what could only be described as an eye, a hundred times larger than himself. It was a deep purple in color, swirling with a turbulent, glowing energy. In the center of the amethyst colored orb rested a single slit pupil, somehow an even deeper black than their surroundings. It was like staring into the depths of Hell. This was the very face of madness itself, and just looking into it, Rayne felt the psychotic whispers of a thousand demons tearing into his soul. A cold voice swept past his ears.
“What’s a mortal doing here?”
“I don’t know,” Rayne stammered, unable to form clear words in his predicament. “I don’t know where here is!”
The eye blinked, and in that split second Rayne felt a sense of calmness, before the lids burst apart again and the unholy fixture stared through him once more, tormenting him with its power.
“Awareness—?” Confusion laced the voice this time. Rayne couldn’t bear it any more. He struggled to free himself from the grip around his leg. It didn’t matter to him if he fell forever; he just wanted to be away from that horrible eye. As if sensing his struggle the tentacle around his leg tightened itself even more.
“Let go of me!” he shrieked, reaching up to grab it. He pulled and strained, stretching his upper body to reach it. But, to his shock, when he grabbed it his hand passed right through. A moment later his leg, too, passed through the black appendage and he slipped from its grip, falling. More black forms exploded from the darkness with intent to grab him, but each one floated through him like it would a ghost. Rayne’s whole body had become transparent now, and he felt the world around him fading. He heard an unearthly roar all around him, the sound of a creature’s frustrated rage as its prey slipped away.
Chapter 2
A steady mechanical beep wormed its way into Rayne’s mind. It repeated, over and over again, unceasing. The more the beep went on, the more annoying it became to him, and he tried to scream, to beg for the irritating noise to cease, but he found he had no voice. Again he tried to force some kind of sound out through his lips.
“Stop. Beeping.” The words came out as a strangled whisper, barely audible.
“Rayne? Did you say something?”
A response? Rayne tried again to speak, but his throat felt dry and cracked, like it had been scraped raw with a razor blade, and he could not produce much sound.
“Beeping. Make it. Stop.”
“Get the doctor! I think he’s waking up!”
Rayne forced one eye open. Everything was a mushy wall of white with grey blobs to his unfocused vision. They looked like people standing beside him, but he couldn’t be sure. He felt himself lying on his back, on a soft surface, with no idea where he was.
“Daddy? Daddy, are you awake? Say something, Daddy!”
Rayne knew that voice. He tried to turn his head but his body wouldn’t listen. He tried to speak again but his voice gave up after two sentences, and he could only mouth the name of his son.
“Can you hear me?” A quiet voice murmured above him, but it came from nothing more than a grey shape illuminated against an unceasing white. Rayne tried to nod yes, and his head made the tiniest motion. His eyes fluttered open and shut, and he tried to escape the cloudy state of mind ensnaring him.
“Good. Good. Can you speak?”
Rayne’s mouth moved, and he barely forced out the word “yes.”
“Can you squeeze my hand?”
He felt something touching his right hand, and he twitched, grasping an offered digit.
“Responsive, but finds difficulty speaking,” the voice remarked. “Motor function adequate, responds to simple commands. As expected.”
Rayne’s eyes rolled back, trying to focus on the speaker.
“Mr. Mercer, you were in a terrible accident,” the voice continued. “Don’t push yourself now. Your friends and family are all here to support you. I want you to blink if you understand me.”
Rayne forced his eyes closed, and
Matt Christopher, Stephanie Peters