Sirens (Theo Raeken) [1]

Purgatory

A door.

Screams.

Is this purgatory?

There are two doors now.

More screams.

Or is this hell?

There is only one door from which the screams are emitting, only one where the terrifying screeches of agony are bleeding out from. What is this? Who are they?

I take a step towards the right door from which the screams are coming from, curiosity getting the better of me. The screams amplify, a chorus of the high-octave screeching erupting in my ears.

My hand wraps around the doorknob and I can feel the vibrations of the screams under my hand. A thought strikes me. Am I high? It feels like I'm high.

I grip the doorknob and twist if gently. The ground seems to shift under me and then the screams are ceasing, replaced by the sound of soft elevator music. The whole room is white. Actually, no, it's not a room, it's a corridor. An endless white corridor.

I'm covered in blood — no, drenched in it — and as I walk down the pure, white hallway, I paint it red with drops of the stuff. There's nowhere to break out, nowhere to escape. So I walk. And walk. And walk.

Until I find the first body.

Sprawled across the corridor is that boy from the gas station from what seems like years ago. I feel a sour taste in my mouth as I gaze upon the bloodied boy, viscous crimson liquid bleeding out from his mouth, his eyes, his ears, his nose.

The first person I killed.

I gasp, holding my hand over my mouth. When I look up at the corridor again, there are countless bodies, all bloody and motionless. And as I study them further, I realise that it's everyone I've ever killed.

I widen my eyes, and I start to feel queasy, the smell of rotting corpses and metallic blood choking my senses. My mouth opens and suddenly, dark red blood starts gushing out, the flood of red leaving a splatter all over my bare feet.

Black spots start swimming in my eyes, and then I'm falling.

Falling.

Falling.

I hit the plush bed with a start and I groan at the harsh overhead light. I blink the tiredness out of my eyes, adjusting to the real world again. At least I think it's the real world.

I scramble to get up, gripping both sides of the bed. I barely get a glimpse of the room before I feel a soft hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down.

"Doctor said you can't get up," the unsure voice of Jace Hart says. His head hangs over my vision, a black hood framing his sharp features.

I groan and sink back into the bed. I turn my head and watch as he slumps back into the chair beside my bed. I furrow my eyebrows slightly, wondering why, out of everyone, Jace is here.

"Theo told me to stay with you," he says, as if he'd read my mind. "He's tracking the Beast."

I clear my throat, sitting up straighter. When Jace gets to his feet, I hold a hand out to pause him. "I'm fine."

The room is a small, white square with a television in the corner and cabinets lining the walls. I look down at my arm, the skin laced with purple bruises and bandages. There's an IV drip embedded into the crook of my elbow. With a grunt, I tug it out, letting it dangle next to the bed.

"What are you doing?" Jace asks.

I lean back onto the headboard, sighing. "I want to get out of here."