stumbled on my bad leg, but I stumbled on safe ground.
I was clear.
Paranoia would wear on my sanity too, but paranoia was better than falling victim to some stupid, vicious act.
“Blake.”
I stopped short.
That voice-
I turned.
To say my heart dropped out of my chest really didn’t do the feeling justice.
It was more like a great brutish fist just reached up from under me, fingers gripping everything inside the ribcage, and tore everything out, leaving me hollow.
I wobbled a bit.
If I’d been smarter about it, I would have put the pieces together. I’d been watching for the wrong thing.
He didn’t belong here. His clothes were intact, free of grime. His jacket was a blazer worn to contrast the nattiness of the sweater he wore, his scarf worn for style, not for winter wear. He wasn’t dressed for the season. His hands were jammed in his pockets, he was completely at ease.
I recognized him.
Fuck me, did I ever recognize him.
“Long time no see, Blake,” he said.
I swallowed hard.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked.
“I think you know exactly what I’m doing here, Blake,” he said.
“Stop saying my fucking name,” I said.
“Whatever you want,” he said. He smiled.
An easy, genuine, disarming smile. His eyes crinkled, betraying his age. A little older than thirty, maybe.
The colors were all wrong. His hair was supposed to be brown, I remembered the scarf as being red and white.
He was a shadow version of the man I remembered. Black.
That thought made me think of a fleeting mention Green Eyes had made to something. A black fish.
Of course.
I’d been treated to a vision of the present.
A glimpse of the future.
Now a shadow from my past. Something produced by this place to harry me, to ensure that I wouldn’t have peace without paying for it. Without becoming a monster, or… or what? Letting go of my memories altogether?
This place doing what it could to find my weaknesses, to claw at them. Attacking from different directions, to put me on my heels.
“Carl…” I said, and the name felt heavy on my tongue. “Don’t follow me.”
“You know I’m supposed to, Blake”
I turned to go, putting him behind me.
His footsteps followed.
I broke into a run. Heads turned.
He was faster. When I glanced, I saw him pass by them, running just as fast. They didn’t react, didn’t see him.
He was here for me and me alone.
My run became something reckless. My footfalls came down hard enough on one makeshift bridge that something bounced loose, to strike a hard surface a distance below. I was already a ways ahead, running along a ledge that would have been too narrow for casual walking.
I looked, and I saw him just a step behind me, reaching.
Stupidly, instinctually, I spun away. Less instinctually, more out of anger, I threw a punch.
Except there was nothing solid underfoot as I planted my foot behind me. Only open air.
A glimpse, as I turned in the air, of Carl standing on the ledge. A smug, vague expression that revealed nothing at all.
I was dimly aware of a bridge, and with the one foot that was still on solid ground, I kicked.
Another bridge of scrap metal and wood.
I didn’t trust myself to grab onto something and hold on. Instead, I simply slammed my arm into the nearest gap. Metal sliced the back of my hand and the ‘v’ shaped gap crushed my wrist.
I dangled, the entire bridge swaying with my weight.
With my damaged, bandaged hand, I gripped the sturdiest piece of wood. I was breathing too hard, and my hand shook. Rather than trust the integrity of my divided hand, I wrapped my forearm around it, and then pulled my wedged hand free. I climbed up onto the bridge in increments.
I didn’t stand.
“Mann, Levinn, Lewis,” I said.
My voice was hollow in the darkness.
“Mann, Levinn, Lewis.”
Eyes stared at me.
“Mann, Levinn, Lewis.”
There was no clap of thunder, no fire and brimstone.
Only a long pause, and heels striking the bridge.
I didn’t look up.
“Let me help my friends,” I said. “You win. This place wins. Just let me help them, and you have me after that.”
A deal with the devil.
“No,” was the reply. “Too late.”