Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) by Robert J. Duperre, Jesse David Young Page A

done here. I have finished what you created me to do.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Every action you have made in your life has been in anticipation of this moment. You can face Percy by yourself now. You are prepared. Once you cross the threshold into self-actualization, the need for me is done.”
    She winced. “What’ll happen to you?”
    “I do not know. It is a mystery to me. As I think it should be.”
    The creature came forward and wrapped its little arms around her. Warmth radiated from its body and filled her up. Tears trickled down Marcy’s cheeks. She suffered that feeling of withering, of loss, which she learned so long ago when her grandmother died.
    “I don’t want to be alone,” she cried.
    “You will not be. I will always be there. You made me, remember? I am nothing but an extension of you, Lady. Henceforth, we can never truly be apart.”
    “I’ll miss you anyway.”
    “I know. Let the Fates smile down upon you, as they always have.”
    With that, they backed away from each other. Marcy turned to face the door again.
    “Lady, one more thing.”
    “What now?”
    “Remember. Remember everything . And then call out His name.”
    Marcy nodded. She took a deep breath and stepped across the margin between light and dark. The door didn’t so much close as disappear behind her.
    She was all alone.
     
    *     *     *
     
    Trapped in the darkness, Marcy lost control of her senses. Pictures flashed across her vision, scenes of places she’d never been, shreds of agony she’d never experienced, faces and voices of people she’d never known. Her feet stuck to the ground. Her voice echoed when she screamed. It felt like she was in a huge fishbowl, but a cramping sensation stifled her. Imperceptible walls closed in. She turned around and darted back from where she came. Nothing halted her forward progress; no door, no portal, no anything. Despite the solid ground beneath her feet and the burn of her lungs as she panted, it seemed like she’d become one with nothingness.
    The memory of Trudy’s voice called out to her. Run, Lady! Do not be afraid! He can sense you when you’re afraid . Her heart pounded in her ribcage. The panicked, alien thoughts of those other than her pushed to the foreground. Stop , they pleaded. Please don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything, I don’t want to perish!
    Another noise emerged beneath her brain’s clamor. It sounded like a wet mop slapped against the floor. She ran faster. Still nothing impeded her.
    Her foot struck some unseen object and she went flying. She seemed to be in the air forever, and she imagined herself soaring above the heavens, staring down at the trees as their branches slapped her feet. Tumbling to the ground, she rolled as if she’d been cast down Niagara Falls in a barrel. After what felt like an eternity the spinning stopped. She tried to catch her breath. Her lungs struggled to expand in a chest that felt sore and bruised.
    The slurping sound drew closer.
    Terror pulsed in her temples. She scurried about on all fours, frantically searching for something, anything, that was solid in this world of black. Her hand landed on a hard object. It was cold. She moved her hand upward, and a velvety surface replaced the hardness. It was tall and gently curved at its crest. The image of the chair that resided in her parents’ living room came to mind. This calmed her, and she slipped her body around it, feeling the rough texture of brick in the space behind. She crouched down, held her breath, and waited.
    Eventually the nightmarish hissing receded, blinking out of existence as if it had never been there at all. A faint white glow then lit her surroundings, and now she could see everything. The place she was in was no cavern, she discovered, as there was furniture and brick walls surrounding her. The object she hid behind was indeed a chair; a purple Victorian-style creation that looked like a throne.
    She stood up and searched for the source of the