Chapter 01: This Is Where (S)he DiedSickly yellow light seeped into the far ers of the dirty little ba, flickering as the bared bulb swayed as the end of its frayed cable. A shoddy table stood o a rusty, steel-frame bed. An old round clock ticked persistently, its shadow stretg and twisting as the light above danced. The clock sat oable o a worn, dog-eared book. Tattered aper peeled and curled from the walls; bugs crawled from cracks between the floorboards. The pce reeked of sweat and mould and sex. There were no windows and two doors on opposing walls provided the only escape from the room.

  The mattress was filthy and stained.

  David stood unmoving in the tre of the room. He blinked in the dim light, slowly ing to his senses. He felt strangely numb, though the hint of terrible pain throbbed in the background.

  No,” he whispered. “Not here.”

  His voice faded into the dusty air. He heard the deep thrum of distant music rising through the floor. Fingers curled into a tight fist. He thumped his fist against his thigh, and again, but the pain achieved nothing. Then, the creak of hinges. David spun to face the door behind him. The door swung open onto imperable darkness; a ssh across a vas; a chill wind breathed into the room and swirled about bared legs.

  A gasp; a cry and moan: uo stop himself David turned back to the bed. A woman was now spyed across the filthy mattress. She was beautiful—far too much so for such a room—but that beauty was tainted. The ivory basque she wore should have gleamed but was tarnished and stained. Her stogs were torn and the skih was red and raw. Dark and heavy makeup, smudged and cracked, did more to ceal her beauty than enha. One leg hung over the edge of the bed and her arms y limply at her side. She seemed unscious or ie but for her eyes—which were open and bzed with anger.

  “Sephy?” David said.

  (“Hey, did he just say something?”

  “Don’t be stupid. The patient’s under.”)

  This is where (s)he died.

  The pain of her death never went away. But it did fade to an almost f numbness. The guilt was another matter: he used it as he was taught. Following Persephone’s death, Sakura no longer had any use for him: a tool with a fw o longer be trusted. But her teag remained. Guilt fuelled his rapid ast in the corporate world; it underscored many of his sexual quests. Like his fear and anger and love, he made it a part of himself and gradually his guilt, as with his fear and anger and love, dwindled until all became nothing more than a f numbness, nearly fotten, easily ignored.

  The nightmares stayed. Most m, he woke in a cold sweat. He’d cry out in the night and if he had pany, frighten whatever girl y o him. The pany of women only occasionally kept the dreams at bay. Sometimes the bad dreams came so incessantly and intehey seemed to haunt him even after he awoke. The by the window, looking out at the city glinting coldly below, breathing and trembling steadily until the sun rose and bahe darkness.

  One nightmare recurred most frequently and with greater iy thahers. There was urning to sleep after esg its clutches. He reized the room in the nightmare. I’m dreaming, he though to himself. Yet the nightmare had never gripped him with such crity. His surroundings and the steady creep of sensations aio incredibly lucid.

  The musty taste on his tohe urge to wipe his hands against his short, pleated skirt, the palpable s that flowed hotly from the girl on the bed—his senses felt fully engaged even as he reized that he must be dreaming.

  With growing dread, he turo the open door behind him. The threshold roiled with darkness and in it stood a figure. The figure resolved itself into familiarity: tall, heavy-set, fists g at his side and jaw ched: Agent Fosters now stepped into his nightmare. Blood flowed freely from a thin slit along the man’s throat, a crimson smile as terrible as the man’s grin above. The assassin’s muscles bulged and strained against his suit. Dark eyes flicked over to David. The man sneered and dismissed him aurned his attention to the girl lying across the bed.

  Frin grew with lust. Blood dribbled from between his teeth and from his nose and down his . He stepped ponderously across the room, eyes locked on Persephone’s vulnerable form.

  “No,” David howled and unched himself at the man. But his footing was unsure in heels, and his weak, wobbly steps slowed him, draining all strength from his attabsp; With an idle swipe, Fosters sent him crashing into the wall.

  David fell to his knees. Pain fred in his side. He clutched his ribs and they felt wet and slick, but his eyes never left the man’s back as he approached the girl on the bed. Fosters towered over her. He towered over them both, and his powerful hands, fingers long and curved like meat hooks, reached down for Persephone.

  “Don’t touch her!” David screamed. He struggled to his knees, crawled towards her, reached for her. “Sephy!”

  Fosters methodically tore the art. Gore flooded the bed and flowed across the wooded floor. Blood pooled and spread and reached David, still scrabbling to reach the woman he loved. He reached his enemy. Lurched to his feet. His hands, stained red, curled around the man’s throat.

  “Stop,” he said, tightening his grip. And then Fosters shouted, “Get him off of me!” and suddenly the room was gone, disappearing in a florest fre, white light, aid he was sitting up on a table surrounded by men and women in white coats, spattered in red, staring at him with wide eyes over face masks, and everyone began to cry out at once:

  “Holy shit, he’s awake!”

  “Quick, pin him down!”

  “Robert, fuck, Robert, put him out, put him out!”

  “Don’t you touch her!” David cried, filing out against his oppos, struggling against the hands that sought to restrain him. A suddenly stabbing pain ihigh, and he gnced back to see the needle jutting out of his leg, and a moment ter he felt his body grow cold and numb beh him.

  “Sephy,” he said, reag but uo reach her, sinking as he was, down into darker depths of unsciousness.

  Author's Notes:

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