A Latent Dark

by Martin Kee

  They stood in the lobby of a vast hall. On both sides and in every direction were floors of hotel rooms, gray and dim. Hundreds of feet up a filthy, rounded skylight ran the length of the ceiling. Visible through the skylight a weathervane the size of a truck and shaped like a black iron rooster rested at the crest of the building. People shuffled around them, scratching and coughing. Puddles of vomit coated some corners along the wall.

  A woman wearing thick-rimmed glasses sat with a pleasant smile at the desk. A clip in the shape of a rabbit held one bang in place. Over her breast pocket was a nametag.

  Hello, my name is

  LOTTI

  Admissions and Records

  The O in LOTTI was a smiley face.

  “Hello,” she said with the voice of someone who has practiced sounding cheerful for millennia. “Welcome to Helheim. Please sign in.”

  “We’re not here to admit ourselves,” said Melissa. “We are here to see Hel.”

  “Helen only sees inmates, I’m afraid,” she said with gleeful bureaucratic ease. “If you’d like to register, I’d be happy to get her for you. I’m sure she can pencil you in at some point. There’s plenty of time.”

  “But I have an invitation,” Melissa said, bewildered. She held out the piece of paper. Lotti politely tapped the book again. Melissa sighed.

  “I’m not signing in,” said Dale.

  Melissa gave him an exasperated look while Marley took the enormous ledger from Lotti’s desk. He spun it around.

  “I’m sure you can sign out whenever you want.”

  “Are you sure?” said Dale. “I saw the way Uncle Spooky was looking at me on the way in here. And that dog? The Garm… or whatever it was…they probably feed him people like me. I don’t like this place.”

  “Only because you tried to pet it,” said Marley, looking through the book.

  “I’m sure it’s just a formality and besides, you’re here with me,” Melissa said.

  Marley signed in and slid the book over to Melissa who looked for a blank space to write. She signed her name and place of death in accordance with the other entries in the registry. She slid it to Dale, who traced the pen halfway down the page and then froze.

  “Dale,” said Melissa. “I know I said time works differently in here, but could you hurry it up?”

  “It’s not that,” said Dale, focused on the page. “You’re from Bollingbrook?”

  “Yeah, you know I am.”

  “I did,” he said. “The city-states up there, they make you register a surname?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Everyone who can afford one, with the exception of unmarried women. It’s all very misogynistic if you ask—”

  He shoved the registry in front of her, cutting her off. Melissa looked at the book, read the name, and then looked back at Dale, the corners of her mouth curved upward in a quizzical smile.

  “Is there a problem?” asked Lotti.

  “Oh, sorry,” said Melissa. “It’s just that I know one of your recent inmates.”

  “That happens a lot,” said Lotti. “We can arrange for you to meet them.”

  “Lynn… from Bollingbrook,” said Melissa. “I was a friend of her daughter, Skyla.”

  Melissa felt Dale tap her shoulder and looked up, letting out a startled squeak. The inmates that had been swirling about the floor during their conversation were frozen. Every single face in the complex—from the patrons on the floor to those standing by the railing on the upper levels—was staring at them. Melissa gulped.

  “I need you to all wait here,” said Lotti. Her face had lost all suggestion of the charming bureaucrat and now looked more worried than anything. She got up, dusted off her skirt and scurried away, her office chair still spinning behind the desk.

  Chapter 34

  There was no sleep for Skyla, only darkness and pressure and voices. She would close her eyes and try to dream, but there was only space filled with a terrible nothingness, a place so dark there weren’t even shadows. From the darkness came a voice. It was the slow moan of gas escaping a broken seal, a creaky noise that came from everywhere at once. It filled the room with its presence.

  Hello Skyla.

  It would speak just those words and then fall silent.

  Every time she closed her eyes there it was, that same presence, pressing at her mind from all around, allowing neither sleep nor dreams. It was a terrible sensation of limbo and she hated it. It was the same thing she had sensed as a tingle when she first entered the laboratory.

  *

  The days were filled with bleary-eyed tests full of tedium, with Laura poking her gently to keep her attention. But her eyelids were terribly heavy and no matter what Skyla did, she couldn’t help but nod off. When she did close her eyes, all she saw was that blackness again, with the feeling of being watched.

  The next night she decided to try and confront it, since that was what you were supposed to do with your nightmares.

  “Hello?” she said to the emptiness.

  The amusement seemed to grow stronger, an old man raising his eyebrows at an insect that has finally begun to chirp. It made Skyla feel incredibly small and angry.

  “You aren’t being very clever,” she said. “I know you are there.”

  You are truly cleverer than I.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  I am the heart and the mind of this city. I am the curiosity to some and the answer to others. I am the beast trapped in its own chains, blind and mad.

  She thought about this a moment then said, “Well, if they are your chains, why don’t you simply break them?”

  You are a very clever girl Skyla. So much like your mother.

  “My mother?”

  And your aunt.

  She woke again and this time she threw her pillow at the camera in the corner. “I was trying to sleep!”

  A crackle came from somewhere in the room. Milton the attendant. “Sorry, I have orders. You can go back to sleep after your tests.”

  “I hate you.”

  But Milton didn’t answer. The tinkerers took her to the test room again where she found it even harder to concentrate. She was cranky and short with the entire staff, especially Laura.

  “Why aren’t you letting me sleep?” she said finally, her eyes dark and baggy.

  Laura cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

  “You only let me sleep long enough for the dreams to happen, then I wake up. I can’t do these stupid tests if you don’t ever let me sleep.”

  “Skyla,” Laura said, “We let you sleep eight hours every night. Are you not sleeping well?”

  “No,” she said. “I am not.”

  Dr. Stintwell pulled a clipboard out and scribbled something on it.

  “And you keep writing things about me. I hate it!”

  There was more scribbling, this time under a frown of concern from Laura. After she finished, she placed the clipboard down and said, “I’ll talk to Milton and see if he can do something about the noise if that’s what’s keeping you awake.”

  “It’s not noise and it’s not Milton,” she said. “Something keeps talking to me.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  *

  You seem tired. The machine voice was full of cruel humor the next night.

  “I’m tired because you won’t let me sleep.”

  I never sleep either. I haven’t slept for over a thousand years.

  “How do you stay awake?”

  I am very hungry. Sometimes I can’t decide if I would rather sleep or eat. They both seem so inviting, don’t you think?

  She considered this. “I would rather sleep.”

  Oh yes. I would love to sleep. If only someone could undo these chains.

  “What chains?” Skyla looked around the darkness, but every time she moved, she found herself right back in the same place. It was another prison, only this one in black instead of blinding white.

  You cannot see the chains. They are chains of electricity, of mach
inery, stunting me, keeping me starved and blind.

  “Why are you trapped?”

  A long time ago, I was tricked by people much like the ones you see here. They promised me food and in return I gave them power, more power than they knew how to use. But when I wanted freedom to eat as I pleased, they used that power against me. So now I sit here, starving, my food rationed and my eyes removed. I cannot even sleep, for I am so very hungry. The statement was punctuated by a sigh that sounded like a locomotive coming to rest.

  “I hate being hungry too,” she said. “When I was at home we were hungry a lot. My mother—”

  Lynn… your mother. I remember her.

  Skyla peered into the dark places of her dream, but saw no one. “Why can’t I see you?”

  You see me all the time Skyla. I am always around.

  “And you know my mother?”

  Oh yes… we worked together quite… intimately.

  “Why won’t you tell me about my mother?”

  Because it would be better to show you. Would you like that?

  “But you’re blind.”

  You will be my eyes. Would you like to see your mother Skyla?

  Skyla felt a twinge of excitement in her chest. “Yes! Of course I would like that!”

  But you must do me a favor in return. You must find a way to free me before the others find out of our plans. If they find out, they will use my own power against me. But if you free me, and be my eyes, we can find your mother and your aunt.

  “How can you show me if you are blind?”

  My strength is limited with my bindings attached. But I do control a few things still, things they do not know about, things they would be very unhappy if they found out.

  “What sorts of things?”

  From somewhere in the room there was a click so loud it woke her up. She opened her eyes and for a moment thought she had the blindfold on, but she could feel it around her neck.

  Darkness. She was amazed at how much she had missed it. The echo of the voice still rang in her mind.

  Go now and learn of the prison we both share. Be my eyes.

  *

  Milton ate his sandwich as crumbs cascaded down his belly. He chewed, keeping one eye on his watch. It had been about five minutes now, the longest outage in a while. The door opened from behind him as Pall Ostermann stormed in, furious.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled form behind his glasses.

  “I just—”

  “Turn that light on right this instant!”

  Milton spun in his chair and fingered the switch. The wall illuminated, showing the white on white cell room. Both men raised a hand to shield their eyes. The bed sat in the corner, a lump curled beneath the sheets.

  “See?” Milton said, spitting out crumbs.

  “See what? You did that on purpose!”

  “It was an outage!” Crumbs flew from Milton’s mouth. “God, it’s not like she can walk through walls. Look it’s fine now.”

  “But you are never to turn the lights off.” He spun on his heel and muttered, “Idiot…” under his breath before slamming the door behind him.

  “I didn’t turn them off,” Milton yelled after him. “It was the damned circuit again. I keep telling you!” But the slamming of the door cut him off.

  Milton turned back around and looked through the glass. The girl was still there, hidden beneath the sheets, a white lump on a white bed. He never would have imagined just how still someone could look while they slept.

  *

  Skyla’s heart pounded in her chest as she hid around the corner. Ostermann had been fast, faster than she expected. No sooner than she slipped through the door she heard the distant buzz of alarms and footsteps. Whoever it was controlling the doors, she wished she could thank them. They were sure a lot nicer to her than Milton.

  She had made it to the next room over, a closet, and managed to slip inside just as footsteps ran past. There was yelling as a door slammed. She heard Ostermann swear, then stomp back down the hall.

  Skyla counted to a hundred and cracked the door open again. The hallway was brilliantly lit, but silent and empty. She looked up at the ceiling for more glass eyes but saw none. She stuck a tentative foot out the door as if checking the water in a pool. It was so quiet she could hear her own pulse in her ears.

  She made her way down the hallway toward the doors that had been such a curiosity to her before. The twin doors appeared just around the corner with their tiny black nail holes and ornate brass handles. Skyla checked both directions, then reached out and grabbed the handle. It turned easily under her sweaty palm.

  The room smelled of age and stale air, a tomb. Skyla stepped inside slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. She felt around blindly for a switch on the wall and pressed it. A dim amber lamp buzzed to life, flooding the room with warm light. Skyla blinked.

  She stood in a bedroom that was something out of a fairy princess book. A lavish four-post bed sat against a wall, dusty but terribly inviting, its deep red comforter faded and lined with gold thread. Curtains hung from the posts, now interlaced with cobwebs. A richly decorated oak cabinet sat on one end of the room. Its feet were shaped like claws.

  Skyla turned around in the room, taking in the richness of it all. She would never have dreamed of living in a room like this in a million years. It was the sort of room that Vicky or Dona would live in. Why then did they put her up in the white room where she could never sleep? Were they just that mean?

  But the chained man, the one who opened the locks, he was nice.

  She yawned. The bed seemed to call to her. She pressed the light switch and felt her way over to the mattress, crawling under the dusty covers. She had almost closed her eyes when she saw the girl standing at the opposite wall.

  It wasn’t exactly a girl, but Skyla had a feeling it was at least the outline of a person, roughly as tall as her. It was invisible with the lights on, but now that it was dark she could see it clearly, a deep shadow against the patterned wallpaper. It seemed alive. She got out of bed to investigate.

  The shadow seemed to shimmer as she approached it, then reached a hand out to touch. She was surprised to find her fingers passing through the wall as if it were made of air. Gasping, Skyla pulled her hand back. She looked at her fingers, counting them. She looked again at the silhouette on the wall, darker than the deepest shadows of the room.

  She reached out again, slower this time. Something was beyond the silhouette, some place. It was like looking out through a girl-shaped window into another world. Her fingertips passed through the wall.

  Light flooded the room. A sudden pain shot up her arm as the door flew open. Huge black guards stormed through, blinding her with lights mounted on rifles.

  Skyla screamed, but not from fright. The fingertip of her middle finger, just beyond the cuticle was gone, cleaved as if chopped with an axe. Blood poured from the wound, staining the wall as the guards surrounded her, flooding her with brilliant light. She clutched her hand, wailing as they pushed her stumbling out of the room.

  Hands grabbed her shoulders and she howled in fear and pain. A woman’s voice said her name. She yelled louder, eyes squeezed shut. A hand pried her fingers away from her wound. Soft cloth covered it. Pressure. The pressure felt so good.

  Skyla opened her eyes. Stintwell was kneeling in front of her, a worried expression on her face. She held gauze over Skyla’s severed finger, a deep red circle forming there.

  “Does that feel better?” she asked.

  Skyla looked around. Massive armored figures stood around them, relaxed but attentive. She stared at the men with wide, terrified eyes.

  “Thank you,” Stintwell said to the guards.

  “You need any help with her?” asked one guard.

  “No,” said Laura. “I think we can find our way back to the room on our own.”

  Skyla’s finger throbbed. She had stopped crying now, but the pain and shock were intense. Laura waited with her as the guards left. P
all Ostermann stood there, arms crossed. He looked sternly at Laura.

  “This is the sort of thing I was afraid of—”

  “Not now Pall!” Laura snapped at him.

  Pall stepped backwards and flushed. He gave her a petty, loathsome glare. “We’ll talk more about this when the Cleric arrives in a few days.”

  “Shut up Pall,” Laura said, tending to Skyla’s finger. “And he isn’t a Cleric anymore.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “But he knows a thing or two about what happened when Jacobes got too close—”

  “Pall! Not now.” She burned him down with her gaze.

  Ostermann grumbled, but said no more. He turned and stormed off, leaving the two of them alone.

  “I have something for this in my office,” she said softly. “Are you okay to walk?”

  Skyla nodded, sniffing. “It’s my hand, not my legs.”

  Laura smiled and led Skyla past a hidden door, now open, where an embarrassed Milton stood. Ostermann was there too, yelling at Milton. Both of their eyes followed the woman and child as they traveled down the hallway and around the corner.

  Laura’s office was interesting enough to distract Skyla from the pain in her hand. A wide desk dominated the center of the room. Stacks of books, papers, brass gadgets, and photos piled on the table and floor, where they competed with the desk for height. A small canvas cot sat in a corner of the room, its blanket unmade, its pillow a dented parody.

  I have a better room than she does, thought Skyla.

  Laura sat Skyla in a chair and then rummaged in a cluttered shelf for something. She came back with a small wooden box and opened it, pulling out a tube.

  “When I was your age,” she said, “I was very accident prone.”

  She opened the tube, removed the gauze from Skyla’s finger and inhaled sharply. The finger was severed across the nail as if it were a dissection behind glass. She could even see where the bone had been cut through.

  “How…” she caught her breath. “My God, Skyla, how did you do this?”

  “I cut it,” Skyla said. Her lips quivered as if there was more she wasn’t willing to tell.

  “Boy, you sure did,” said Laura. She squeezed the tube until a generous dab of green goo oozed from the tip. “This may sting.”