Get Out If You Can

Emilie | Visitors, And A Story - Part One

Is the fact that I can't feel much something good? I think it is. If I happen to have what would admissibly be classified as a painful death, I won't suffer all that much.

"Move to the hall." If I were the voice, I'd kill me sooner.

We walk out, in little steps, to the hall. It takes us almost no time, or that's probably just my indifference to it anymore. My brain, thoughts, feelings, everything – everything's shrunk to a muddy pond. I can't move. I don't know what to hold on to. I wonder if death will be something different.

I don't think this is the time to try and figure out what, exactly, we are guilty for. I believe it's the time to think what we have to our credit – and to be honest, in my case, it's not much. There's not much I can give as an example of how I've even remotely been a blessing to someone. Maybe it's just the person messing with our heads, messing with them to the extent that we get so sweaty, drained and exhausted we can't think straight. I can't, at least.

"Please, stand close." It's like the voice is having a normal conversation with us. My eyelids grow heavy and my legs falter. I don't even have the strength to stand up again. There's no part of me that cares anymore. Maybe I'll go. Maybe this is for the best.

"The doors are bolted shut," the voice declares. It sounds strangely warped, strangely musical to me – either that, or my ears are slowly slipping out of function. Yes, that's definitely it. Something's messing with me.

"You have no way out. All the windows are closed, and if you want to break them, you should also be ready for the consequences. Doing that is not easy. I shall brief you on why you are here, before I show you who I am."

I'd like to say we're all stunned and that sort of thing, but we're just not. We're bored. I'm bored. I'll welcome death as a new adventure if I can't escape this one.

"Diego Torrez, you are not guilty of the murder." Diego starts, like he's waking up from a sleep he didn't know he'd fallen into. "You are here to gain that knowledge that you and your family deserve to know. I know what it feels like," the voice says, with not even a subtle hint of truth, "and therefore, I invited you to spend an evening here. I repeat, there is a lot that you could have done. Yet, it is not severe. Did you realize what happened to your brother?"

"No," Diego says. He says it plainly. I believe he's just as exhausted as I am, and can't muster the energy to care. "But I accept the fact that I never will be able to."

Wait, what? So his brain's still working fine then? Well, shit.

"I don't know what happened to Enrique. And I won't ever know, because, like you've probably guessed –"

He pauses for a while. And then he does something I would never, ever expect him to do.

He wipes a tear that's nimbly escaped the corner of his eye.

"But that's okay," he continues. "That's okay. Secrets are buried in this town – some so deep you can't, however hard you try, you can't fish them out. As you've probably guessed – as I was saying, it's like a fire. It destroys everything. There's hardly much you can get from a fire. I will never know what happened to my brother, and why," he says, his breath hitching, "because the fire took everything away – both literally and figuratively. That," he says, "is all."

"Diego Torrez..." The voice pauses awhile, letting the last syllable of his name linger.

"I think it would be fitting to let you out of here," the voice says. "You are free to leave."

I'm jerked awake, if only slightly. What?

"I'm sorry?" he asks, looking up, like he can see the faceless person. "What?"