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I awoke, thinking I was still strapped to the birthing table.
But this was something else.
Something worse.
I could feel a bunch of pads between my legs, the faint trickle of blood.
I squinted until the room came into focus. Beneath me lay a floor of sand. Motes of light floated lackadaisically down from the ceiling. When one of them landed on my leg, I gasped at the sudden burst of heat.
It was smoldering ash.
Raining from above.
On the wall, I spotted another plaque that read “CIRCLE 7: VIOLENCE.” There was some writing below it that I couldn’t make out.
I checked my bonds, saw my wrists and ankles were strapped to some sort of pulley-and-gear mechanism. To my right stood a metal cart with a control panel on top.
But I didn’t care about where I was, or what was happening to me.
All I cared about was my daughter.
My daughter and my friends.
I heard a door creak open, strained my neck to see.
Luther walked in, tracking through the sand, and stopped next to the gurney, staring down at me.
“You’re still bleeding a little, Jack, but I took the liberty of placing some pads down there.”
“Where is she, you bastard?”
He scratched the back of his head. “Originally, Phin and Harry were in these chairs. They were going to torture each other to death while you watched. The fiery ash would have rained down on them. You would have begged me to stop. It would have been quite beautiful.”
An ash landed on his arm, and he watched it eat a tiny hole through his shirt.
I clenched my teeth. “Where’s my daughter?”
“She’s gone, Jack. Maybe someday, when you’re ready, I’ll tell you what happened to her. But you aren’t ready yet.”
I was exhausted, emotionally drained, and hurt in a dozen places, but I pulled on those straps with more force than I’d ever used on anything.
They didn’t budge.
“Anger isn’t the reaction I’m after,” Luther said. “You need to get past that.”
“What exactly is it you want, Luther?”
Luther put his face close to mine, his dark eyes drilling into me.
“I want a partner.”
I didn’t respond, wondering what the hell he was getting at.
“I’ve embraced a side of myself that few even acknowledge exists,” he continued. “A dark, black side. Over the years, I’ve met others who possess this darkness. Alex Kork was one of them. Tell me, what did you think of Alex?”
“She was psychotic. Like you.”
He nodded. “But she had a spark to her, didn’t she? I visited her in prison. We had a…co
I closed my eyes. It was half-past crazy in loony town, and I’d had enough. There had been too many nut jobs, with too many delusional fantasies. I wondered if I was some sort of maniac magnet.
Luther touched my eyelids, peeled them open. “Morality is an artificial construct. It is, admittedly, necessary for society, and for civilization to prosper. But even in the most civilized nations, murder and torture flourish. Man’s inhumanity to his fellow man isn’t the mark of a backwards society. It’s the pi
“Yeah, I’ve read Nietzsche, too.”
“But Nietzsche chickened out.” Luther released my eyes. “He didn’t have the balls to directly state what he was hinting at. Some men are meant to hunt and kill others for their own amusement.”
“And you honestly think this is something I have in common with you?”
“You already hunt people, Jack. You’ve been doing it your whole career. But you always stop yourself once you get to the fun part. I’ve been trying to show you how to fully embrace the i
“Alex was crazy. But you’re flat-out batshit nuts, Luther.”
“You’re lost, Jack. Lost and you don’t even realize it. Just like Dante. I was lost once as well. Even after I embraced my true self, I still needed direction. I learned a lot from others. Others like Alex. I met them. I studied them. I studied your very cases, learned all about the people you chased. I cherry-picked the things that worked, and then, as you can see, improved upon them. Hunters tend to have short attention spans and monovision. But I see things large-scale. I have scope. I don’t mind delaying gratification for a while if it means a bigger payoff.”
“Batshit nuts,” I said.
“I felt as you do, once. But something helped me see the light.” He smiled, and it was an ugly thing. “Pain, Jack. Pain is cleansing. Pain is clarifying. Pain is pure. It strips away everything. Dignity. Artifice. Morality. Pain allowed me to be born again, to become truly free.” His voice lowered. “And it will do the same for you.”
I shook my head. “No, it won’t.”
“Yes, it will. It’s just a question of how badly and how long I’ll have to hurt you. When I said something helped me see the light, would you like to know what I’m referring to?”
I didn’t. I just glared at him.
He patted the contraption I was strapped to.
“My time spent in this chair changed me forever, Jack. I was just like you. Holding back the darkness inside of me. Just open yourself up to the possibility that you have no idea how depraved you truly are. This chair is going to change you.”
“No, Luther. It may kill me, but it won’t change me.”
He scowled. “Listen very carefully, Jack. If you’re counting on the possibility of death to get you out of this, you could not be more wrong. You think I would ever let you die? Everything you’ve been through here, I’ve been poised at every turn, ready to step in and rescue you. Ready to save you. You aren’t going to die, Jack. Though you will wish for it. In fact, your desire for death will become all-consuming. It’s the not dying that will bring about the change in you.”
I felt a sickness rising up inside of me.
Born out of the fear of imminent pain.
“You’re like a horse, Jack. Wild and untamed. Full of potential. But you’re not broken. I have to tear you down to nothing and rebuild you. Your strength, what I love about you, will endure. Will become even harder. Your weakness and failings will be utterly a
I stared, defiant. “You may break me, but I’ll never become what you are.”
“You already are what I am. The faster you accept that, the easier it will be. When you come out on the other end of this, for the first time, you’ll know true joy. You’ve been miserable all your life, haven’t you?”
I didn’t know how to answer that.
“Admit it, Jack. You despise yourself. Your relationships are all unhealthy. You ever wonder why so many people around you get hurt? Ever stop to think that hurting them is what you really want?”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Yet you keep doing it, over and over. Your friends and family are always getting hurt, or dying. It must be because you want it. And tell me something. When do you feel most alive? Most vibrant? Most worthy? Isn’t it when you’re chasing some psychopath? Closing in on the kill? That’s why you became a cop in the first place, isn’t it?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that, or even if I should. Luther was twisting the facts in my life to fit his own warped view.
“You’re bending to the constraints and confines of a society in which you’re an alpha predator, and you need to break free of that. Don’t you want to be happy for once? To sleep peacefully rather than toss and turn all night? You have a will, and the sooner you learn to follow it, the sooner you’ll reach perfection. But enough talk. Let’s get started.”