SECTION 4
Besides, I’ve always preferred flashy entrances. Tom and I smirk to one another as we ready ourselves to break through the door. So far our trip has been eventful but not exciting, and we are looking forward to some real action.
Of course, we’ll feel rather foolish if the door leads only to a messy kitchen, but for the sake of doing something, we are willing to take that risk.
“All right, Tom,” I shout, since there is no longer need for quiet. “On three.” We poise. “One,” I breathe. He turns his head to the door. “Two.” We bend. “Three.” Together we charge, and when we hit the door, the wood around the knob splinters and breaks. The pressure snaps the hold on the hinges as well, and the door hangs in towards the room, ready for us to draw it open.
The door opens into a room that smells strongly of incense. Faint blue light reveals a mural covering all the walls, on which prance unicorns, satyrs, and other creatures of legend, all of them glowing a sharp silver. The colors on the mural change gradually as the seconds pass, cycling through to create the illusion of movement. On the floor is an oval rug, hooked in intricate swirling patterns, the patterns, too, reflecting brightly in the pale light. A tall chair rests on the rug, in the middle of the room, and as we enter the room, it swings towards me.
Katyrina Emerson, short, thin, fascinating but not quite beautiful, looks at me with fear. She springs from the chair and crosses to the door. Tom raises his hands to stop her, which she does, and then she spreads her arms in a gesture of surrender. The first words are hers.
“Don’t hurt me. Please.” Feebly, pleadingly, irresistibly. I resolve at that moment that we will comply with her request. “What do you want?” she asks, her initial fear beginning to subside. “Just name it, but please don’t—”
“We won’t hurt you, Katyrina,” I interrupt. “All we want is a passage to Amber. I have reasons to think you can help us. Will you?”
“Do I have a choice?” she mutters. Her eyes are fixed on the floor.
I shake my head. “No,” I answer firmly. “We have no other way of getting there.”
She nods slowly and then continues, her voice now more of a command than a request, “Okay. Follow me, then. We have to use the other room.” Walking past me but keeping as much distance as possible, she enters the living room and then the hall. With a moment’s hesitation, she turns the handle of the bedroom door.
Inside, a dull blue light illuminates a room with no furniture. Opposite me is a window, but thick Venetian blinds cover it completely, keeping the blue light out of sight of the street. On the walls hang tapestries of various hues and sizes, the scenes on them ranging from smoking volcanoes to knights in black armor to black clouds thick with snow.
On the floor is a series of lines and boxes, all of them connected and all of them differently colored. Katyrina begins to walk through the pattern, motioning for us to follow her. We do as she has asked, each of us marveling at the zigzagging she does, each of us wondering if the route she is taking is in any way necessary. But as we near the center of the room, I see where she is headed. Only a few feet ahead is a small circular door with a notch carved into the center. A little larger than a manhole cover, the circular door clearly leads down.
Katyrina reaches for the notch and pulls up. It opens slowly to one side and stands perpendicular to the floor. Once it is open, I peer down through the hole. Only blackness greets me.
“What’s all this?” I ask. “Where does this lead?”
“To Amber,” Katyrina replies. “That is where you want to go, isn’t it?” To my nod, she adds, “Of course, the door leading down isn’t exactly necessary, but as a piece of staging it’s very effective. Do you recognize what this room is modeled after?” The smile on her face is enchanting even in my fear.
“No,” I mumble. “Not at all.”
“Strange,” she says, almost to herself. “I’d have thought you would.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “The film version of Dr. Faustus. With Burton and Taylor. Do you remember it? I always thought it was very effective, so I adopted the idea.”
Of course. Richard Burton as the doctor who sold his soul to the devil, about to descend into hell in payment. A man beyond all hope of redemption, a man unable to understand the enormity of the consequences of his actions. A grotesque, ugly, huge hole in the middle of the room, with Mephistopheles drawing him down into hell. All in all, one of the most frightening scenes I ever remember. Half in curiosity and half in terror, I look down into the hole.
For a full minute I see nothing. Then, suddenly, a blackness begins to roil towards me, carrying with it the horrendous stench of rotting and burning flesh. I stagger, and begin to turn away. But something is holding me, something that will not let me go, and against my will I stand rooted to my place. Up, ever up, the blackness roils on, and as it comes, my brain goes dark. As the reek of death carries me beyond consciousness, I fight for one last look into the dark. There, below me, hideous outside the realm of human acceptance, a vision of chaos swims before my eyes. Screaming, I fall inside.
Turn to Section 29.