They wanted to go. So I took them. It’s as simple as that. I
don’t regret a single thing from the experience. That’s how it always works. I
don’t dwell on bullshit. It’s not healthy and that’s how that place takes you
away.
They paid me in cash. I collected it when I met them. It was
my first solid payment in months. During the last journey, I had sustained a
serious injury that prevented me from taking on anymore jobs. But, after
healing up, I was sure to choose (or, what I thought to be, anyways) the simplest
job I could.
I would take them there. Then, that would be it. They wanted
me to take them to the center of that world, and leave them there. There
wouldn’t be any inherent expectations they had of getting out. I wouldn’t need
to play along with them. “Oh, of course, the escape…” “Rations!” No. No pretending.
I run across these missions often. Lonely old men (mostly
men, but once an elderly woman did implore for my help) beg me to take them to
a sanctuary within hell. They’re lonely, old… broken. Unwanted, but breathing.
They want to be alone, forever; they want sanctuary. So I take them there.
They find happiness. Or rather, solace. In the end, they
find themselves. I don’t usually have what I like to call fallbacks. If I see
signs of a fallback, I’m especially sure to depart before they cling to me. I
don’t want to be there to clean up the mess. That’s not my job.
We were to leave on a Sunday afternoon. I had specifically
planned the mission out beforehand, and gave them a single week to have all
their affairs in order. They responded in the usual manner clients do; they set
most of their belongings on fire. They were both elderly scholars and yet they
left nothing unscathed. They destroyed everything they owned. This is good. In
order to be free of everything, we must lose everything. That is the number one
rule in this program.
We met at an abandoned church somewhere in the frigid
twilight of northern Ohio. They had no rations. I was the only one carrying
water. I was content with this. They seemed confident. This is good. Confidence
is good when facing down these doors.
I instructed them to step up to the altar with me. I cut
both of their fingers and performed the ceremony on the crumbling wall. The
ritual bonded the blood of the two and the monster’s jaws appeared. I placed a
hand at the center of it. It had an unrecognizable temperature to it, as it
always does. My hand tingled. I turned.
“A.. a door? I was expecting a gate of some kind, to be
honest.”
The professor said. He had no idea that the entire system
operated via doors. Not just framed doors. Entrances. Everywhere, doors. But I
desired to keep it simple, so-
“Yes, a door. This is not unusual. Are you prepared?”
The professor adjusted his glasses.
“Have been for the past two decades, kid.”
We both turned to the journalist. He was timid man. Kept his
mouth shut most of the time. He looked past us, at the door. His face was
white. At first, I thought it as fear, but then I realized… something more.
“I am ready.”
I nodded. I turned back to the door. I opened it.
And then we walked through.
