TCC CH 6 FLIGHT

Christopher the Chauffeur had never before been on fire.  God help him that he felt no pain from this self-immolation.

Dark things shoveled about in the dank tunnel, things he had read about, but never seen.

In his sudden burst of light, he knew, no, he felt  that the escape was into the dark.  He was correct that into the dark was where he should go, but he was wrong about the most basic thing, which is always this:

There is no escape.  There is no exit.

There is only the next entrance.

I Shiver   by Robert Cray 

Chrysalis held her man to her side as they stumbled along the bodies, making their way into the dark part of the tunnel.  The burning man was running towards them.  He had told them to run in this direction, before he had become engulfed in flames.

At first, she’d thought him to be a scary person, but when he'd called her and her husband Gregor by name, well, that had brought her fear back into sharp focus.

You must always bring your fear into sharp focus.  You can navigate, if you know that it is possible during such horror.

You simply turn off the part of your brain that is trying to make sense of things, and you clear the emotions away.

You focus on your options.  Without fear to cloud your judgment, you may have a chance.

Fear is good for one thing: energy.  You will not much time before the adrenaline dissipates and you vomit, in such a life and death event.

Make use of this energy well.

The burning man ran blindly, and he tumbled and fell across the bodies dead and the ones getting up on their legs, and he caught some of them on fire.

Chrysalis tugged and pulled her beloved along, for she was not as bad off as was he.

She felt the heat from the man on fire as he whipped past and she saw that there were very few bodies lying in the muck in the path ahead.

To where?

Why did she follow his orders?

Would there be a dead end?

She knew about following orders.

Hell, she had followed Gregor all of this time without knowing exactly what is was that he pursued, nor why.  She only had known how wealthy, how rich he had become, and the power…

All of the power, in that ugly Sans Joking desert valley, where, thousands of years ago, a mighty river had coursed.

She had enjoyed the things that extreme wealth can purchase.

But underneath it all, she held one thing dear.

It was the one she held now.

The burning man ran past them and then he faltered.

He fell down, there, far off, in the darkness.

She hobbled along with her man clutched close to her side, toward the dying man ahead.

He was burning to death.

As she neared, she understood that he was gone.

He had become a spark again, but she did not know that he was free to find another soul to inhabit.

She had trust for one thing, and it was her loyalty to Gregor.

The others far behind her arose and screamed while they burned.  But they did something odd.  They ran away from the burning man.

So, she hobbled forth to the burning man lying there in the dark end of the tunnel.  He had frightened off the whisperers saying their creepy things…

“…not going back to the fires…”

“…that was not the Master…”

“…why am I so hungry now?...”

“...do not go to the burning man… head this way…”

Gregor slipped from her tight grasp and this made her stumble and fall.  She could not hold him up.

He dissipated, and she knew that he, too, was gone.

But she wouldn’t have it.

She rolled over onto her knees and grabbed him.  She pulled him up for he weighed much less than her, without any flesh on his leg bones, and she shook him.

She screamed.

She said, “Gregor!  Do not leave me alone!  Do not go without me!  Do not leave me behind!”

The whisperers stopped and turned back to where the screams echoed.

She said, “How will I find you?!  How will I know you?  Do not leave me!”

Gregor felt his body diminish and he hovered in the darkness.  He could see his body, below, in the darkness of the tunnel.  He could see the one who had been carrying him, as he had faded into the depths of death, again.  She was illuminated by the dying fire of the burning man.  The flames became wisps, and then…

Then all went black.

Gregor floated about in the darkness of the Walk-In eternity, and he looked about for her.

His One.

He could not see anything but another spark, flitting off a pace, and he thought it might be her.

He followed this spark.

He left his woman in the dark.

Now, Gregor couldn’t be blamed.  He simply thought that he was following her into the dark.

The spark raced off, far away, avoiding other sparks nearby.  It seemed to be heading back to a distant place.

Gregor did not know that he followed the Chauffeur.

He did not know that the Chauffeur wanted to find the place from which they had left.

He was heading towards the Purple Mansion, away from the dark heart of Fuckno, the death knell in that sordid megalopolis of the Sans Joking river valley.

Yet, it would be much different there at that place on the greens.

A cannibal was afoot.

Sven had taken over that place.

Chrysalis looked back over her shoulder at them whisperers.  They were silent now as the last flickers of flame died from the burning man’s body.

She shook Gregor but he did not respond.  She tried to tug him up, closing her eyes and pulling with all of her might.

Her new body did not respond all that well.  It was still overdosed, and she had expended the remnants of its adrenaline.

She knew that Gregor was gone, but she did not blame him.  Whatever was going on, she knew that his absence was not his choice.

How many times had he promised her that they would always be together?  Pillow talk is the land of the husband and wife, and there are things told in secret that we must not intrude, here.  In such secret meetings, the whispers of the one you hold dear are the most sacred pacts.  To be married means that you and she have become One.  You will never be held to bear witness against your mate.  It is the ultimate sanctity.

Gregor had died in her arms, and even though it was not his original body that she held, she felt grateful that he had not died alone.

But now, she  was alone.

To where should she go next?

If she took her own life, she believed that suicide would prevent her from ever seeing him again.

She stopped her crying and wiped her eyes, and she opened them, with hitching breaths.

She looked back at the flames of them bodies back where the burning man had poured the fuel everywhere.

She saw shadows moving about, and they grew larger.

They were coming closer.

They had heard her screams, her pleadings to her dead man, and them shadows were hungry for her.

She placed Gregor’s new body down and kissed his face in the dark.  Even though she knew it was not his real body (that had died, along with hers, back at the Mansion) she treated his last vessel with delicate attention.

She was alone, and she would fight.

She looked about for a weapon.  She would fight for her life, and perhaps that was the way to go.  Die as a martyr and not commit suicide.

There were bones there in the dark; she could see them.  They glowed blue.

What was this?

Over by the last flickers of flame from the body of the burning man, there was a blue light that glinted on them bones.

It shined down on the burning man’s body as well.

She crawled over to the burning man’s body and went to touch it.  Was he a saint?  A ghost?  Was he glowing with blue light because he was holy?

Upon her hand she saw the blue light.  Her hand glowed in blue.

It shined down from above.

She sat back and looked up.

The burning man had died underneath a hole in the tunnel’s roof, as if to show exodus.

Indeed, it was the way out of the tunnel.

It led up to the ugly streets of Fuckno, if she would use the metal rungs cemented into its surface…

...Lenny Sustenuto had used this very same tunnel the night before.

There was hope after all.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

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