windows shaped like glowing tombstones. Halfway up the south tower was the silhouette of a man. Though the distance was too great to make out anything more than a vague impression, Chuck felt the person’s gaze burn into his soul: anger, hatred, resentment, and cruelty…every base emotion known to man concentrated into a beam of such intensity that Chuck felt as though fiery needles were piercing his aura.
It was an illusion, of course. Chuck’s emotions were under control, which meant that he was invisible to all who inhabited this nightmare world. This fact was proven when the silhouette moved away from the window. The man (for Chuck was certain the figure had been male) had simply been looking across the wasted vista, perhaps surveying the world he’d created for himself with some sick sense of pride. He certainly hadn’t been looking at
Chuck
.
With the man gone, Chuck’s attention returned to the Cutscene. Spires jutted from the tops of each tower and tattered banners rippled in the breeze, the winds fueled by a vortex that swirled the clouds above the stronghold into a never-ending spiral. A sickly yellow glow radiated from the clouds, throbbing and pulsing in erratic rhythms as thunder growled in the distance.
What Chuck didn’t know at the time was that a man named Albert Lewis lurked somewhere behind those parapets, playing out fantasies so twisted they’d been impossible to duplicate in life. But here, in the realm of the dead, he had a sandbox where he could build as much and as far as he desired; here, every degenerate whim that had ever poisoned his mind could be realized. This was his world, and deconstructing it wouldn’t be easy. In fact, it would prove to be the most dangerous assignment Chuck had ever undertaken. But there was no choice. He had to journey into Lewis’s demented playground and do what he could to set things right.
It was the only way.
Chapter 5
Crawling
Water sloshed over the edge of the tub as the corpse rose to the surface. The strands of floating hair plastered themselves over a head that emerged from the tub like a crowning newborn entering the world. The corpse’s face looked bleached and distended, the flesh ballooning out so much that the eyes were nothing more than dark lines amid abscessed lids. Patches of skin had sloughed away from its puffy cheeks, revealing darker tissue that glistened as its head swiveled toward Lydia.
Opening its mouth, water cascaded over swollen lips. As the liquid gushed out of the dead woman’s mouth, Lydia thought she detected hints of movement within the flow; tiny creatures darting around. Their bodies flashed silver as they streaked in erratic patterns, propelled by tails that flicked so quickly as to be only a blur. The impression she got was definitely fish-like, yet something about the proportions seemed wrong. Every so often, Lydia thought she could make out the hint of necks, of humanoid heads attached to the long, slender bodies. But the things were so small—no bigger than the width of a hair really—that she couldn’t be sure.
She knew she should be horrified by this. Yet she watched it all with a strange sense of detachment, almost as though she were sitting in the back of someone else’s mind and looking through eyes that were not her own. Perhaps the tide of adrenaline that had fueled her up until this point had finally abated. Perhaps she was in shock. But, in all honesty, at that moment she didn’t feel as if she even had the energy to care.
That imagination of yours will getcha in trouble every time, you mark my words and see if it don’t.
The voice in her mind wasn’t her own, though it was familiar. She couldn’t be certain, but Lydia suspected this was another memory, breaking through her amnesia just as the corpse broke the surface tension of the water.
But there was no time to explore the possibility further. The dead woman’s arms flopped over the lip of the tub, and for a moment the corpse draped over
It was an illusion, of course. Chuck’s emotions were under control, which meant that he was invisible to all who inhabited this nightmare world. This fact was proven when the silhouette moved away from the window. The man (for Chuck was certain the figure had been male) had simply been looking across the wasted vista, perhaps surveying the world he’d created for himself with some sick sense of pride. He certainly hadn’t been looking at
Chuck
.
With the man gone, Chuck’s attention returned to the Cutscene. Spires jutted from the tops of each tower and tattered banners rippled in the breeze, the winds fueled by a vortex that swirled the clouds above the stronghold into a never-ending spiral. A sickly yellow glow radiated from the clouds, throbbing and pulsing in erratic rhythms as thunder growled in the distance.
What Chuck didn’t know at the time was that a man named Albert Lewis lurked somewhere behind those parapets, playing out fantasies so twisted they’d been impossible to duplicate in life. But here, in the realm of the dead, he had a sandbox where he could build as much and as far as he desired; here, every degenerate whim that had ever poisoned his mind could be realized. This was his world, and deconstructing it wouldn’t be easy. In fact, it would prove to be the most dangerous assignment Chuck had ever undertaken. But there was no choice. He had to journey into Lewis’s demented playground and do what he could to set things right.
It was the only way.
Chapter 5
Crawling
Water sloshed over the edge of the tub as the corpse rose to the surface. The strands of floating hair plastered themselves over a head that emerged from the tub like a crowning newborn entering the world. The corpse’s face looked bleached and distended, the flesh ballooning out so much that the eyes were nothing more than dark lines amid abscessed lids. Patches of skin had sloughed away from its puffy cheeks, revealing darker tissue that glistened as its head swiveled toward Lydia.
Opening its mouth, water cascaded over swollen lips. As the liquid gushed out of the dead woman’s mouth, Lydia thought she detected hints of movement within the flow; tiny creatures darting around. Their bodies flashed silver as they streaked in erratic patterns, propelled by tails that flicked so quickly as to be only a blur. The impression she got was definitely fish-like, yet something about the proportions seemed wrong. Every so often, Lydia thought she could make out the hint of necks, of humanoid heads attached to the long, slender bodies. But the things were so small—no bigger than the width of a hair really—that she couldn’t be sure.
She knew she should be horrified by this. Yet she watched it all with a strange sense of detachment, almost as though she were sitting in the back of someone else’s mind and looking through eyes that were not her own. Perhaps the tide of adrenaline that had fueled her up until this point had finally abated. Perhaps she was in shock. But, in all honesty, at that moment she didn’t feel as if she even had the energy to care.
That imagination of yours will getcha in trouble every time, you mark my words and see if it don’t.
The voice in her mind wasn’t her own, though it was familiar. She couldn’t be certain, but Lydia suspected this was another memory, breaking through her amnesia just as the corpse broke the surface tension of the water.
But there was no time to explore the possibility further. The dead woman’s arms flopped over the lip of the tub, and for a moment the corpse draped over
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