Deptheless: Under the Library

by Tiffany Tay

  Please, just kill me now, I plead to thin air. I had suffered enough in my lifetime. I don’t need to live to another century of endless pain. Today’s events had been the icing on the cake. First Nikolay, now this…

  Niko. With a shudder, I realize he’s probably still stuck up there somewhere. When I heard his voice--- distinctive but still audible, I had deduced that he hadn’t plunged to his demise (duh), but could be hanging off midair, somewhere. Maybe he snagged his clothes halfway down on a jutted out rock or something, I don’t know. I just hope he is safe.

  Please, please save him. I silently plead to my friends up there.

  I can’t believe my last few moments spent with him… our last couple of moments, we hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. He must be hating me. If only I hadn’t been so harsh, if I had forgiven his stubborn head from the beginning… we may be sitting somewhere comfortable right this very minute, laughing happily over hot chocolate.

  My stomach growls at the thought of food. It probably hadn’t been too long since lunch, but with all these happenings, and the sheer exhaustion had made me terrible starving. I’ll never look at food the same way again.

  I pry open an eye tiredly. Then, I almost jump out of my skin, as I watch a round object descend from the opening…

  Getting larger, and larger… As it neared the hovering cloud of churning air, the object seems to slow down, as if the winds had gathered around it, softening it’s impact. This fits right in with my theory that the cloud cushions the impact of the fall.

  Finally, it hit me. Square on the head.

  “What---?” I stare at the object, wrapped in plastic. Suddenly, I’m afraid to open it. It could be anything from a rubber ball to a ticking time bomb… hey--- just saying!

  Eventually, curiousity took over, and with trembling fingers, I tore open the plastic wrapping…

  To my immense surprise, out fell---

  A round doughnut, freshly baked, smelling delicious.

  Is there a genie up there? It only seemed like seconds, I’d been thinking of food, when all of a sudden, a doughnut drops from the sky.

  Hang on… there is no genie up there. I scramble to my feet, then think twice as I almost collapse in absolute agony. Pain flared up my side like fire, burning throughout my body, blinding my vision.

  I cough. “Okay, okay, got it. No standing.” I slide back to the ground.

  Taking the heavenly doughnut in my hand, I bring it closer to my face, inhaling it’s delicious smell. My stomach does it’s duty, calling out for food.

  I stare at it. My friends must have dropped it down. They sent food. It must be safe to eat.

  Just as I open my mouth to take the first bite of the yummy snack, I notice something on the underside of the doughnut.

  Flipping it over, I stare in mingled amazement at the words scribbled there in chocolate:

  R U OK?

  “Heeelllpppp!!!” I yell up the hole till my lungs felt they were about to burst. I hear my voice echoing up the cold stone walls, doubling and tripling until the word became detached. I only hope my voice would carry so far upwards.

  But right now, staring at the doughnut in my hands, I smile. Finally, I allow myself to relax. After so long… so many fearful minutes all by myself…

  Help was about to come. I knew it.

  “Sorry doughnut.” I giggle, thinking myself half mad. “But thanks for your help.”

  In under one minute, the doughnut vanished from my hands, leaving traces of crumbs behind as evidence that I’d not imagined the whole scenario.

  More! My stomach rumbles. Shut up! I growl.

  Now, all I had to do was to wait, patiently, for goodness knows how long, with a throbbing ache in my side, until reinforcements arrive. I don’t know how they are going to do that, but I can’t allow myself another series of doubts now, could I?

  I let my body go limp against the cool rocky walls. Before I knew it, another doughnut bounced off my head and landed in my lap. I roll my eyes, giggling. Original much?

  This time I didn’t wait. I tore off the protective covering and stare at the message written, in strawberry this time:

  WE R C’MING!

  I smile. Of course you would! In an instant the doughnut was gone from my sight.

  I could get used to this way of communication--- as one sided as it is.

  Chapter Sixteen// Alex

  Alex’s POV

  I’m worried. It’s been exactly two years since we took Kale Caelum into the City. And recently, we’ve just added Stella Starre. It won’t be long now…

  It’s all going to begin. The cycle, pattern… the victim.

  And it’s all going to begin terribly, and result with a gruesome death. For decades, the curse passed down from generations to generations, causing demise, fatal, unprevented deaths. And still, there were no cures…

  No one had ever escaped the curse.

  I know it’ll only be a matter of time before something triggers the beginning of the curse. The cycle always repeats itself in a two year duration. Never fails to happen, never fails to end in a kill.

  I resolved to stop this madness, make a way for the future of the Underground City, for the Librarians. Years ago, to escape this curse, ancestors had built up walls of protection, dug down into the rocks, hoping to be free of the weighty curse… and the deaths. Slowly their efforts did pay off… only certain people were destined to die, as opposed to before, when the deaths made no sense. The kills just happened seemingly at random.

  Things steered off for the better, or for the worse, depending on which angle you choose to view it from. One way or another, though, something hadn’t changed. Something still remained vital and exasperatingly hopeless… deaths still continued to occur.

  And soon… if things go according to the curse, someone is destined to die.

  And I have a suspicion…

  *****

  I stare silently at him. His gaunt face beads with sweat, pale and crushed from hope. He keeps flexing his arms, seemingly triggered to defense by the slightest accusation.

  “You called me in here to prepare myself?” He says, disbelief etched clearly onto his face. Weary, broken, as if his future had already been stolen from his live, from imagination.

  “Don’t give up yet.” I urge. Sighing, I try to soften my voice. “Look at it this way, some deaths can’t be prevented, yet they can’t be scheduled. We can’t go about thinking of the number of days you’ll have. There’s more to this than we know.”

  He scowls, but even the effort seems too much for him. “Look,” he begins with a sigh. “I already known the outcome the moment the curse was explained to me. I had prepared for the moment all my life. I had lived, survived, and now my time will come. You just don’t lift my hopes, I’ll die anyway.” Even his voice is hollow, devoid of passion. He’d already given up.

  “You haven’t died yet.” I didn’t mean to sound harsh, but I want him to see, to wake up to life. “You don’t even have proof that it’ll be you.” I try to muster all my emotions into my words. “After all, there is still---“

  With an exasperated cry, he jumps up and slams his fist onto my desk, triggering all kinds of lumious flares. His eyes narrows and he tilts his head slightly upwards. For a second, he remains silent, brooding. When he spoke, there was no trace of anguish, just exhaustion. “I know what’ll happen to me, you don’t need to run me over with a truck to tell me that I’ll be the target this year. Face it, Alex.” He squeezes his hands into fists and scowls.

  “Once the first Crisis kicks in, I’m as good as considered dead.” He pushes his chair back so fast, it slides over the rock floor smoothly. Pausing, he surveys me once more, this time, a little flicker of doubt on his face.

  A moment later, it was gone, carefully hidden. “In fact, I’m already dead.” He announces in a flat voice.

  I stand, hands at my sides. For a minute, I just observe him, his face a study, a book under his arm. His expression hardens, his mou
th pulling downwards in a sulk.

  “You can’t just allow yourself the pain, you know. Don’t shut others out of your life.” I give him another gentle reasoning. “If you really think that you’ll die… why then, why waste the last few moments like this? Is this how you want to go? Your last memories: Sulking in a corner, always holding back? Believing everything’s too good for you? Never to indulge in the simple pleasures of life, but sit back and mourn a death that hadn’t and won’t happen so soon?”

  I feel my voice rising with every word, until I get to the last, and end my speech abruptly. My words hang in the air. I don’t know how much sinks in, or how much he would accept, to even believe, for a moment, that he need not consider himself a reject just because he’s going to die.

  “You can’t miss something if you’re going to die anyway. I don’t need pity. I don’t need friends. All I want is for my last living moments to be spent in peace. Can’t you give me that?” He doesn’t sound exhausted. Instead, he sounds more annoyed, irritated even, at my constant ‘pep talks’. I knew I should’ve sent him to Jocelyn instead. If I could pick one positive thing about that girl: She has one big motivational personality. Even if, you know, she seems oblivious to the safety concerning the possible victims of the curse at hand.

  I growl. “Then I hope you know what you want, and be happy with it. I tried, okay, I tried to give you whatever you want--- anything but to just sit out your last few days, moping, alone. You can’t be dead if you’re still breathing.”

  He narrows his eyes at me, looking at me like I’m on top of his to-kill list. Then he let out a defeated sigh. “I know. I’m sorry for acting like this. I--- I just don’t want to get my hopes up. At this point, all I know is that I should be writing the hyms to my own funeral.” His mouth jerks upwards, in sick humour. “At least I’d be able to get some peaceful sleep in that box without cringing with every lousy song.”

  I stare at him, bewildered. Is he kidding?

  I shake my head at him, forcing a slight smile. “In all these years, I’d never known anyone to joke abou their deaths. You’re the first one to ever except your death, hard and terrifying as it would come to be.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah right. Thanks for the tip.” He spurts in sarcasm.

  I’m beginning to think that this guy had a lot going for him, and that he doesn’t deserve to know about his early demise. He had cut off most of his happy childhood, mourning for a death still yet to come.

  “What would the world come to is every one wouldn’t go about their daily business, for fear that their time’s coming to a sudden end? The thing about death--- it’s not about when. It’s about how. How you go. What you’ve done before you leave the human world behind. Who would remember you. That’s all more important than bidding your time, counting down the days to your departure.”

  He shakes his head sadly at me. “You don’t understand… why I chose this way. It’s the easiest… most bearable way to live. I can’t allow myself a normal life… everything I worked for, all my achievements… won’t it just dissolve when I’m gone? Who benefits?”

  “That depends on what you do.” I insist. “People live and die, leaving behind a lifetime of deeds, of actions. However you chose to spend your life, you choose it yourself. Prove your worth not to others’ satisfaction, but to your own approval.”

  I pause, weariness finally kicking into me after a long morning of death talk.

  “I just want you to be happy.” I half-whisper, because it all sounds so ridiculous. Why? Just convincing a dead man to believe himself a happy guy in the final days of his life… that’s like trying to tell a suicidal maniac that all his problems would be solved the moment they decide to give up.

  Instead, he just shrugs, a pitiful smile on his haggard face. He would be handsome, if he took the time, and had the will to be. Which I known he didn’t and wouldn’t own.

  “Don’t kid yourself. You’d do the same, if you’re facing what I’m going through.” He sneers.

  I smile, dissatisfied. “No, no. You’ve got it all wrong. People all die, you know that. I don’t know how many years I’ve been given. But all I know is this: I’ll put my few years to good use, live my life with a purpose. I won’t waste what little which had been given to me. I’ll go through my life in the best way possible. The only way to live is to stop brooding over the whole process! You can’t live and keep thinking about living all time, around the clock. It’s as bad as dying and thinking about being dead.”

  He opens his mouth, looking for an argument, but I hold up my hands. “And I want to spend my life to the fullest. I want to help save another life. Yours! If only you’ll believe.”

  He scowls. I’m beginning to think I’ve pushed too far this time, but I continue anyway. “Life is precious because it ends, okay? Our short time period is what makes our every second, every minute, hour, day! important, and it would be a shame to fritter it all away just because of some stupid curse! Curse or not, you still live. You are still living! There’s no point in argueing otherwise, because, who knows? You could be given a chance---“

  He throws up his hands in utter frustration. “Enough!” He snaps. “I know I’m dying, and there’s not a thing you could do to prevent it! So why don’t you just stop your obsession. You aren’t going to be able to find a cure, no one ever did! I’m not allowing myself the luxury of believing in the impossible, only to have my life torn away in a sudden death! So,” He folds his arms across his chest, tired of this conversation.” Quit being such an existentialist, and look the bold facts in the eye!”

  He makes for the door. Again, another conversation in three days gone completely off-track.

  “Fine. As you wish, go about your life in a directional darkness! I--- I only want to make your last days meaningful…” Tears pricked my eyes, and I try to ignore the little voice inside my head, shooting unpleasantaries. I know guys don’t let it show that they are crying, but humans are emotional people. To feel is to be human.

  “Stop it.” He cuts me off mid-sentence. “I understand, okay? For the President, you are one frustrating annoyance. Look at yourself--- how are you making your life any better by throwing yourself out to help me, to help another person, and waste precious years from your life by doing so?”

  I laugh, cuttingly. The sound that escapes my lips shock even myself. “Kale, you are steering far from the point. I’d called you here to prepare you---“

  I was cut off once more as the door was suddenly flung open. I look up, irritated, as the familiar fluffly blonde hops dramatically into the office. All traces of annoyance soon left me, however, as I take in the expression on her face.

  White faced, and tight lipped, Jocelyn flung herself into the room. “Oh, Alex! It’s terrible! You have to come… I can’t believe…” Before she could even finish her sentence, she errupted into loud tears.

  Alarmed, I immediately take a step forward, billions of questions bubling in my mind. It takes a whole lot of pain and sweat and blood to make Jocelyn break, and whatever it is, I’m not liking the possibilities. “What’s wrong?”

  She gulps down a sob, and I see her usually bright eyes are now puffy and bloodshot. Her eyeliner is smudged, but for once, her mind seems occupied with some unearthly disaster. My heart sinks, hoping against hope that nothing major har cropped up…

  “It’s… an accident! By, by the chasm. No! In the… the bloody chasm!” She sobs, the noise sounding freakish from her usual seductive purr.

  Fear gripped me like a seat belt. I felt like I’m in a car going over the speed limit, glued to my seat, feeling my hair whip over my head, my eyes sinking into my brain… Unable to move, strapped to the seats, as the wind whisked past, as the car continues to gain in speed and distance. The only thing pulling me down, keeping me from going over the edge, is the seat belt. It continues to strap me in place, refusing to stretch, just pulling tighter, tighter…

  Please, don’t let it be what I’m thinking of… I hope silently, d
istress washing over me like acid.

  “Who? What? How?” Even Kale is getting worked up.

  “It’s Nikolay Adams! He was told to have pitched straight into the depths of the pit!” Jocelyn bursts out between sobs.

  I exchange horrified glances with Kale. Oh, no…nonono… this could not be happening…

  It’s all too soon to begin…

  “What? How?” I demand, fear pricking into me, deflating my spirits. I feel my colour escaping my face, as I mull over the possible explanations over in my head. This could not be happening…

  Jocelyn inhales a big gulp of air. Her makeup is smudged beyond repair now, and I see a barely recognizable Jocelyn beneath the ruined layers of gaudy cosmetics. “That’s not all.” She croaks, her voice barely audible.

  I feel a lump settle in my throat. A sense of dread settles at the bottom of my stomach. “What else?” my voice comes out dry, strained.

  “Sk--- Skye… she plunged into the void as well.” She finally chokes up.

  The ambiance at the moment seemed to have dropped into a chasm-like atmosphere.

  I feel as if someone threw a stone into my pool. Sinking… deeper and deeper into the murky beds beyond, landing hard on the rocky ground, it’s impact washing throught me with little tremors. I feel my legs give way beneath my body, urging me to fall back into my chair and bury my head in my arms and moan the whole day.

  A glance at Kale’s stricken expression only serves to confirm my worst fears.

  If I’m not mistaken, the beginning had just been triggered. The First Crisis. The cycle had begun, a month earlier than predicted. And simply within a matter of days, someone might end up dead. If the both of them aren’t already.

  A/N: Heeeyyy, all! So, school’s starting in a couple of days… so maybe that’s why this chapter’s all about death, dreary, moody… blah blah… honestly, I’m sorry, but this chapter is also kind of vital. This is no filler chapter, guys! Don’t worry, I’ll keep you updated on the important situation in the next chapter, so do look out for it!