limb, and he inhales with a sharp hiss.
“Come on, John.” Miriam looks over her shoulder again, this time examining the darkness behind them. When John struggles to rise, she pulls him upright, grabs his shoulders, and turns him around to face her.
“Are you all right?” she says, searching his eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“You have to keep going. Stay alert. If you see something odd, don’t stop and gape. Do you know what the world’s most famous last words are?”
“I’ve no idea,” John says, rubbing his injured knee.
“They are ‘what’s that?’”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“How come?”
“Because whatever ‘that’ is,” Miriam says, “it’s usually a reason to run.”
John stops and leans against a wall. “Look,” he says. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You make no sense. Nothing makes sense. If it weren’t so damn cold, I would say I was dreaming, because that would explain a lot. Hey, what are you doing?”
Miriam grabs the collar of John’s shirt and pulls him close. Her pupils are black pinpricks in her narrowed eyes. She looks furious, but John knows that there is worry underneath her apparent frustration.
“More talk about dreaming,” Miriam says, her voice dangerously low, “and I will slap you again. I mean it. You are right here, nowhere else. Thinking otherwise is dangerous. I didn’t come all the way down here to see you wander off.”
“Why would I do that?” John struggles in her grip, but he is too weak to push her away. “And where would I go? I’m lost, remember?”
“I mean you have to pay attention. Be spirited. In the moment.”
John makes a disgusted sound. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks. “All I want is a straight answer. Just one. I’m lost, I’m cold and I’m hungry. I have no memories, and I’m wearing someone else’s clothes. And I’m walking through a cave with someone who gives questions for answers. Why the hell are you smiling?”
“Are you angry?” Miriam asks.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Good.” She lets go of him and smoothes his shirt. “You need your fighting spirit. Soppy-eyed whining won’t get us anywhere.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He frowns. “What do you mean ‘slap me again’?” he asks. “Did you hit me earlier?”
“What should I have done?” Miriam asked. “You weren’t exactly attentive. Besides, I hurt my hand. It felt like smacking a block of frozen cod. And those clothes are actually yours.”
He looks down. “They don’t fit.”
“Huh. No little spark of familiarity when you put them on?”
“Well, yes,” he admits. “They feel strange, though. Old.”
Miriam grins. “Almost twenty years. I had to dig deep, but I thought you’d feel comfortable in them.”
John’s arms fall to his sides. “Have you broken into my house?” he asks, unsure if he owns one. He certainly does not have any keys.
Miriam hesitates. “One thing at a time,” she replies. “All will come back to you soon enough. I hope.” She starts to walk up the tunnel again.
John takes a deep breath, lets out a haggard sigh, and falls in step with Miriam. After what he believes is half an hour, the walls curve away and the tunnel widens into a larger room. Miriam stops, and he limps to a halt behind her.
They are surrounded by space instead of rock. He cannot see any walls, but he senses that the room is vast. The darkness around him is pooling and churning, so dense he is surprised he cannot touch it.
“All right,” he says. “Just tell me this one thing. Please.”
Miriam raises her lantern and peers into the darkness in front of them. “What?” she asks.
“Why do I need to find my fighting spirit?”
Miriam turns to face him. “Because you need to overcome things like this,” she whispers, and then twists the wheel at the base of the lantern until the glow lights up the entire room.
When John looks over her shoulder, his face grows slack in disbelief.
“Oh, fuck off,” he
“Come on, John.” Miriam looks over her shoulder again, this time examining the darkness behind them. When John struggles to rise, she pulls him upright, grabs his shoulders, and turns him around to face her.
“Are you all right?” she says, searching his eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“You have to keep going. Stay alert. If you see something odd, don’t stop and gape. Do you know what the world’s most famous last words are?”
“I’ve no idea,” John says, rubbing his injured knee.
“They are ‘what’s that?’”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“How come?”
“Because whatever ‘that’ is,” Miriam says, “it’s usually a reason to run.”
John stops and leans against a wall. “Look,” he says. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You make no sense. Nothing makes sense. If it weren’t so damn cold, I would say I was dreaming, because that would explain a lot. Hey, what are you doing?”
Miriam grabs the collar of John’s shirt and pulls him close. Her pupils are black pinpricks in her narrowed eyes. She looks furious, but John knows that there is worry underneath her apparent frustration.
“More talk about dreaming,” Miriam says, her voice dangerously low, “and I will slap you again. I mean it. You are right here, nowhere else. Thinking otherwise is dangerous. I didn’t come all the way down here to see you wander off.”
“Why would I do that?” John struggles in her grip, but he is too weak to push her away. “And where would I go? I’m lost, remember?”
“I mean you have to pay attention. Be spirited. In the moment.”
John makes a disgusted sound. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks. “All I want is a straight answer. Just one. I’m lost, I’m cold and I’m hungry. I have no memories, and I’m wearing someone else’s clothes. And I’m walking through a cave with someone who gives questions for answers. Why the hell are you smiling?”
“Are you angry?” Miriam asks.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Good.” She lets go of him and smoothes his shirt. “You need your fighting spirit. Soppy-eyed whining won’t get us anywhere.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He frowns. “What do you mean ‘slap me again’?” he asks. “Did you hit me earlier?”
“What should I have done?” Miriam asked. “You weren’t exactly attentive. Besides, I hurt my hand. It felt like smacking a block of frozen cod. And those clothes are actually yours.”
He looks down. “They don’t fit.”
“Huh. No little spark of familiarity when you put them on?”
“Well, yes,” he admits. “They feel strange, though. Old.”
Miriam grins. “Almost twenty years. I had to dig deep, but I thought you’d feel comfortable in them.”
John’s arms fall to his sides. “Have you broken into my house?” he asks, unsure if he owns one. He certainly does not have any keys.
Miriam hesitates. “One thing at a time,” she replies. “All will come back to you soon enough. I hope.” She starts to walk up the tunnel again.
John takes a deep breath, lets out a haggard sigh, and falls in step with Miriam. After what he believes is half an hour, the walls curve away and the tunnel widens into a larger room. Miriam stops, and he limps to a halt behind her.
They are surrounded by space instead of rock. He cannot see any walls, but he senses that the room is vast. The darkness around him is pooling and churning, so dense he is surprised he cannot touch it.
“All right,” he says. “Just tell me this one thing. Please.”
Miriam raises her lantern and peers into the darkness in front of them. “What?” she asks.
“Why do I need to find my fighting spirit?”
Miriam turns to face him. “Because you need to overcome things like this,” she whispers, and then twists the wheel at the base of the lantern until the glow lights up the entire room.
When John looks over her shoulder, his face grows slack in disbelief.
“Oh, fuck off,” he
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