Unholy (Crazy Like You~Book 2)

Chapter 10

((Sorry this took so long, I had the entire thing written out a few days ago, but my computer restarted and I lost it all... I'm still bitter about it, honestly I don't think this draft turned out as good as the first one, but it'll have to do ))

~~~~~~~~Sean's POV~~~~~~~~

The darkness seems infinite, a blanket of shadow that swallows every thought, every noise. But even that isn't the worst part. Not the blackness, nor the frigid cold that seeps passed layers of skin and draws away any warmth that may have been left.

No, the worst part is the air itself. The thickness of it, the sure smell of decay floating just at the surface of each shaky breath, the way it stings the back of your throat burns your lungs until even breathing itself becomes next-to-impossible.

The smell, the cold, it brings up memories that don't belong. Familiar, yet ever-estranged. These shouldn't be in my head, I shouldn't feel this fear, this familiarly foreign terror. The hollow ache of bruises that were never there, bones that were never broken, coppery blood that never assaulted my tongue feeling as though it were real. Anger I have no right to feel attacks my brain, mixing unpleasantly with the remaining dread. I can't tell if it's mine or not.

What the hell am I doing here...? Why did I allow myself to be talked into this? I may as well have just ended my life myself, that's where this whole mission is leading. Maybe if I wasn't such a coward, maybe if I'd done it from the beginning I'd-

Those thoughts vanish as the darkness does, the lowly sound of a striking match prior to the sudden flickering hues of orange that light up the surrounding halls. Cracked stone surrounds us, a single path ahead and nothing behind us where the entrance had closed.

I blink a few times, allowing the blurriness of my vision to recede, allowing the darker thoughts that had creeped through to retreat again to the back corner of my mind. A certain warmth follows the dancing light, resting just atop my chilled skin before it oozes into the pores, through layers of skin and into my numbed muscles.

Feeling returns slowly, starting at my feet and moving up until I'm aware of my own body once again. I slowly curl my fingers at my side, half-afraid they'd snapped off in the beyond-freezing air, doing so I notice the lack of a warmth I'd clung to before descending. Frantically my eyes move around until they land on a form standing less than a foot away.

Mark stands rigid, brown eyes distant and unfocused, glazed over with a look I can only define as alarm, similar I'm sure to how I'd looked only minutes prior. His fists clench, white-knuckled, at his sides, shaking ever so slightly with tremors not indicating cold. I watch that haze over his eyes slowly begin to recede with the shadows. His clenched muscles relax slowly, tension turning to small shivers, before those too fade into mere paleness. Only when he blinks, slowly bringing the world into focus again, do I let myself look away, taking in more of the surroundings.

My eyes travel shallowly past the blemished, dark walls. They first land on the source of the light I find myself more than thankful for. My gaze falls on the brunette angel, who holds in his hand a small, copper candelabra, white wax in the middle topped with a small orange-yellow flame flickering shadows off the walls. One glance around and it's clear he simply grabbed it from the side of the long hall. A few old, oak tables line the darkened walls, unlit candles, similar to that Thomas holds, rest atop them.

Thomas himself looks shaken, eyes wide and quietly taking in everything from the sickly odor, to the coarse ground beneath our feet. Oddly enough he still seems well within his own mind, focused despite the situation.