"W-what?"
The voice above him didn't reply and the quiet stillness returned again. Slowly, cautiously, Aidan rose to his feet and approached the table a second time, resting his hands against the wood. The dice lined it from end to end, each perfectly identical and side-by-side, no not so much as a millimeter between them. Aidan let one of his fingers brush against them.
Nothing happened.
They were perfectly, ordinary, dice.
Then why were they here? Why was he here?
His sank to his knees beside the table, his whole body trembling from the aftermath of his convulsions. Good god, could he really remember? Yes. Yes he could. He reached a hand back to feel his neck. He winced as his fingers brushed the sensitive needle-mark, shooting pain through his body. Good lord, he hurt. He hurt everywhere. He slid his hands back around to face, fingers gently probing at his nose.
Broken, crushed. He could feel the dried blood clogging his nasal passages. It was so hard to breathe. He drew his hand away.
"Where am I?" he asked quietly, wrapping his arms around his chest in much the same way Theresa had.
His wife. His children.
"What do you want from me!" he shot to his feet, gasping at the sudden burst of pain that tore through his legs, What do you want!"
"I want to play a game,"replied the voice, deep and booming and seemingly everywhere.
"Who are you? What...what do you mean a game."
"A game, Aidan. Surely you've played them before with Lillian and Mathew."
He knew, how could he know? "Who are you?!"
"That's not important. Stop asking questions."
Aidan snapped his mouth shut. His hands fell to his waist, toying with the loose thread that dangled off his shirt.
"Quiet now? Good. Approach the table."
Aidan stepped toward it, but didn't touch it. He gritted his teeth, curling his fingers in the bottom hem of his shirt.
"I'm going to tell you the rules of our little game, and then I want you to roll a die. Any one you wish, but only one. Do you understand?"
"...yes."
"Good. Rule number one: No one can hear you, and I detest needless screaming for help. Do not do it, or you will be punished.
Rule number two: There are six doors in this room, you cannot see them and nor will you be able to find them. Don't try. Each side of your die corresponds with one of these doors. Each time you roll your die, one door will open.
Rule number three: When a door opens, you go through it. One will lead to the exit, you do not get to know which, and nor will I tell you.
Rule number four: I will allow you to roll your die three times. You have three chances.
Rule number five: Do not intentionally kill yourself, nor let yourself die. I do have full access to both your wife and your children, and if there is any disobedience in accordance to my rules they will be punished.
Are we understood?"
"We...are."
"Good. Roll your die."
Aidan let a shaky hand creep across the table, fingering on of the long row of die. He picked it up, weighing it in his palm.
Don't kill yourself.
He swallowed hard and wrapped his fist around the die, craning his neck upward, What is this? Why are you doing this?"
There was no reply.
"I don't want to die,"Aidan continued, Why would I kill myself? What happens when I roll my die?"
He was greeted by nothing but silence.
Sucking a shaky breath Aidan raised his hand, holding it over the table. He rocked the die against his palm and opened his hand, fingers splayed. The die hit the table and bounced, rolling forward until it ran into the line of dice and stopped. Aidan leaned over the table, clutching its edge.
Five black dots stared back at him.
Suddenly the room was filled with noise, like something heavy and unrelenting being dragged across a metal floor. Aidan jumped and leapt around, clutching the table and grasping for his dice.
Across the room a small rectangle of wall split open, sliding sluggishly across the white floor. Inch by inch, screech by screech, until it was wide open, and Aidan could see the blackness inside, a stark, painful contract to the brightness of the room.
Aidan froze, clutching his die to his chest with one hand and fingering the strand of his shirt with the other, twirling it about his finger so hard he could feel it biting into his skin. He didn't want to go through the door. God, he didn't have to do this.
"I'll call the police!"
The voice didn't reply, but for a steady hum of something that might have been laughter, but Aidan couldn't tell. It was so quiet, and his heart was beating terribly loud.
"How do I know you can hurt my family?"
"Do you want to find out?"
Aidan swallowed hard and stepped toward the door.
.:.:.::.:.:.
The door slammed shut behind him and all light was suddenly sucked from the room. The blackness was like nothing he'd ever faced before, deep and dark and fathomless. Out of curiosity he lifted his hand to his face, feeling his slick, sweaty palm press against his nose. He could see nothing. He wiggled his fingers and not so much as a blur of slightly different black caught his eye. Aidan let his hands fall to his sides.
It was impossibly depthless and quiet, he could barely hear his own breathing even though he knew it was long, hard, and fast. Deep gulping breaths, like a man dying of thirst who's just found an ocean of pure, glistening water. His heart hammered in his chest, he could feel it racing and thumping against his ribs. He could even feel the tightness of the cloth as it lifted and fell with each stroke of his pulse. But he couldn't hear it.
Tentatively he stepped forward, hands outstretched at his sides. He felt his toe connect with the floor, soft and cautious, but it should have made a noise, however quiet, in this silence. It was as if something had sucked out all the sound, just like the light.
"Hello?" the word seemed impossibly muted, trickling from his lips like a whisper. And nothing answered. Of course not. No one else would be in here.
Aidan continued forward, relying on his fingers to feel their way around the room, hoping to god that touch would somehow still be granted to him.
It was. If he pressed close enough to the right he could feel a wall, hard and smooth except for the occasional rift, a not-quite sharp edge that made his fingers slip down into a rougher pool. The tough made the skin of his fingers crawl, such a horrid, prickly feeling, but he dare not life his hand. He kept close to the wall, straining his eyes through the deep blackness, but nothing changed.
He walked for what seemed like hours (but couldn't have been, his feet would hurt and they didn't), always going straight. There was no wall to his left (or none near enough for him to feel without letting go of the one at his right), and no turns or bends. He wanted to stop trying to see something, but his eyes and his instincts wouldn't allow him to do so. He had to keep looking. Keep listening. Keep smelling, when he thought to do so.
Oh god, what was this? Where was he?
Theresa wouldn't even look for him. My god, she wouldn't even worry. He could be gone for months, and she'd expect that from him. No one would come for him. No one would look.
"Oh god, the word was a whisper but tore at his throat like a scream,"Oh god." He felt tears prick his eyes but blinked them back, swallowing thickly. His throat was dry. His throat was dry and his eyes were wet and oh god, would he be given water? Food? How long was he going to be here?
Aidan gasped and slammed his back against the wall, wrapping his arms over his chest.
"Oh god..."
He'd never see his children again.
He'd never see anything again. Just this bleak blackness. Forever and ever and ever. Alone forever. Death would be better than this. What was this? What was this?!
He had to...to do something. No hall could go on forever. No straight one. Perhaps...perhaps he was going in circles. So slowly and softly that he didn't notice, just a gradual bend, not even noticeable. Must be. He'd been walking for hours. Hours and hours.
With his back still to the wall Aidan sank to the floor, stretching one leg out in front of him. He quickly untied a shoe and shoved it against the wall. One hand making sure it didn't move, and the other palm flat against the wall, he stood, carefully sidestepping his shoe. He turned and reached back down to make sure it was there. It was. Letting out a shaky breath he moved back to the center of the hall and pressed his knuckles against the wall, continuing forward.
Perhaps he'd worried too soon.
His first step forward was met with no resistance and he felt his body lurching forward. Aidan threw his arms over his head just as his body crunched against the first three sharply jutting edges of a staircase. He rolled forward, faster and faster, smashing hips and elbows and ribs against stairs. He cracked open his arms just enough to look out.
He saw nothing. Nothing everywhere. No depth, no stairs, not even his own limbs even though they were pressed so closely to his eyes. He squeezed them shut again and sucked in a breath, holding it.
He continued to fall, rolling at an impossible again, faster and faster, until he could feel the air whizzing past him. But no noise, never any noise. Soon he felt walls at either side, becoming tighter and tighter around him. Squeezing him.
He stopped.
Panting he eased his arms away from his face (notbrokenthankgod) and stared. His body ached. He felt dizzy. He felt...oh god. He twisted himself around so he was no longer laying face up, supporting his chest with trembling arms, and wretched. Where or on what, he didn't know. He couldn't tell whether or not he'd spat up blood. He couldn't tell anything. Didn't know anything.
"Shit...shit..." he gasped, leaning back and wrapping his arms around his chest again. It hurt. Everything hurt. Was he bleeding? He couldn't tell. Couldn't tell if anything was broken either. Couldn't tell anything.
Oh god, oh god.
Carefully he reached up, on hand against either wall and tried to pull himself to his feet. It didn't work. As soon as he put weight down a bolt of pain flashed down the length of his right leg and he collapsed involuntarily back to the stairs, landing hard and wrenching hiss from his clenched teeth.
"Shit...shit...what do I do? What do I do?"
He...he had to move. He could just sit there, wait for death. It wasn't an endless circle. It wasn't. It had to be something. There had to be some end to this darkness. Some exit.
Three chances. The voice had said he had three chances. He could get out. He had to get out.
He crawled forward, turning around and edging backward over the steps, favoring his right leg as much as he could. Slowly, carefully, he made his way down. The walls crept closer and closer with each stair until there was barely enough room to breath. He felt them pressing against his sides, not tightly, but unmistakably there. And still they didn't stop. He wouldn't be able to climb up again. He just...he just wouldn't. He didn't even know how far up they went. Not a clue. Forever and ever. Forever and ever both ways.
What if he slipped again? He'd die. He'd break both legs. He'd crack open his head. He'd-
"Stop!" he barked, but the word was nothing more than a muted murmur.
"Stop, he repeated, softer, not even audible, but he knew he'd said it, Its just stairs. Just a hallway. You can do this."
He could do this. It was just walking...crawling. Just keep moving. He just had to be careful. Smaller steps next time. Feel things more cautiously. Little shuffling steps.
He could do this.
Three chances. He had three chances.
And...and who's to say this wasn't the right door? They were just hallways after all. Hallways lead to doors.
He could do this.
He'd have to.