Failing Upward

Chapter 26 (part 1): In Dark Dreams

My head throbbed. I wished. I counted. I tried recalling all that was good and decent in my life. But nothing changed. He was still there, and the world closed in on me.

Since the dick wad was determined to bury me alive, you'd think he'd at least say something cruel or maybe profound. Moriarty said neither. The egotistical bastard didn't say a thing as he shoveled more sand on top of me. Each shovelful hit, broke and re-settled, trickling and crawling over my body, taking away every tiny space I had left to breathe or move. The grains glittered like thousands upon thousands of bits of glass.

I couldn't take his silence any more. I didn't know what was worse, him dumping load after load of sand on my chest or his silent disregard for my profanity. Even a condemned man gets a smoke or one last meal. What the fuck was wrong with him?. The least he could do was rant. I didn't beg. Not because I refused to, but because it wouldn't have mattered.

He smiled down at me as he pulled a gory chunk of skull from his pocket. He tossed it next to me in my grave.

No memory of what happened or how, but he'd beaten me with the shovel. My hands ached and tingled, side throbbed. My head hurt, and I was confused and dizzy. I struggled uselessly against the same white cord Sherlock and Sean had tied Moriarty with. My ankles and wrists were raw. Other parts felt odd as well. What had he done to me? Memories of what he had done to Lestrade all those years ago flooded back. My stomach turned, realizing where else my body was sore.

How long ago had Dr. Deal hypnotized me? I couldn't recall. Seemed a lifetime ago. But now I understood why I felt the connection to my uncle. Both of us being buried alive was a shared experience. No wonder it felt so real to me. It wasn't some false memory; it was a premonition.

I struggled more, but the weight of the sand on my chest and legs kept me practically stationary.

"You fucking asshole. Think you're superior, don't you? I may be the one in the hole, but at least I'm a man."

I saw the corner of his mouth go up a bit. A little reaction. He thought it was funny. Not the reaction I wanted.

"I'm not some perverted psychopath who can't even get off without Viagra or whatever serum you happen to get out of me," I said, searching for something, anything that might get a reaction. "What do you care about? Like watching pain? Okay, you win. You've hurt me. But if you bury me, it's all over."

That got his attention. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't look at me. Instead he looked up at the canopy above us. It was a clear night. Through the leaves, I could see the stars. Then he picked up some more sand with the shovel.

"For God's sake, don't do this," my voice cracked. For a moment, I thought what I said worked. He stopped shoveling, licked his lips, then stared straight through me like I wasn't there.

"I took what I needed, and what I wanted," he said. "All I need do now is this." He flung a shovelful of sand over the piece of my skull next to me, then into my face.

I couldn't swallow or breathe. My throat convulsed in a vain attempt to gulp for air, trying to think of something else to say. Something that would make him stop. I noticed the edge of his mouth curl, and then he flung a second shovelful of sand over my face, blinding me.

"You are nothing," he said.

The sand cut and tore at my eyes. I gagged on it. I couldn't speak. All I could do was listen as he crushed me with sand upon sand. I saw flashes of light behind my eyes, either from lack of oxygen or hysteria. I wondered how even I, an immortal, could live without air. With six feet of crushing weight above, my chest cavity caved in agony. No mercy from Mother Earth as she collapsed my lungs. I knew it was only a matter of time before I'd lose my senses.