Break From Reality. Daily.
I had been an artist.
In the slums, in darkness as black as our driven lust, I’d told my stories. And I can tell you, if wealth was measured by drops of crimson spilt in dark alleyways I would have been a millionaire.
The Bloody Painter, they’d called me. I liked to paint my victims afterwards, to show the world I was leagues above their average serial killer. I was an artist.
The last thing Sherri Larson needed was another storm in her life.
Huddled in the heavy darkness of what was little better than a metal box, Sherri wrapped her arms around her knees and willed her heart rate to steady. Just above her head, growling thunder reminded her that the danger was far from over. In fact, it was only beginning.
She should have known something was wrong that morning. The day had been bright and cloudless, but far too hot for late September on the Kansas prairie. Around noon, dark clouds had begun boiling on the horizon. Still, she’d never dreamed things could turn so deadly—not until the tornado sirens began screaming, and she’d seen the lethal wall clouds for herself, spinning relentlessly across the plains toward the small town where Sherri owned and operated a diner.
The private dining room, despite its sophisticated walnut accents and warm tones, was both stifling and somber. A fitting place for this particular family dinner.
Sliding open the paneled screen, a waiter entered the small space and set a plate of edamame down on the white linen tablecloth. He then stood waiting at the end of the table, clasping his hands behind his back.
Dennis Martinson dismissed the waiter with a wave of his hand, then picked up a pod and munched. He was a man used to getting his way, and he regarded his son with irritation, not hiding the disdain in his voice. “So, Adam, tell me again why you’re planning to leave the business?”
Scotland
April 1893
The hot air balloon approached the Isle of Skye carrying its pilot and two passengers. Sophie pushed back a bright red curl, adjusting her goggle strap. She increased the heat inside the balloon, the weight of her Tesla guns against her legs reassuring as they floated above Talisker Bay. The creatures would come into view any minute. She knew she brought her passengers to see them, but it never made it any less nerve-wracking to know that a paying customer could be decapitated any time.
I’ve been in The Room so long I don’t remember what it looks like outside. I think there were colors.
Here, everything’s white. The cement floor is coated with a glossy white finish that squeaks under our rubber-soled shoes. The walls, the plastic-covered mattresses we sleep on, the blankets they give us—all white. Even the lights, burning down from the high ceiling are white with no trace of the golden glow I almost remember.
We wear white jumpsuits, no pockets. There’s no place to hide anything here. Even the bathroom is just a screened-off area without a door, open at the top so our most private moments can be witnessed through opaque windows that stretch around the upper perimeter of The Room.
The jet of water hit me in the face. “Motherless son of a biscuit!” I got a hand between me and the water but dropped the pipe cutter. Whatever, I didn’t need that anymore.
“What did you do, Jim?” Fred demanded, his tone dripping with derision.
“Shut it off!” I shouted back.
“Where’s the valve?”
“To your right. By the shelf.” The puddle on the concrete floor of the laundry room grew at an alarming rate.
“How the hell am I supposed to reach it. You have the ladder.”
“Just jump!”
“Is there anyone out there? I repeat, is there anyone out there?”
The words had become automatic and no longer held any meaning for Karl. He sprawled on his back in the middle of the darkened control room, radio receiver clutched to his mouth. He stared up at the stars through the huge window above him as he mindlessly repeated the distress message.
He had been an astronaut for many years and had long since become accustomed to the sight of the stars, but now when he had little to do but look up at them and wait for death, he was reminded how beautiful they were. Their feeble light and that of the shuttle’s emergency power was the only thing that separated him from the true darkness that the inky black sky threatened.
“I repeat, is there anyone out there? Shuttle in distress, potential loss of human life.”
“Before you embark on your adventure, please hand me your phones and anything else you don’t want to get wet,” said the man in the sailor’s uniform. “We’ll protect your belongings while you navigate your way to safety.” He brandished a plastic bin.
James was tense.
When Hayley suggested they do an escape room, pride and insecurity kept James from telling her that being trapped against his will was essentially a waking nightmare for him. He could have said no, could have made an excuse, but he hadn’t quite figured out saying “no” to Hayley. He’d had no need to. He was crazy about her and so far “yes” had served him just fine.
How many times had I told them? They didn’t believe me. My whole family thought it was a phase, a childish trait. Every time I listened to them and forgot about it, I heard it again. It was loud and clear, unmistakable. Again, the knocking that came from inside my closet was not in my head; it was not my mind playing tricks on me. This was real.
I cried out for my mother.
