A Little Bit of Hell and Heaven

Part 18

Steven is awoken by the sound of the front door to the apartment slamming shut. He is still sitting in the hallway, but Simon is no longer there. Steven scrambles to his feet and rushes out the door. It's cold outside; he can see his breath, but he's wearing neither shoes nor a jacket. He frantically looks for Simon among the hordes of people on the dark streets. There! Steven spots Simon's purple jacket.

He takes to the sky, ignoring the surprised and frightened glances of the people around him, and follows Simon as he rushes down the street. They go through alleys, take quick turns, and wind between buildings. Eventually, they arrive at Simon's destination: Casey's mansion. Simon walks through the front door without knocking. Steven lands gently and silently follows him into the mansion.

The mansion is dark. Simon moves quickly, but Steven has to travel slowly and carefully as his eyes adjust to the imposing darkness. The distance between the two increases slowly, until Simon disappears completely from Steven's vision. He is left alone in a room with two doors other than the one he came in through. One is wooden, painted white, with a red (or purple, he can't tell; it's too dark) doorframe. The other is thick and metal, mounted in a thick metal frame.

Steven hadn't seen either door swing shut, so he has absolutely no clue which way Simon went. He stands in the center of the room, looking back and forth between the two doors, internally debating ferociously which door Simon would have taken. He eventually decides to try the wooden door.

The handle was icy cold in his hand. It clicks a few times as he slowly turns it. He starts to slowly pull it open, but it is blasted open out of his grip, knocking him backward. Despite the extra aid to his balance provided by his wings, Steven falls hard to the ground. He scrambles to get up, but whatever blasted the door open pummels him back to the ground. Steven lays on the ground, staring at the ceiling, unable to get up. He rolls to the side, hoping that getting out of the direct line of the doorway will allow him to get up. It's difficult. There's still a strong force buffeting against him, but he struggles to his knees and shuffles to the wall next to the door. The force - wind, Steven decides - is weaker here. He stands, folding his wings tightly so they don't catch the wind and drag him backward.

Steven grabs hold of the door and pushes it with all his might. The door creaks and groans. Steven's feet slip a little as he struggles to shut the door against the powerful wind. He continues to slide, but slowly makes headway. The door is almost closed, and the air is streaming out of the small gap even more furiously than before. Steven slams all his weight against the door, forcing it shut with a shuddering bang.

He leans against the door, panting. His chest is heaving and sweat glistens on his brow. His normally soft, voluminous, lustrous golden hair is flat and slick with sweat. He runs a hand through his hair, then immediately wipes it off on his pants. He straightens, pushing from the wooden door and approaches the thick, heavy, metal door. He reaches for the handle, but retracts his hand as soon as his fingers make contact with the knob.

It is so cold, it burns. Steven looks around frantically for something to cover his hand so he can turn the knob without freezing his hand. The room is completely empty. He curses his rotten luck. This had taken too long. Who know what has happened to Simon by now? Furious anxiety bottles up inside Steven. He can't take it anymore. He grips the door handle, biting his lip against the pain, turns the handle, and throws the door open as quickly as he can. The heavy door slams into the wall and Steven is hit with a blast of frosty air that clings to his bones like death. Not staying to inspect the damage done by the door or to his stinging hand, Steven braces himself against the chill and steps through the door.

He is surrounded by swirling darkness and nothingness so oppressive and cold, it nearly smothers Steven. It clings all around him, sticking to his hair and clothes. He opens his wings and beats them a few times, trying to push back the thick nothingness. The wind created by his wings forms a protective bubble around him, shielding him from the awful fog. He moves slowly forward, unsure of himself. He beats his wings even harder, pushing the dark, oppressive mist back until it has dispersed enough for him to get an idea of how the room looks.

There is a raised platform that dips inward in the middle, like a large shallow bowl. Surrounding the platform is a small metal wall, about four feet tall. Seated in the center of the bowl, with his eyes closed and a relaxed look on his face, is -

"Simon!" Steven calls, rushing forward. He vaults over the small wall and approaches the platform. The floor is smooth and slick. After slipping and almost falling three times, Steven decides to just fly to the top of the platform. He lands next to Simon and reaches over to shake him out of his stupor. His hand goes right through Simon's shoulder, and Simon flickers and disappears.

"It's amazing how lifelike those projections are, isn't it, Steven?" A silken voice, female, sounds behind him. Steven spins around and comes face to face with Casey Blanchard. She is mere inches away from him. "Hello, Steven," she whispers, her breath blowing across his face. It smells minty, but also bitter, like poison. She is smiling softly, or at least, it would be soft if her teeth weren't sharper than needles.

Steven opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a sudden sharp pain in his chest. He looks down in surprise. A small silver dagger is embedded up to the hilt in his chest, just to the left of his sternum. He yanks the dagger out and staggers backward. Blood is gushing, thick and warm out of the wound. He glares at Casey with burning fury in his eyes. He lunges toward her, dagger outstretched, but she holds up a glowing hand, causing him to be held in place. With her other hand, Casey uses her magic to begin wrapping a heavy chain around him, starting at his ankles and working her way up. There is only one flaw in her plan. Steven still has the dagger, and his arms are unhindered and very mobile. However, the chain is at his waist already and Casey was fastening it using her magic. Warm, sticky blood was running down his chest, staining his shirt. Spots danced in front of his eyes. The loss of blood was making him dizzy and weak.

Then, to make matters worse, Casey fastens the other end of the chain to the ceiling, suspending him upside-down over the platform. Blood rushes to Steven's head and gushes out of the wound in his chest. It runs over his neck and onto his face, into his hair. Mustering all the strength he has left, Steven lifts his arm and hurls the dagger at Casey, who had turned and was walking away. The blade flies true and thuds into Casey's spine; she collapses to the floor.

The spots in front of Steven's eyes are growing. HIs head is pounding and his wings are throbbing from being bound so tightly to his body. As Steven's vision fades to black, he sees a figure walk into the room.

"Steven!" He barely hears the exclamation as he drifts into unconsciousness.