Jack was growing used to waking up in a strange place, but not this one. Why was the bed so firm? Nicole and Chester’s guest bed wasn’t as comfortable as the one at home but it didn’t normally feel like stone. Jack reached down and ran his hand over the hard, cold, stone mattress. It was colder than normal too, maybe that was causing the discomfort? He rolled slightly then blinked. Stone? That wasn’t right.
Jack sat up on the stone… altar was the best word her could think of. The kind of silence that can only echo off stone in small rooms that formed larger structures greeted his ears. The stale scent of subterranean moss and distant, stagnant water filled his nose. The dim light half filling the chamber could be emanating from that moss, reflecting from the surface all the way down, for all Jack knew. He saw no other possible source.
Jack was not surprised when his eyes adjusted quickly, or that he woke almost instantly. His shock came from knowing this was not a dream, that someone moved him from the bed to this dais without waking him. He had always been a light sleeper. His eyes slid up to the only real plants in the cave, the ivy hanging from the ceiling. The sign hung by the vines, as if they were grown not only into the hooks but exclusively for that purpose.
You have one hour. Don’t touch the walls.
Jack meditated on the words. Did they know? Had they somehow figured out that he warned the father? If so the walls would be covered with a poison. If not it was likely just a hallucinogen, something to cause a spirit vision. These nouveau Christians did love to mix the pagan and shamanistic into their little games. Don’t touch the walls? He could give them better than that.
He crossed his legs and sat still, watching the walls. He did not move when colors swirled over the stone. He refused to move when blood flowed from the crevices. He did not even twitch when he heard the daughter crying out for uncle Jack to help her. He did laugh when he heard the roar of a bull he assumed was meant to sound like a minotaur.
He endured an hour of petty tortures and childish mind games. He tensed as light bloomed down a narrow tunnel. The soft click of heels in a place they did not belong was more ominous than any sound before it. The glow grew stronger, closer as the footfalls began to echo off rocks, like impending doom. Finally the shadows parted to reveal Nicole peering at him with a stern look.
“You passed, detective, it is time for breakfast. Follow me please.”
Jack wondered how long he could play this game. The father was safe, but if Jack had to put up with too much more of this he might start shooting his enemies. He understood that was not how this story was supposed to end. One did not make martyrs of zealots, not without consequences.
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