By the time the fog dissipates, Raoul and the Angel are gone. As I look around, I realize that this level of the building is honeycombed with doors and passages, some hidden behind brick columns, others tucked between monstrous old hunks of machinery in dark corners. If I search for Raoul or try to find my way out, there’s a very real possibility I might get lost.
Swearing, I hobble back to the Angel’s living area and fling myself into one of the chairs.
The Angel healed well from my bite—there’s not even a scar on his throat. When he comes back, I might just rip out his spine. Let’s see how fast he recovers fromthat.
17Raoul
The Angel—or the Phantom, as I’ve decided to call him—drags me down a hallway, opens a door, and flings me inside. Lights come on as he slams the door shut—bright, searing lights whose heat stings my skin.
The room is made of mirrors, so seamlessly joined that when I turn around, I’m not sure which panel is the one with the door. I bang on one of them, but it doesn’t sound hollow. None of them do.
The room is too low for a man to stand upright and too narrow for anyone to lie down. I’ve been in a space like this many times. Except it was dark in the closet under the stairs, and this space is horrendously bright and hot. The entire ceiling panel glows so fiercely I can’t look at it.
This can’t be happening.
It’s been four years since I was last locked in the closet, and perhaps that’s why the visceral horror strikes me so suddenly. There’s no buildup, no slow endurance before I finally break down—it’s immediate. Panic vaults through my throat, acidic bile searing the back of my tongue.
“Don’t leave me in here,” I call. “Please…please, you have to let me out!”
The Phantom’s voice echoes in the room, seeming to come from every direction. “I designed this room for the man who summoned me, in case he returns as my enemy one day. I can fill it with water, too. It’s a multipurpose prison and torture chamber—quite genius, really. I’m rather proud of it. The heat isn’t high enough to cause you injury, only discomfort. Take some time to ponder your choices while I speak with Christine alone.”
“No! No, you don’t understand,” I gasp. “I’ve been confined like this many times throughout my life. You’d think I would get used to it, but I haven’t. I can’t stand it. Please, please…”
“You were confined?” His voice sounds different now. Surprised, maybe, or disturbed.
“Yes. I was imprisoned, locked away, exiled to the dark…” I crouch on the mirrored floor beneath the searing light, sweat coating my skin. My heart is racing so horribly fast that I wonder if it might actually burst this time. It seems to fill my whole chest, my brain, my mouth.
Several seconds pass…or several minutes. It’s hard to tell with my pulse screaming through my veins at the speed of terror.
He’s not coming back. He really has left me in here alone, in this unbearable box, staring at countless sweating, shaking reflections of myself under the blaze of the merciless lights.
The horror builds, pounding in my head until an agonized, roaring scream rips from my chest. I scream again, but I can’t get enough breath for a third scream because I’m panting too fast, too shallow. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
A door opens, and the Phantom drags me out into the blessed coolness and gloom of the hallway. I cling to him, sweat slick andgasping, tears oozing from my eyes. I’m breathing too fast. I can’t get enough air.
He drops to the floor, leaning against the wall, holding me while I convulse and sob. I barely understand who it is I’m grasping so tightly. I only know that I made it out of that mirrored box.
“I have been a prisoner, too,” the Phantom says, low. “I did not realize… Forgive me.”
Light, hurried footsteps sound at the end of the hall, and then Christine’s voice reaches my ears. “I heard screaming… Oh god, what did you do to him?”
“I put him in the torture room for only a minute or two,” the Phantom protests.
“You’re a menace, you know that?” she snaps at him. Then she kneels beside me. “Raoul, it’s all right. You’ll be okay.” She removes my glasses and sets them aside carefully. Her cool fingers slide into my sweaty hair.
When she touches me, the Phantom’s arms tighten around my body. “I’ve got him.”
“I can see that,” says Christine more gently. “Maybe if we all return to your living quarters and just talk like reasonable people instead of resorting to arcane methods like torture rooms…”
“He isn’t ready to walk yet,” objects the Phantom.
“Then perhaps you could carry him.”
My heart rate is slowing, and the relief that follows turns me weak. I’m not having a heart attack. I’m not going to die. More tears gush from my eyes, soaking the Phantom’s vest.
Carefully, he gets to his feet, lifting me as he does so. It’s a fucking princess carry, but I’m trembling too much to care. My face rocks against the swell of his bicep as he carries me along a hallway, back to the living space we just left. He strides to the platformwhere his enormous bed sits, and he drapes my body on top of the covers.
Christine sets my glasses on a ledge on the headboard. “Sit up, Raoul. Just for a moment, so we can get this wet shirt off you.”
