cape. Turning his back, he listened to the rustle of fabric as Lydia mumbled her thanks.
“You have to listen to me, Lydia; none of this is…”
“And that’s another thing.” Her voice bordered on hysteria, its pitch and volume rising with each word. “How the Hell do you know my name? Who the fuck are you?”
Without their souls touching, Lydia had obviously forgotten that moment of recognition or that she had whispered his own name without being told what it was. The Cutscene had enveloped her within its reality again and Chuck doubted if she even truly remembered the two of them running through the darkness, hand in hand.
“Someone who cares.” The moment the words crossed his lips, Chuck’s cheeks warmed and he hung his head like an embarrassed schoolboy who’d just admitted a crush.
Though she was at his back, a tarnished shield hung on the wall before Chuck. Most of it was covered in a patina of rust, but some sections were still as shiny as chrome. Lydia was distorted in the reflection, but the image was clear enough for him to see that she’d fashioned a braided tieback into a makeshift belt. It encircled her waist, transforming the tapestry into a toga. Despite threadbare patches and discolored stains, she looked like a goddess; her aura pulsed and shimmered and torchlight touched her skin with a golden, honey-colored glow.
He would gladly worship at her altar. He’d kneel before her, bringing offerings of devotion and loyalty…all in the hopes that she might grace him with a single smile.
“The sting of fire ants overpowering the tickle of them streaming across bare feet in grass cooled by the morning dew.” Control’s voice was no more than a murmur, her words meaningless.
There should have been a warning about this; but even if there had been, how would Chuck have prepared? How would he have fought off such unprecedented feelings? Chuck shook his head as if he could fling thoughts from his mind. He knew he didn’t have time for this. He had to keep her safe, to protect her from all the things that scuttled and crept through the muck and slime; he had to shield her from the horrors of this place until she realized all the protection she’d ever need lay within her own fierce spirit. And he was more than willing to do that…even if it meant sacrificing himself in the process.
“Let’s get going.” He tried to sound more authoritative than he actually felt as he turned toward her again. “We don’t want to stay put for too long. Hard to tell what else is in this place.”
Chuck didn’t wait for Lydia’s reply. He trotted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and trusted she would follow. As they climbed, he tried to explain everything to her as best as he could. He told her about Crossfades and Cutscenes, explained in layman’s terms exactly what he did for a living, and tried to help her see that she’d transitioned into an entirely different dimension when the last of her brainwaves had faded.
“Energy,” he explained, “can be neither created nor destroyed; it can only change form. This is part of the first law of thermodynamics. Basic physics. Now keep in mind that the human body contains massive amounts of energy. In fact, there’s enough in our fat alone to charge a one-ton battery. So if it can’t be created, where does it come from? If it can’t be destroyed, where does it go? Your energy has changed form, Lydia. And you need to start coming to terms with that.”
The top of the stairs led to a vestibule dominated by a heavy oak door set into the wall facing them. The studded slats were held together by wrought-iron fixtures shaped like horizontal stalks of corn and a stone arch framed the doorway, hiding the hinges from view.
“So you’re trying to tell me that I can just walk through this?” Lydia rapped her knuckles against the wood as she spoke. “Hear that? Solid. I may not know exactly where I am, but I do know a door when I see one. And this is a
“You have to listen to me, Lydia; none of this is…”
“And that’s another thing.” Her voice bordered on hysteria, its pitch and volume rising with each word. “How the Hell do you know my name? Who the fuck are you?”
Without their souls touching, Lydia had obviously forgotten that moment of recognition or that she had whispered his own name without being told what it was. The Cutscene had enveloped her within its reality again and Chuck doubted if she even truly remembered the two of them running through the darkness, hand in hand.
“Someone who cares.” The moment the words crossed his lips, Chuck’s cheeks warmed and he hung his head like an embarrassed schoolboy who’d just admitted a crush.
Though she was at his back, a tarnished shield hung on the wall before Chuck. Most of it was covered in a patina of rust, but some sections were still as shiny as chrome. Lydia was distorted in the reflection, but the image was clear enough for him to see that she’d fashioned a braided tieback into a makeshift belt. It encircled her waist, transforming the tapestry into a toga. Despite threadbare patches and discolored stains, she looked like a goddess; her aura pulsed and shimmered and torchlight touched her skin with a golden, honey-colored glow.
He would gladly worship at her altar. He’d kneel before her, bringing offerings of devotion and loyalty…all in the hopes that she might grace him with a single smile.
“The sting of fire ants overpowering the tickle of them streaming across bare feet in grass cooled by the morning dew.” Control’s voice was no more than a murmur, her words meaningless.
There should have been a warning about this; but even if there had been, how would Chuck have prepared? How would he have fought off such unprecedented feelings? Chuck shook his head as if he could fling thoughts from his mind. He knew he didn’t have time for this. He had to keep her safe, to protect her from all the things that scuttled and crept through the muck and slime; he had to shield her from the horrors of this place until she realized all the protection she’d ever need lay within her own fierce spirit. And he was more than willing to do that…even if it meant sacrificing himself in the process.
“Let’s get going.” He tried to sound more authoritative than he actually felt as he turned toward her again. “We don’t want to stay put for too long. Hard to tell what else is in this place.”
Chuck didn’t wait for Lydia’s reply. He trotted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and trusted she would follow. As they climbed, he tried to explain everything to her as best as he could. He told her about Crossfades and Cutscenes, explained in layman’s terms exactly what he did for a living, and tried to help her see that she’d transitioned into an entirely different dimension when the last of her brainwaves had faded.
“Energy,” he explained, “can be neither created nor destroyed; it can only change form. This is part of the first law of thermodynamics. Basic physics. Now keep in mind that the human body contains massive amounts of energy. In fact, there’s enough in our fat alone to charge a one-ton battery. So if it can’t be created, where does it come from? If it can’t be destroyed, where does it go? Your energy has changed form, Lydia. And you need to start coming to terms with that.”
The top of the stairs led to a vestibule dominated by a heavy oak door set into the wall facing them. The studded slats were held together by wrought-iron fixtures shaped like horizontal stalks of corn and a stone arch framed the doorway, hiding the hinges from view.
“So you’re trying to tell me that I can just walk through this?” Lydia rapped her knuckles against the wood as she spoke. “Hear that? Solid. I may not know exactly where I am, but I do know a door when I see one. And this is a
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