Wormwood Dawn (Episode IV) Read Online Free PDF Page B

through and escape. It was a slow realization, but once Dan got it, he sat up in the chair and stared. He could probably get out if he tried. But with no tools to use, the prospect was grim.
    He went over to the leak anyway, inspecting it and testing the stone blocks. They were still firmly set; there was not even a wobble when he tried to jostle them. It would take something heavy to knock them loose. The ax was gone, however, and so was anything else that he could use.
    Dan sighed, testing the metal panel again. Nothing. He tested the other door. Nothing.
    “Damn it.”
    He sat back down in the chair, reclining and opening the whiskey bottle. He sipped it, still glaring at the possible escape route, and let his mind wander. When he had the chance, and the tools, he would make a break for it during the day. That was when the psycho slept, he guessed. If he even slept anymore, that is.
    He briefly wondered how the ceiling was constructed. The floor above had been hardwood, with no apparent sign that there was a block floor underneath. Since there were no beams on this side—the ceiling side—he wondered how they were held up. There were no columns here, either. It seemed like only the side to side pressure of the blocks was holding them together. Above them, there would be nothing, he assumed. But, knowing the obsessiveness of some like the psycho, this entire basement may have been dug underneath a slab foundation, and the blocks were firmly attached to the concrete above them.
    Yeah, that was probably it.
    “Shit,” he thought, swigging the whiskey again.
    He settled back, returning to his thoughtless state. There was no reason to brainstorm at the moment, he reasoned. He wasn’t getting out anytime soon. Besides, if he began becoming restless and hopeful, his captor might notice and make his life even more unpleasant than it already was. He sighed, closing his eyes and taking some small comfort in his nice buzz.
    He knew it wouldn’t last long.
     
    He awoke at dusk, when the sunlight outside had faded to a dark blue. He was still in his chair, comfortably reclined with his hand behind his head, and the half empty bottle of whiskey on his lap. The metal straps had returned, and he was once again trapped inside; but this time, thankfully, he was not strapped to the hard wooden chair.
    Across the room, near the metal panel door, a lone, hooded figure sat hunched over a desk; a single bare bulb burned brightly in a metal lamp that was placed right on the edge. Dan’s heart beat quickly when he saw the figure there, assuming it was his captor; the psycho. He sat still, not wanting to alert the man that he was awake.
    He knew anyway.
    “Good evening, Dan,” a whispery voice said. The figure didn’t move much, and Dan didn’t answer.
    “I thought I would take this opportunity to speak with you for a while. Would that be alright with you?”
    Dan remained silent, watching the figure as it recorded something in a journal. From this angle, Dan could see that the man’s writing hand was pale and strangely textured; as if wearing a glove made of some strange material.
    “It doesn’t matter if you answer,” the man said. “We will speak anyway. After all, I am the game master here, am I not?”
    Dan unscrewed the cap from the whiskey bottle, taking a swig.
    “I see you are alright with the brand of whiskey I chose,” the man said. “Not that it really matters. You’d drink anything, wouldn’t you?”
    Again, Dan was silent. He wasn’t sure whether it was out of fear, or whether he was simply intrigue at the man’s odd voice. It was almost as if there two people speaking at once; one whispering, the other growling—but both speaking the same words.
    “I admire you, Dan,” the man continued. “Not because I am envious, but because you are without a doubt the most interesting person I have ever come across. You have survived life without ever really living. Your lack of motivation or ambition is