From Darkness Page 6

  Chapter Six

  Not knowing if he could take much more Bane opened his mouth to protest, but instead found himself standing alone in a long, ice cold corridor. Tiled top to bottom with what appeared to be dirty white ceramic that had long since turned a sickly greenish yellow and grey while long naked fluorescents lined the ceiling, flickering on and off like a strobe, it stretched. The hall, straight and empty, extended into the distance as far as he could focus appearing to go on forever and he wasn’t so sure that it didn’t. Along the walls every few feet or so were glass panels; large observation windows that reminded him of the ones in the hospital nursery, that no doubt led to rooms beyond, but there were no door handles to turn and no doors for them to go on either. The thick glass panes were dark, showing only an abyss of blackness inside, and he was glad. He had a sinking feeling that he didn’t want to see what those cells held as his gaze swept rows of darkened panels left and right. Each one empty and foreboding, everyone but four that is. An eerie light spilled from the last four windows at the far end of the corridor, if there could’ve been an end, a sickly glow beckoning him forward.

  Bane took a deep breath and planted his feet determined not to succumb, but his body moved toward the tunnel’s edge regardless. He reluctantly walked forward, all doubts of the length of the hall gone as the shadow at the end stretched with every step he took; only the four lighted widows growing closer showed that he was getting anywhere. All too soon Bane made his way to the first large pane. Once again reminding him of his visits to his newborn children in the maternity ward, tapping on the glass partition and waving like an idiot to the infant inside, but this was in no way as endearing and the resemblance haunted him. It was, he knew, to be the exact opposite and he couldn’t help but draw another deep breath before turning to look inside the starkly lit room.

  He couldn’t do it, not yet, as he turned toward the window his eyes slammed shut refusing to let in whatever horrifying images he knew was beyond. He laid his forehead on the icy glass placing both hands on either side of his head to give him strength. Stealing himself he pushed his face back to look inside and died within.

  “Noooo... oh baby... nooo....” His pitiful cries choked in his throat and fell from his lips as he slid to his knees, his hands squealing as they slid down the cool slick surface of the pane. Sobs rose in his chest while he watched his withered daughter. Her body, a shell of its former self, was nothing more than skin, bones, and the scars of years of cosmetic surgery. She sat on a makeshift cot in the far corner of the small cell, her knees drawn to her chest rocking back and forth. Her arms crossed her chest, one hand tearing at her thinning hair pulling away strand after strand, the other ripping into her shoulder digging deeper and deeper into the bloody mangled flesh. Her tiny, weak voice echoed through her father’s head.

  “Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mocking bird...”

  At times her hands would fly to her ears, desperately trying to block out sounds that only she could hear and would never be free from; screaming as if stabbed by hundreds of needles when the voices refused to stop. With each shriek of pain Bane’s heart sank deeper.

  “Delilah... baby... what’s happened to you?”

  “Her youth was spent, as you would call it, ‘enjoying her life fully’, living free, experiencing everything and exploring her sexuality. She got the attention that she craved from men, but was never happy with herself; not really, and after a while when the men no longer kept her happy she would walk away in search of her next relationship however short. During her second marriage she wanted children and that desire to love and be loved unconditionally by a baby became her obsession. Unfortunately her years of frivolous sex and multiple abortions in her earlier years had led to disease and she could not conceive. It in turn led to many expensive treatments and too many miscarriages for her. Ultimately she and her husband divorced, unable to take the strain. She threw herself into her appearance, desperate to feel good about herself and what satisfaction the mirror could not give her, she would drown in alcohol and other substances. All she wanted was to be loved, to feel loved, completely and wholly for who she was. If only she had known the beauty that I saw in her and knew my love, but she died a shell inside and out. Now she sits in a body of her own making while the cries of the children she so easily murdered call out to her. She can never comfort them or herself and she cannot block their cries no matter how hard she tries.

  Bane turned as he stood, expecting to see the stranger whom he’d come to think of as his guide, but the corridor was empty; void of all but himself. Had he imagined it? No, the voice was real and it spoke the truth. Whether it came from an outside source or had been spoken directly to his mind he couldn’t tell, but it was real. He staggered away from his daughter’s cell, towards the light streaming from the next window, but stopped short. After seeing his princess turned from a vibrant beautiful teen, to that wretched soul inside that room he just couldn’t make himself take another step. He could go no further, but what he didn’t realize was; he didn’t have a choice.

  “Go.” The voice was firm, but soft all at once. Still Bane could not obey.

  “I can’t.”

  “Go.”

  “Please; please don’t make me! I beg of you don’t!”

  “Go.” The voice, still the same as before beckoned him on, but he was determined so the hall moved for him. The sides swept by though the floor never wavered and when Bane looked up from his feet somehow he found he was staring through the glass into the room beyond. He tried to shut his eyes, but they wouldn’t work, nothing would allow him to turn from the sight of Delilah’s twin brother Parker huddled deep in the corner of his own prison.

  Video screens lined the floor, walls, and ceiling. Every square inch of the room top to bottom was covered in flashing images of women, young girls, and children sending Parker scurrying from one corner to another like a cockroach fleeing them all, his lidless eyes unable to block a single one. Bane stared bewildered while he listened to his son’s rants.

  “Go away! Leave me alone! Get out! Get out! Go away!” Over and over the same exclamations along with many vulgar phrases flew from Parker’s mouth before letting loose a yell of fury, pounding the nearest images with all his might, bloodying his hands, then falling into a shuttering heap in a corner.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “You’ve seen his bedroom. The magazines and books under his bed, the movies in his closet and on his computer and phone, the pictures proudly displayed on his walls.”

  “Yeah, so. It’s no different than any other boys.” but inside he knew his defense was futile and wrong.

  “The natural curiosity and desire that was not handled responsibly grew to consume him. He walked the same well-worn path as far too many men that derived their manhood from their sexual encounters, porn was not enough... it never is, and he began acting out what he saw to heighten his own excitement. Those women and children on the screen are those he used for his own desires, those he raped and those he molested to fill his growing lust. Now he listens to their cries, their torments, their accusations, never to be released from their gaze.”

  Bane watched the images flash across the screens, the women and children whom his son abused, their eyes holding wells of pain and anguish. All he could do was back away from his boy. A wave of disgust flooding over him, but the longer he thought about it the more his disgust shifted from his son onto himself. Still in a daze, Bane was peering into the third room before realizing what or who he was looking at.

  Chains, chains of all shapes and sizes hung from the walls winding around an object suspended feet from the ceiling in the center of the room. Suddenly the thing moved and he jumped not realizing it was a person inside the mangled mass. A person bound in a straitjacket, blind folded, wrapped in lengths of chains and gagged with still more. Bane pressed his face closer to the glass straining to recognize the figure inside, but his heart already told him it was his fourtee
n year old son Mason and the last of children. Without waiting for the question to be asked it was answered.

  “Man shall not lay with man as he does with woman, but your son did. His freedom from restraint in life and his refusal to see the truth has led to an eternity of it.”

  Dumbstruck, he placed his hand gently on the window as if by that single act he could touch his boy and bring them both some sense of comfort. Could it be true? Was his son gay? Shouldn’t he have noticed it? Sure he’d been gone a lot, but he spent months at a time at home. No, he spent months at a time in the studio, doing public appearances, taking ‘me’ time, or just plain being drunk. Well, so what if his son was gay? It’s his choice after all, it wasn’t like he was hurting anyone and it sure didn’t merit being locked away in this place, but in his heart he knew somehow that he and each of his children had missed out on something or refused to see what was right in front of them and it was that reason why they were here; why he was here.

  His mind nearly numb at this point, he moved on to the fourth and final lit pane in the corridor of Hell. He had seen each one of his children, now it was time to see himself and what he was to face as punishment for his failure as a father and as a man. Resigned to his fate he willing stared into the cell inside. It too was lined with monitors like his son Parker’s, each screen locked onto one of his children replaying every second of torture they endured. Only it wasn’t himself sitting in the middle of the room, but his wife Shaylon. Tears poured from her eyes as she was forced to watch her babies suffer, unable to help and unable to turn away, even unable to blink, her lids were molded open; her flesh scarred and creased around her always open eyes. Bane fell to his knees this time for his wife. Her cries tore at his very soul. He loved her dearly, more now than he had in their youth. Yes he’d had many indiscretions, more than he could ever remember really, and if the opportunity presented itself under the right circumstances he couldn’t say it wouldn’t happen again after all he was only human, but that was just sex. Now with each tear of Shaylon’s that fell to the chamber floor Bane felt a searing stab of pain, guilt and grief for each affair whether she had known about it or not.

  “Shaylon... oh, Shaylon. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please baby, it should be me in there not you... not you.” It was the final moment, he couldn’t hold it back any more and broke into great sobs that matched his wife’s, but unlike her he soon felt a great comfort as a hand was gently lain on his shoulder. Without looking he knew it was the barefoot stranger.

  “Why aren’t I in one of these rooms?”

  “They’re not really here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is where their minds are for now, they are in the same emptiness that you know of and at times their consciousness drifts between the two states.”

  “Do they know it, do they realize it?”

  “At times.”

  Bane’s heart ached.

  “But remember, this hasn’t happened yet; it’s only a glimpse.” With that the man was gone and Bane whether he knew it consciously or not made a decision never to let it happen.

  He awoke to an empty room still in his chair, the television still droning on somehow back on the same televangelist, the clock on the wall showing a little after two in the morning, and the bottle still in his hand. He dropped it as if it was a snake about to strike. Shaking the fog from his mind Bane searched for the remote to quiet the room when the words of the preacher stopped him stone still.

  “The fires of Hell are waiting for you, but you can be set free by the one who holds the keys!” Frozen in place he listened intently to every word the man holding the Bible pacing the floor said. Not even noticing when his knees became weak and he sunk back onto the edge of the chair. The hour program flew by in what seemed like only a few minutes and when the altar call came Bane instantly and easily slid to his knees and spoke the name of his barefoot friend for the first time.

  “Jesus, forgive me. I’m so sorry for the way I’ve lived. I’m ready to follow you. All that I have and all that I am is yours.”