Read Online All Who Wander Are Lost (An Icarus Fell Novel) by Bruce Blake - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bruce Blake
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sounded to me like the most beautiful music I’d ever heard.
The doors slid open
and she stepped through, letting go of my arm.
I crashed back to
earth or, in this case, Hell. The murmur in my bones disappeared
leaving me feeling empty, alone. She stood in the elevator facing
me; my body ached to say something to her, tell her she made me feel
like no one ever had, beg her to come back to me.
“ Are
you coming, silly?”
Her words broke the
spell. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and dragged my sleeve
across my mouth in case my open-mouth gape left drool on my chin,
then stepped into the elevator and pushed the twenty button.
“ It
was twenty-eighteen, right?” I asked, my voice quaking
slightly.
The doors slid
closed. At first, I stood close enough to feel the heat radiating
from her hand and part of me wanted to hold it, go back to the
exotic place her touch took me. Another part knew that if I did, I
might never return. I side-stepped a little farther away as the
muzak version of Barry Manilow’s ‘Mandy’ assaulted
us from a tinny-sounding speaker hidden in the elevator’s
ceiling.
Now I know I’m
in Hell.
The trip felt like
it took an eternity, but Piper’s close proximity bringing a
light sweat to my brow may have been as much responsible for the
feeling as the torture of Mr. Manilow or some Hellish trick like our
raft ride across the River Styx. At least I didn’t have to pay
the elevator-man.
At last, the number
twenty above the door illuminated with a coinciding electronic ding.
A second later the doors slid open. I went to step out but
hesitated, peeking through the doors first.
“ Holy
shit.”
Instead of the
apartment building hallway I expected, our elevator opened on a
rough-hewn subterranean passage. Guttering torches set in sconces at
regular intervals along the walls threw flickering illumination
along the passage.
“ This
is more like what I thought Hell would be,” I said and stepped
out of the elevator.
Piper followed.
“Which way should we go?”
I glanced one way
along the hall, then the other. No signs like in a hotel or
apartment building indicated what number-range of rooms lay in which
direction. Frustrating.
“ Your
guess is as good as mine.”
“ Let’s
go this way, then,” she said gesturing to her right.
We set out down the
passage and, as we approached the first torch, I noticed the sconce
was shaped like a human arm: well-muscled, sun-bronzed, the torch
held in its fist.
Creepy. A little
cliché, but creepy.
The next sconce was
a smaller, more feminine arm. We passed a wooden door, fiery roman
numerals blazing on its surface: MMI. It took me a moment to recall
my schooling and recognize it as two thousand and one–twenty-oh-one.
“ Looks
like you chose the right way.”
We continued past a
more doors and more sconces, each arm different than the previous.
One was considerably smaller than the others, created in the image
of a child’s. It sagged at an awkward angle, as if it had
trouble bearing the weight of the torch. I examined it as we went by
and realized it quivered with effort; as I watched, it went slack.
The torch dipped, flaming oil dripping onto the stone floor, then I
heard a whip crack and a muffled cry of pain. The torch came up to
level again.
I hurried to catch
up to Piper.
She’d stopped
in front of a door, the numerals MMXVIII emblazoned on its surface.
“ Here
it is,” she said.
“ Here
it is,” I agreed.
Neither of us
reached for the door knob. The air in the passage suddenly seemed
thick, filled with the smoke of the torches. I raised my hand toward
the knob with more effort than it should have taken, as though I
lifted a great weight along with it. I felt Piper’s eyes on me
and my cheeks went red, embarrassed at having trouble completing
such a basic task in front of this beautiful woman.
Open the damn
door.
My fingers brushed
the brassy knob—warm to the touch but not unbearable. I
gripped it, cranked it, and
The doors slid open
and she stepped through, letting go of my arm.
I crashed back to
earth or, in this case, Hell. The murmur in my bones disappeared
leaving me feeling empty, alone. She stood in the elevator facing
me; my body ached to say something to her, tell her she made me feel
like no one ever had, beg her to come back to me.
“ Are
you coming, silly?”
Her words broke the
spell. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and dragged my sleeve
across my mouth in case my open-mouth gape left drool on my chin,
then stepped into the elevator and pushed the twenty button.
“ It
was twenty-eighteen, right?” I asked, my voice quaking
slightly.
The doors slid
closed. At first, I stood close enough to feel the heat radiating
from her hand and part of me wanted to hold it, go back to the
exotic place her touch took me. Another part knew that if I did, I
might never return. I side-stepped a little farther away as the
muzak version of Barry Manilow’s ‘Mandy’ assaulted
us from a tinny-sounding speaker hidden in the elevator’s
ceiling.
Now I know I’m
in Hell.
The trip felt like
it took an eternity, but Piper’s close proximity bringing a
light sweat to my brow may have been as much responsible for the
feeling as the torture of Mr. Manilow or some Hellish trick like our
raft ride across the River Styx. At least I didn’t have to pay
the elevator-man.
At last, the number
twenty above the door illuminated with a coinciding electronic ding.
A second later the doors slid open. I went to step out but
hesitated, peeking through the doors first.
“ Holy
shit.”
Instead of the
apartment building hallway I expected, our elevator opened on a
rough-hewn subterranean passage. Guttering torches set in sconces at
regular intervals along the walls threw flickering illumination
along the passage.
“ This
is more like what I thought Hell would be,” I said and stepped
out of the elevator.
Piper followed.
“Which way should we go?”
I glanced one way
along the hall, then the other. No signs like in a hotel or
apartment building indicated what number-range of rooms lay in which
direction. Frustrating.
“ Your
guess is as good as mine.”
“ Let’s
go this way, then,” she said gesturing to her right.
We set out down the
passage and, as we approached the first torch, I noticed the sconce
was shaped like a human arm: well-muscled, sun-bronzed, the torch
held in its fist.
Creepy. A little
cliché, but creepy.
The next sconce was
a smaller, more feminine arm. We passed a wooden door, fiery roman
numerals blazing on its surface: MMI. It took me a moment to recall
my schooling and recognize it as two thousand and one–twenty-oh-one.
“ Looks
like you chose the right way.”
We continued past a
more doors and more sconces, each arm different than the previous.
One was considerably smaller than the others, created in the image
of a child’s. It sagged at an awkward angle, as if it had
trouble bearing the weight of the torch. I examined it as we went by
and realized it quivered with effort; as I watched, it went slack.
The torch dipped, flaming oil dripping onto the stone floor, then I
heard a whip crack and a muffled cry of pain. The torch came up to
level again.
I hurried to catch
up to Piper.
She’d stopped
in front of a door, the numerals MMXVIII emblazoned on its surface.
“ Here
it is,” she said.
“ Here
it is,” I agreed.
Neither of us
reached for the door knob. The air in the passage suddenly seemed
thick, filled with the smoke of the torches. I raised my hand toward
the knob with more effort than it should have taken, as though I
lifted a great weight along with it. I felt Piper’s eyes on me
and my cheeks went red, embarrassed at having trouble completing
such a basic task in front of this beautiful woman.
Open the damn
door.
My fingers brushed
the brassy knob—warm to the touch but not unbearable. I
gripped it, cranked it, and
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