Amnesia, Book 1: A Girl Lost In The Woods

<Solomon> Chapter II

DAY 79,870 since Wade took Her from me

“Who is the Hind?” Weir calls down to Solomon—must really think he’s God up there. “I’ve heard Dr. Belmont mention her, but whenever I ask he says that she was before his time.”

Solomon shakes his head to clear the thickness. Doesn’t help. He’s already compacted the table into a miserable hunk of slag. Now there’s nothing to distract him.

“See I’ve been thinkin’ about these things you’re after. Call ‘em Essences. Call ‘em whatever the hell you want. I’ve been thinkin’ why any sane person would want these things. They’re not much good ‘cept to look at, you know?

“But then I remember back. I don’t just mean back to when your old man was knockin’ up his sister to make you. I mean way back. Holy Rome and Abbasids and all that noise. One of us—a piece o’ work named Jon—he comes up with this idea to take this thing—there was just one back then, Enoch went first—and, I forget what he called it, ‘merging’ or something. Anyway, the idea was he thought he could make himself stronger if he—I don’t know—put it inside him.” Solomon pauses, he waits for impact.

“And did Jon succeed? Did he leave any notes?” Weir sounds eager, even hysterical.

“So I’m right, aren’t I? That’s what you’re after,” Solomon taunts. He crosses his arms over his massive chest and shoots a cocky look into the darkness.

Weir is speechless. A first.

“Heh. Aren’t you precious. You’re just another human coked-up on a power trip. Hey, if you think it’s worth it.” Solomon forces another laugh—the sound is rough and unnatural.

“You haven’t answered my original question,” Weir finds his voice, continuing as though he hadn’t heard him.”

Solomon pictures Weir bleeding on the ground, begging for his life—it’s not the Screaming—Solomon’s enjoying it. “Yeah nut-sac? And what was that?”

“Who is the Hind?” Weir repeats, clearly upset by this exchange.

Solomon smirks. “I’ll tell you what: you go find yourself one of these Essence things, alright? Merge it up your ass or whatever you’re gonna do with it. And if you can go eight minutes without ripping your guts out then—then you’ll learn all about the Hind. Real nice and close. She’ll show ya.”

***

“You know those times when you kinda zone out? Those times when your mind wanders and you’re not really thinkin’ of anything in particular? That’s the times when it really screws ya. That’s why we gotta keep busy.”

“As interesting as that bit of data is, it doesn’t answer my question.”

“All I’m sayin’ is—you want me to talk—you gotta give me something to keep busy,” Solomon grumbles.

“I’ll provide compensation commensurate to your cooperation,” Weir mutters hollowly.

“What, that some corporate lingo or you just swallow a thesaurus? I mean I need somethin’ now. Like a punching bag or one’a your yes men. I put enough dents in these walls already,” Solomon grunts. He’s never come close to begging in his life, but this cage’s got him ready to explode inside.

He stretches his neck restlessly. He flexes his fingers—it doesn’t help. His Screaming’s choking him from the inside. It presses against his throat. It crushes his windpipe. He can’t pace anymore. He can barely breathe, barely swallow.

He drops onto the ground and plants his fists into the floor to stop them from shaking. “Yo, nutless, you there?” he barks to the air, the thick static clouding his vision.