but the fangs stabbed out over and over again. I t hurt. E ach puncture was the burning cold of ice. J ohn’s screams faltered as even his throat muscles went numb. That his mind soon followed was a mercy.
Chapter Four
A face, pristine in beauty, serene. A sculpture made of light. No, not light. G lass. The hypnotic eyes were two perfectly fashioned orbs, glass grapes set delicately inside their sockets, impossible detail carved into each iris. W hat master craftsman could create such perfection?
The brow above the glass eyes furrowed, shocking J ohn out of his repose. He tried to open his mouth to speak, to ask any number of questions, but he could not. He was completely paralyzed, unable even to blink, his field of vision filled by the beautiful face looking down at him.
The glass head pulled back, bringing into view a neck and chest just as immaculate.
J ohn watched in fascination as the glass man put a thoughtful finger to his lips. The gray walls of P urgatory were visible through his transparent body, telling J ohn that his escape had been a failure. But had he been rescued? He saw no sign of the spiders.
“You should be unconscious,” the glass man said, each word perfectly formed, his voice ideal in pitch and volume, “and yet, here you are, seeing things that no soul in Purgatory has ever laid eyes upon.”
As pleasant as the voice was, it was laced with disapproval. J ohn hadn’t been rescued after all. He had been captured.
“C aptured?” the glass man said, pursing his lips. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.
You were, after all, behaving like an animal, scurrying after a dog like part of a depraved pack. A more formidable man might have been restrained, a dangerous opponent neutralized, but you? C aptured. Downed like a mindless beast. B ut who is your keeper? Who unleashed you and allowed you to run free?” J ohn silenced the name before it could reach his mind, focusing instead on the image of a solitary tree in a park.
“Amusing,” the glass man said. “Normally in these situations I am unable to read minds since my guests are always unconscious, but I do have other methods at my disposal. There is one in particular that I enjoy. I am quite eager to see how a conscious mind reacts to it. Shall we begin?”
The glass man came near, his graceful crystalline hands poised before him. The beautiful transparent face came close to J ohn’s own, as if proposing a kiss, before the delicate hands pressed against J ohn’s abdomen. After minimal resistance, the fingertips passed into his body.
C old! L ike the spider’s fangs but a thousand times worse. C old and hard. The fingers slid further inside J ohn until immersed up to the wrist. G lass hands moved through him, opening him up in impossible ways, exposing his insides to air and causing them to ache. Was this what rape felt like? This violation, helplessness, exposure?
The face in front of him grinned, diamond teeth framed by lips made of stars. S o beautiful, but the sensations coursing through J ohn’s body were of pure revulsion.
L ike a careless surgeon, the glass man’s hands scampered inside of him, but instead of organs and intestines, memories were being manipulated. Dozens of experiences were brought to the surface, all of them painful. The heartbreak of being left by his first love, the crushing pain that came with losing his grandmother, the humiliations he had suffered in junior high, each feeling as fresh as the moment it had happened, but now all were occurring simultaneously. The glass man had found J acobi’s name long ago, but still he played.
L ife’s brutality came next: his drunken father beating him, or the night he was jumped by three men and became the victim of random violence. He felt everything, the physical pain dim and distant compared to the anger, frustration, and powerlessness that had accompanied the experiences. J ohn longed to moan, but even that release was denied him.
Then it was over. The glass
Chapter Four
A face, pristine in beauty, serene. A sculpture made of light. No, not light. G lass. The hypnotic eyes were two perfectly fashioned orbs, glass grapes set delicately inside their sockets, impossible detail carved into each iris. W hat master craftsman could create such perfection?
The brow above the glass eyes furrowed, shocking J ohn out of his repose. He tried to open his mouth to speak, to ask any number of questions, but he could not. He was completely paralyzed, unable even to blink, his field of vision filled by the beautiful face looking down at him.
The glass head pulled back, bringing into view a neck and chest just as immaculate.
J ohn watched in fascination as the glass man put a thoughtful finger to his lips. The gray walls of P urgatory were visible through his transparent body, telling J ohn that his escape had been a failure. But had he been rescued? He saw no sign of the spiders.
“You should be unconscious,” the glass man said, each word perfectly formed, his voice ideal in pitch and volume, “and yet, here you are, seeing things that no soul in Purgatory has ever laid eyes upon.”
As pleasant as the voice was, it was laced with disapproval. J ohn hadn’t been rescued after all. He had been captured.
“C aptured?” the glass man said, pursing his lips. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.
You were, after all, behaving like an animal, scurrying after a dog like part of a depraved pack. A more formidable man might have been restrained, a dangerous opponent neutralized, but you? C aptured. Downed like a mindless beast. B ut who is your keeper? Who unleashed you and allowed you to run free?” J ohn silenced the name before it could reach his mind, focusing instead on the image of a solitary tree in a park.
“Amusing,” the glass man said. “Normally in these situations I am unable to read minds since my guests are always unconscious, but I do have other methods at my disposal. There is one in particular that I enjoy. I am quite eager to see how a conscious mind reacts to it. Shall we begin?”
The glass man came near, his graceful crystalline hands poised before him. The beautiful transparent face came close to J ohn’s own, as if proposing a kiss, before the delicate hands pressed against J ohn’s abdomen. After minimal resistance, the fingertips passed into his body.
C old! L ike the spider’s fangs but a thousand times worse. C old and hard. The fingers slid further inside J ohn until immersed up to the wrist. G lass hands moved through him, opening him up in impossible ways, exposing his insides to air and causing them to ache. Was this what rape felt like? This violation, helplessness, exposure?
The face in front of him grinned, diamond teeth framed by lips made of stars. S o beautiful, but the sensations coursing through J ohn’s body were of pure revulsion.
L ike a careless surgeon, the glass man’s hands scampered inside of him, but instead of organs and intestines, memories were being manipulated. Dozens of experiences were brought to the surface, all of them painful. The heartbreak of being left by his first love, the crushing pain that came with losing his grandmother, the humiliations he had suffered in junior high, each feeling as fresh as the moment it had happened, but now all were occurring simultaneously. The glass man had found J acobi’s name long ago, but still he played.
L ife’s brutality came next: his drunken father beating him, or the night he was jumped by three men and became the victim of random violence. He felt everything, the physical pain dim and distant compared to the anger, frustration, and powerlessness that had accompanied the experiences. J ohn longed to moan, but even that release was denied him.
Then it was over. The glass
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