Death. What happens after it? What lies beneath the surface?
Poor Arielle Daniels stumbled through dangerous hoops to figure this out. She wakes in a new place--the Void--and discovers that what waits after death are layers, dimensions, and sadly...
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Bang.
Benny woke with a ringing in his ears and a pulsating thrum in his chest.
He'd seen enough movies and lived in enough criminal-oriented neighborhoods in his youth to recognize that sound. That resonating, deafening, deadly noise that usually preceded screams and sirens and yellow tape and badges and hospital staff shouting instructions.
But here? In this dilapidated yet calm motel surrounded by forest and only frequented by truckers and a handful of prostitutes? And coming from so close to his room?
He jumped out of bed, still dizzy from the sound, and shrugged on a T-shirt, wincing as the fabric fell over his wound. Kylie had called a nurse to help her attend to the injury—Benny hated hospitals, and refused to go to one—and he did feel better. But he didn't feel rested, and wondered what time it was.
The clock on his bedside table flashed three AM. "Ah. The witching hour. Great." He slid into his sneakers and plopped his head out into the corridor.
A few others were doing the same, whispering among themselves as they looked towards where they believed the source of the noise was—Benny.
"Did you do that?" one man asked, stepping outside as he wrapped a robe around his bulky frame.
Benny shook his head. "I was asleep, man. But... it was a gun, right?"
"No doubt about it," said a woman in a skimpy negligee, from the room across from Benny's. "Heard enough of those in my lifetime to be sure. But it sounded like it came from you, bud."
Again, Benny shook his head. "I don't even own a gun, so how could I—" He stilled, tipped his head to the left, and gulped. "But I know someone who does."
Kylie? What happened?
A figure came sauntering down the hall, followed by another—the half-asleep front desk clerk and a security guard.
"What's going on here?" said the latter, reaching for his weapon in its holster, pushing through the slowly growing crowd of onlookers. "Gunshot?"
Everyone looked at Benny, who shrugged. "Not me! I... I think it came from..." He sent a hesitant glance towards his next-door neighbor's sealed door and grimaced. "From here. From... her room."
Kylie... are you okay?
He had no doubt she'd been the one to set off the gun, but she was rigorous about that weapon. She kept the security on it at all times, rarely even showed it, and never wielded it unless necessary. In truth, she'd once told him she hated the thing, but it was a requirement for her field that she carry it.
"She's... she's an FBI agent, and as far as I know... the only person nearby who owns a gun." Benny padded out into the corridor and gaped at her door, wishing he could see through it.
