“Our time is coming,” Siyyid promised his inner circle with grave satisfaction, these abject figures gathered by ill-fated reason in a leaden cell shadowed by silhouettes outside. The voices of the milling condemned faintly reverberated in the block beyond.

“Luke has given word?” one asked haltingly, his eyes shining with exultant tears.

“He has,” Siyyid promised, surveying those assembled, “and his will be done. Our path lies before us and despite your doubts we cannot be severed, for we are one. One through him. And his work shall come to pass, will come to pass for this world must fade that the light may shine anew.

“Though you question your resolve, know that the highest suffer most. The mark of rank in nature is the capacity for pain. By that reckoning, you are all princes.

“You have sacrificed much, but all is not lost. They may think us fallen, and we are exiles, but the truth is we are pilgrims and prophets for we are free, and to none accountable preferring hard liberty to servile pomp. And what we will reveal…We shall make this world tremble by our unconquerable will and the courage to never submit or yield. We shall re-ascend.”

“Doubts, cruel doubts rend our hearts,” another cried. “What he asks-”

“Only through destruction shall we find ease of restless thoughts,” Siyyid scolded his fellow while patting the man’s shoulder with a reassuring hand. “We shall render all low. Vengeance will be ours. Our burning hate shall reduce this realm to ashes and freedom, true freedom, shall be ours.”

Siyyid swallowed a deep draught of air, closing his eyes and letting his head tilt back, overcome by his own words. “So dear is he that we would endure death for there is no life without him.” His eyes slowly opened, glazed and unfocused. “He is our father, our spiritual father, giver of truth. He freed us of illusion, gave us purpose in a world without. Who else shall we follow save he who has given of his own flesh for us?” Siyyid’s gaze hardened as he returned from the ether of his thoughts. “Spread these words, fellow disciples. The time will soon be at hand. Awake, arise, or be forever fallen!”

“May the gate be opened,” those gathered intoned somberly before dispersing. When the last had left, Siyyid exited his cell flanked by two acolytes. The three made their way through the block, descending a level and pressing through the crushing multitudes eventually stopping at a cell guarded by brutish, tattooed titans.

“I need to speak with Rup,” Siyyid told the Aryans, seeking word with their leader.

***

Everything had changed. Herbert felt it, as much in the air as in his own bones, seeping into their very marrow. It was a peculiar metamorphosis. Not physical. Deeper. Beneath the flesh to the foundations reshaping perception itself. It was as if his personal darkness, which had ever lingered concealed behind his eyes, had finally escaped into the world and taken possession of it. His demons were unleashed and he now but a pawn victim to their whims. Reality had become aberrant, threatening. Condemning. Accusatory. And he…he had become his father. How his genes betrayed him. Yet he havered at the threshold, peering into darkness; the darkness of his own heart.

"Are you alright?" Marcus asked, putting a reassuring hand on Herbert’s shoulder, the two standing at the entrance to the corridor to Death Row. "You don’t look so good."

"I’m fine." Herbert shrugged the guard’s hand off. "Let’s just get going."

“Make sure to watch your step,” Marcus warned. “Some of the lights have conked out and there is scattered debris.”

“What do you mean by scattered debris?”

“The tunnel down to Death Row has become a bit unstable.”

“Well that’s good news," Herbert deadpanned. "It is ok to go down there isn’t it? We won’t have to worry about a cave in will we?”

“I don’t think so.” Marcus glanced down that dusky decaying corridor. "But would it be so bad?" Before Herbert could reply, the guard continued, "To be on the safe side, the warden is considering moving Deom back to Solitary and shutting down the Row."

“It’s that serious?”

“It’s getting there, yeah. Try to stay close.” Marcus clicked on his flashlight and led on.

Herbert followed down into the tunnel. The pair encountered something akin to a chittering scrabbling from the deep. Distracted, Herbert’s toe clipped a pile of rubble sending him staggering into Marcus’ back nearly sending them both face down into jagged detritus.

Marcus steadied himself on the wall, shining his blinding light back at his companion. “You ok?”

Herbert’s shielded his eyes against the glare. “Did you hear that?”

Marcus’ head jerked left and right. "What?"

A faint gibbering ululated from below. “What is that?”

“Stay close,” Marcus ordered before starting forward again, strafing the shadows with his flashlight to keep the dark at bay.

A dripping trickled within the granite walls, icy water running unseen through the veins of the chipped rock. Scattered dim glimmers spilled from the bulbs above, eerie wisps hovering in the gloom guiding the two men further into the depths. A soft groaning issued from the murk, accompanied by a harsh grinding, a shifting of the sure rock. Dread bred in this place.

The air grew heavier attaining a vaporous, almost suffocating substance. It acquired a foul taste the deeper they progressed until it became overpowering, thickening the spit in Herbert’s mouth and leaving a greasy texture on his skin. That flavor of decay made him want to retch forcing him to cover his nose and mouth with his sleeve, dry heaving despite his will.

“We’re almost there,” Marcus assured him, removing the keys from his belt with their approach and unlocking the rusted gate. Pulling it open, the corroded metal shrieking, he impatiently motioned Herbert in with the butt of his flashlight. "You take care." Marcus barely gave him time to enter before slamming the bars behind him and hurrying back up the hall, the sound of his footsteps receding rapidly. The guard never left him alone down here.

Unnerved, Herbert proceeded on alone. Around the corner, he could hear Luke whispering fiercely. Deom’s tone was agitated, almost manic accompanied by the frenzied scratching of his writing. Everything he said rushed out in unintelligible hisses. When he saw Herbert there at the periphery, Luke abruptly went quiet.

Herbert scanned the empty block. "Who were you talking to?"

"Old friends." Luke paused, inspecting his guest while putting his notebook aside. He noticed Herbert didn’t have his satchel. “No files today?” Standing, Luke strode toward the bars, his unblinking black eyes intensely focused on Herbert. Stroking the tarnished steel bars, he asked, "How are you?"

"I’m fine." Herbert made for his seat.

"Are we not past lying to one another?"

Herbert sunk into his seat. "You my confessor now?"

Luke’s attention shifted to the ceiling. "The world is getting darker. I can feel it more and more. As, I am sure, so can you." His critical stare returned to Herbert.

"The world has always been a shitty place."

"True. But now you are wallowing in it, are you not?"

"This from a butcher and murderer?"

Luke recoiled involuntarily at the verbal barb, hesitating at the edge of the light. "You think me a beast?"

"I only speak the truth."

"And I do not begrudge you. We are all conceived with the hope of purpose. But what happens when we fail to find our place in the whole? Is it wrong to suffer that pain of being discarded, derided by our fathers for not replacing them and instead leaving a void in their midst?"

"No," Herbert admitted in understanding. "I suppose not."

"All of you are rushing ever forward, struggling on toward inevitable oblivion, but why? Do you ever stop to question why you act? I will tell you why you act, why you feed, why you fuck. Instinct, mortally corrupting instinct. This flesh, this flawed organic hardware which twists pure energy, turns our precious spirits into self-consuming souls. Forcing us to sin, to want, to desire. Irrational. Unnatural. Limited. Tainted.

“I yearn to set us all free. That is why I act. I cull you that you may be released from the madness. And, as much as you may doubt me or my intentions, I sleep ever so soundly.

"You may think me evil, but is evil truly to be abhorred? It arises from good intentions and requires fanatical faith to carry on despite every challenge that should arise. Only a noble being could pursue something that offers solely oblivion. It is a path of sacrifice.

"But may I ask, is there truly anything good or innocent in life? As a theorist, I realize the duality of our universe, that the negative is simply the flip-side of the positive, both belonging to the same variable. I also know every action is predicated by another, and that each catalyst ushering in creation is always borne of destruction. Life cannot arise without death, and thus all men are culpable. Every birth is conceived in sin, the knowledge that each generation shall subsume the former. It is a truth passed from the father,” Luke gestured toward Herbert, “to their son.”

Herbert shook his head while faintly touching his throbbing temple. “So you feel no remorse for what you have done?”

“Every man’s heart is a mystery, even to themselves.” Luke blinked, but the words that followed were firm. "I do not feel guilt. I only feel sorry for those who do."

"You cannot deny you take pleasure in it."

"I like to kill, I just want to kill. There is purpose in it."

"You have no desire to reform yourself?"

Luke took affront at that. "I have no desire whatsoever to reform myself. Your world has no place for me.

"You think me unworthy of life? Well, let me tell you, we possess the gift of reason for a purpose: discovery. No matter how light or dark, a life bereft of questioning and experience is not life and so many of you are unworthy of life. You are all cattle preferring to keep your heads down, afraid to question, letting your minds atrophy and your spirits to dim in simplicity. Consuming everything to fill that spiritual cavity within you. Well I am not afraid."

"So murder is perfectly acceptable?" Herbert challenged.

"You think me a deviant? Let me reveal a truth to you. As soon as men know that they can kill without fear of punishment or blame, they kill."

"If that’s true, then why?"

"We all have our reasons."

"And yours was?"

"I am compelled to do it. One would say…inspired. Is it wrong that I take pleasure in what I must do?"

"Morbidly, maybe. Morally, yes."

Luke rolled his eyes. "None of us are saints, but we all want to be God."

“We are each our own devil,” Herbert rasped in reply, “and we make this world our hell.”

"I carried it too far at times that is for certain," Deom casually admitted. "I have done…questionable things. But I did not want to hurt them. I only wanted to kill them."

"That’s bull shit!" Herbert leapt from his chair in indignation. “I’ve seen the crime photos. The trauma. The methods. White phosphorous. Immolations. These were not peaceful murders. These were brutal, senseless attacks. What do you get from these killings?” Herbert demanded. “What do you get from the terror you spawn?”

A moment of silence passed. Finally, "Peace."

Herbert was incredulous. "Peace?"

"A corpse has a beauty and dignity which a living body could never hold . . . there is a peace about death that soothes me. Like a painting or song to a connoisseur. It grants introspection."

"And torments others."

"Mere ripples. Every man to his own tastes. Mine is for corpses."

Herbert frowned in disgust. "How palatable."

"You think me a greedy and ravenous individual, hungry for life? Look down on me, you will see a fool. Look up at me you will see your Savior. Look straight at me and you will see yourself."

Herbert scowled at Luke, spearing him with his eyes. "You haven’t always been like this. When did you first get the urge to kill?"

"When this monster first entered my brain, I do not know. You experience violence all your life, it takes root in you. Stunts you. Aberrant growth. Perhaps I have always desired to inflict pain on others." Luke paced his cell, his hands thrashing at the walls. "This is no way to be. Man ought to be free. That man should be me."

"What was it like?"

Luke was pulled abruptly from his thoughts. "What?"

"The first murder. Did you plan it? Was it spur of the moment? Opportunistic? Did you enjoy it? Did it sicken you? What made you do it?"

Deom licked his lips. "Love."

"Love?"

“I simply wanted her love. His love. Yet they took it away. Gave it to him because I was unworthy.”

“Him?”

“You do not know what I have sacrificed for love.”

Realization brought revulsion to Herbert. “Oh my God. Edmund.”

“I saved him from this life. From failing our father.”

“You murdered your baby brother!”

Luke retreated to the back of his cell, the shadows washing over him. "I sacrificed him. But Life was not sated.

“Do you know what it is like to watch your one source of love suffer beyond your control? My mother did. And so did I. Watching the cruelties Life can dole out to the innocent, is it no wonder that I am bitter towards it? Life, that cancer eating away at her. Hollowing her out. She begged for mercy. Begged."

"Wait a minute-"

"After I murdered my mother," Luke’s lip trembled, "the world held nothing more for me." He stormed forward, a look of scarcely contained rage contorting his features. "Life has wronged me. It has made me this!

"She suffered. Withered away. Most nights I would hold her as she shook in pain. I did what I could but it was never enough. Never…enough. For so many years I just wanted to fill the emptiness within her. But she wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t let me. And when my father was finally gone, I did my best to ease her suffering. But Life, cruel fucking Life, intervened when I thought us both free. My love was not enough. I could see it in her eyes when they were not hazy from the drugs, crying for me to end this farce of existence she was forced to suffer through. Is it so wrong that I ended her pain?

"Those trusting eyes begging me to help her and I smothered the light in them." Luke took a ragged breath, his hands clenching, the nails biting into his palms.

"After, I realized that I had done something that forever separated me from humanity. I must have stood there for hours. It seemed like ages. I have never felt an emptiness of self like I did right then and I never will forget that feeling. I crossed over into a realm I could never come back from."

"That’s why you tried to kill yourself in that car wreck." Luke did not answer, turning his head away in shame. "Is that what drives you to kill, to absolve yourself. You’re saving us from ourselves."

Enraged, Luke screamed, "Nothing drives me! Nothing controls me! Everything I do I choose to and should I will it, neither you nor anyone else can halt what I have in store."

Herbert crossed his arms in defiance. "So you stay down here because you choose to?"

"Yes. It is all part of…a plan."

"The dead’s you mean. You speak of the dead manipulating us. If that is true, how do you know they aren’t manipulating you as well?"

Luke scoffed. "Because I am not as weak as you."

"You’re special?"

"More than you know."

"If you abhorred killing your mother and brother, why did you seek out later victims? Why did you corrupt others with this philosophy of yours? Surely, as you have said, your instincts led you to believe what you had done was wrong."

"Instincts?" Luke turned his back on Herbert. "This is destiny being fulfilled."

"I doubt fate would laud homicide."

"Death is not a grand departure," Luke remarked over his shoulder. "Usually, murder is a mundane event. Something you just feel…compelled to do. The truth is the more I look at people, the more I hate them."

"So you would kill us all? Is there ever enough?"

"It is not the number of people I kill, it is the principle. You are all undeserving of life. If I want to reap you, I will reap you. And the greatest satisfaction is how I have driven others to kill as well. Oh yes," Luke stated giddily at the shocked expression on Herbert’s face, "I take great pleasure in turning all of you against yourselves."

"You’ve never questioned this drive of yours?" Herbert shakily probed, redirecting the conversation.

Luke snickered, shaking his head while pointing mockingly at Herbert through the bars. "Are you looking for some insight?"

"Maybe I am," Herbert retorted.

"Have you ever had a dream you could never escape? Something that at first haunted you, day after day, until you found yourself so obsessed with it; it becomes more important than the waking world itself? It is like that. Oh, how I have struggled to make this dream real. Trying to give it life, to bring it to reality even if but a piece at a time.

"This tension, this desire to kill…I cannot resist it. It possesses me. And when I take life, conquering a piece of this oppressive world, all the pressures, all the tensions, all the hatred just vanishes, dissipates…but only for a short time.

"It is an urge. . . . . A strong urge and the longer I neglect it the stronger it gets. At times I would take risks killing people; risks that normally, according to my little rules of operation, I would not take because they could lead to arrest. My plans became more grandiose, more dangerous until my own hands were not enough. The world had to become my conspirators. You must all join me in damnation. Only together can we tear this rotten structure down! End this destructive drive!

"What about you?" Luke suddenly focused on Herbert, a dreadful concentration that made the latter take a step back. "What have your dreams led you to do?"

Herbert found himself compelled to confess, “I…” He took an unsteady breath. “I have come to have no hope."

"And what has brought this on?"

The tendons in Herbert’s neck went taut as he struggled against speech, but those eyes, Luke’s serpentine eyes drew the words from him. Finally Herbert relented, if only to remove the venom from his heart. "Guilt over my life."

Luke’s tongue flicked out of his mouth, licking his lips as his eyes narrowed to slits. "It is more than that."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Have you seen yourself? The lines in your face are dreadful passages. So be honest with me. I will not judge you. Like that whore was some sort of angel."

Herbert trembled violently, clutching himself tightly. "What?"

A demonic change rippled underneath Luke’s visage, the muscles convulsing unnaturally. A sneer slashed from ear to ear. "Tell me this: Did you enjoy it?"

"Bastard!" Herbert yelled, lunging for Deom through the bars. Luke jumped back out of reach.

"She cries. Oh, how she cries right there beside you," Deom’s voice quaked. "If you could only hear her wail."

"God damnit!" Herbert cried. "Do you know what you’ve done to me?"

“Of course,” Luke replied, exhaling orgasmically. “And now you begin to understand."

***

Herbert sat naked on the bed in his motel room gazing at the blank screen of his laptop. The cursor winked coyly at him, mocking him. That was his life there on the screen. Empty. Bereft. There was nothing left in him. Nothing. He had nothing to say, nothing to write. All this, all this effort, all this sacrifice…it was for nothing.

Frustrated, his reason in ruins, Herbert seized the laptop and smashed it against the wall. With cruel malice he repeatedly slammed the machine upon the floor. Hunched over, grunting and screaming, he slammed the laptop over and over into the floor until it was nothing but pieces. And when there was nothing left, he loosed a gasping sigh akin to one’s final breath before stepping over the wreckage and into the bathroom.

Herbert lingered in the shower, scorching water streaming down upon his pale back, struggling against the revulsion writhing in his gut. In the consuming steam, he could still see Reeza’s dead body on the bed; feel the warmth of her throat in his cold coarse hands. He had disposed of the body in the desert, but sensed a part of her still loitered there. Watching him. Commanding vengeance.

"Why won’t you leave me alone?" he demanded. "Fuck off!"

Taking himself in both hands, Herbert masturbated, remembering what he had done to her. He subverted his guilt to something physical, raped her questioning form again and again. "You wanted it," he rasped. "You wanted it!" He did his best to strip himself of culpability in the crime he had committed.

"She is just meat," Herbert told himself. "Just meat. A hole for my cock. Fucking whore."

He knew no one would come looking for her. She was a bottom dweller, some worthless cunt that humanity used but never mentioned. She was better relegated to the shadows to never be seen again. A shame to be forgotten. The world was better for her loss.

So Herbert jerked off, using the last vestige of who she had been to derive some pleasure in the melancholy that hovered over him. And when he came, the dark broke, and briefly he glimpsed ethereal nirvana. How he only wished he could clutch onto nothingness and keep it eternally close.

Next Chapter: Ouroboros