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I’m not quite sure how I ended up in this cell. But frankly, I seemed to not be sure of much lately.
Time seems weird here. There’s no window, just three stone walls and cold metals bars that keep me trapped. Even with a window, I probably wouldn’t have been able to tell the time. Perhaps I had only been here for days, maybe weeks.
I don’t like to think that it might have been years.
Most questions I ask to the voice in the cell across from mine go unanswered. I know very little about him. I’m pretty sure it’s a him, based on the rare answers from a deep voice. He doesn’t like to talk. Normally, speaking to someone who did not respond would deter me. But nothing is normal here, and I worry if I stop speaking out loud, I’ll forget how to.
“How long do you think we’ve been here?” My voice is barely above a whisper. I’ve never seen any guards near our cell, but sometimes I’ll feel a heavy presence in my bones that paralyzes me with fear. I try not to draw it’s attention.
“Eons.” He answers dryly. I almost want to smile. I like when he answers, even if he sounds like I could not annoy him more.
“I doubt that. We’re still alive aren’t we?” If I peer into the darkness of the opposite cell enough, I can sometimes see a flash of white. I would ask but I know he won’t answer.
“Who knows? Perhaps we’re dead and this is our punishment.” I don’t like the tone of his voice. It’s too knowing.
“…You’re quite the cynic.” I note. I hear a huff that could maybe be a laugh. He doesn’t speak again and I sink down to the cool floor.
There is nothing in my cell but a bed with a thin blanket and a small pillow. Something about this place made me feel weird. I didn’t feel hunger or thirst or any other urges. I only slept when my boredom reached a level that made me fear for my sanity. I wish I could dream, but the only things my brain can conjure are memories, and I would rather be awake than relive those.
He is not always there. I suspect that whatever keeps us here likes to whisk him away for periods of time. It’s hard to notice when he disappears or re-appears. Maybe they do the same to me. Sometimes I wake up with new bruises, an ache in my bones, dried blood on my face, and no recollection of how any of it appeared. If I dwell on the feeling too much, I feel sick with fear. It’s a paralyzing kind of fear. One that makes me want to claw at my skin and rip it apart.
“Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” I wonder out loud. He’s quiet for a bit. The seconds stretch and just when I resign myself to thinking my question will yet again go unanswered, I hear him speak.
“The both of us?” His voice is measured. I mull over the question for a second before nodding.
“Yeah. Both of us.” I feel a strange connection to the man in the opposite cell. Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe I was just desperate for something I had never had before.
“There is a way…” His voice sounds almost excited before he catches himself, “But it’s an unlikely scenario. And not worth entertaining.” The cynicism enters his voice once more.
“Okay…what about you?”
“What about me?” He asks and I wonder if he’s frowning.
“Do you think you’ll ever get out of here?” When I look at the opposing bars, I swear I can see a flash of red. Then I blink and it’s gone.
“I won’t be trapped here forever.” He emphasises the word ‘here’, as if he will be trapped wherever he is.
I’m too afraid to ask about myself. I’m worried he already knows what will happen to me. As if he can read my mind, he continues.
“You won’t be here forever either.” The words are oddly not comforting.
“How can you be sure?” Something prickles at the back of my neck, a heavy presence. If he feels it too, he doesn’t say.
“I just am.” There’s a finality in his voice, signalling that our conversation is over. The presence disappears and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I let myself lay back on my bed and shut my eyes. Sleep doesn’t take me so I resign myself to think of life at the base. As horribly lonely as it was, it was the only place I liked thinking about.
There are many perks to being immortal. Cain knows this, despite how much the burden of a never ending life seems. However, the one perk he really enjoys is his heightened senses. Particularly, the vision.
He can see her perfectly. Every face she makes, the way she moves in her sleep, everything. He knows she can’t see him, in a weird way he’s grateful for that. He didn’t deserve to have her look at him.
Her eyes are shut but he can tell by her breathing she isn’t asleep. She doesn’t seem to sleep much which he knows is odd.
The question she had asked still lingered in his mind. The father of lies was constantly sending Cain on missions to spread the cult’s influence so Cain never really thought about being stuck here forever. He was only brought back when he needed to report back or when Baal felt he was acting up.
Cain acted up a lot.
He tried to pretend it wasn’t so he could be called back here and see her. But a strange sense of relief alway filled him when he reappeared in the cell and she was sitting there. The most horrifying times are when she isn’t there. He knows he can’t ask what Baal is doing with her, can’t give a hint of caring for her, but it pains him to think it. The father of Lies won’t hesitate to exploit any weakness Cain shows so he has to be careful. The worst part is that he knows she doesn’t remember. She doesn’t know what the demon has planned for her. All Cain knows is if it’s something Baal won’t assign to him, she definitely won’t survive it.
When I wake up, I hear a very faint tapping. It’s an almost soothing melody, coming from the other cell. Peering into the darkness, I swear I see a flash of a large white object.
“What is that?” I mumble to myself but the melody stops as if he heard me.
“Did I wake you?” He almost sounds guilty, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
“No. I don’t sleep well here anyways.” I admit, pulling the thin blanket up a bit higher.
It’s quiet for a while and I let myself attempt to relax. I always feel slightly safer when he’s here. As if he would be able to protect me. It’s a naive idea but I can’t bring myself to give it up.
“When I was younger…I would play the piano.” I sit up when I hear this. He had never spoken about himself like this, much less his past. My mind races as I try to think of a response but he continues as if he isn’t even speaking to me.
“I grew up in a church. The priest that raised me taught me how to play. The melody…keeps me in check, in a way.” His voice is more open than I’ve ever heard it. I decide to return the sentiment.
“I grew up in North Carolina. I-I didn’t really like it there much, so I studied abroad.” A part of me holds back the family trauma, even if the other part of me desperate wants to share it with someone.
“What did you study?” He sounds genuinely interested and it warms something in me.
“Cryptography. I think I chose it to feel what it was like to uncover something no one knew. Is that weird?”
“Depends on your definition of weird.” Something in his tone makes me smile, as if we were friends just hanging out and not locked away in cells.
“I think I’ve always been different,” I wonder out loud, “I was a quiet kid. And then I grew up and I just…stayed quiet.”
“Quiet is not the word I would use.” His voice is teasing and for the first time in however long I had been here, I laugh.
“Whatever. Tell me something else about you.” I sit cross legged by the bars. It’s too dark to see anything past the bars of his cell but it makes me feel closer to him anyways.
“I have a better idea. Stand up?” He asks and something in me twists in anticipation. I stand a little too quickly and grip the bars of my cell to steady myself.
“Close your eyes.” I hear him tell me. I obey, the metal bars pressing against my body.
“Now, stick your hand out.” I do it, reaching as far as I possible can. Soft icy fingers gently graze the tips of my hand. I gasp quietly. It had felt like ages since I felt any sensation on my skin other than my own. The sensation is replaced by something soft and cool brushing along my palm, as if a bird had flown by my outstretched hand.
“What is…” I mumble, my eyes still shut. The feathers brush higher up my arm, tickling the bruised skin. They stroke my shoulder softly, the feeling so comforting that tears burn at my still shut eyes.
“Just relax…” His voice seems to float around the damp air of the dungeons. I know he is as trapped as I am, but he still seems free. For the first moment since I woke up in this cell, I allow myself to completely relax. The feathers continue to stroke up and down my outstretched arm until there is a distant noise and all sensation disappears. I open my eyes, attempting to peer into the darkness. Like usual, I can see nothing but the faint outline of the bars of his cell.
I blink a few times, trying to get my eyes to adjust but nothing happens. I wait by the bars for a while, trying to see something, anything. But there’s nothing. I call out a few times too but there’s no response.
It feels colder when he’s not there. I wrap my blanket around myself tightly but it never does any good. An uncomfortable feeling of worry gnaws at me. If he didn’t come back…
No.
I push the thought out my head instantly. I refuse to think about it. He will be back.
Time here is infuriating. Sometimes I would count the seconds, trying to see if there was anything to show the passage of time in this dark cell. But I would always eventually lose count. I tried not to daydream too much for my sanity. But deep down, I knew my sanity was probably slightly lost by now.
I’m in the middle of pacing when I turn and catch a glimpse of something by the bars. I whip around and nearly jump out of my skin.
There’s a man standing by the bars.
He’s tall, at least over six foot, with ash blond hair and bright blue eyes. I focus on his almost irritatingly perfect face for a second before something else catches my attention.
There’s a large pair of white wings behind him. I blink. No, not behind him. Attached to him. He has wings. Suddenly everything about his appearance makes sense. The perfect, serene expression, as if he wasn’t truly human.
He was an angel.
“Hi.” He says. There’s no emotion behind the word and yet everything feels like it’s crumbling down around me.
I know that voice.
For a second, anger fills my chest. An angel? This entire time, a literal angel had been watching me sit in this hell hole. And he had done nothing. He had sat there and talked to me and made me laugh and…nothing.
“I’m Cain.” He says, face still expressionless. My anger fades to hope, but then the hope fades. If he hadn’t gotten me out now, I doubt he’s in the position to help now.
“Lane.” I force out. He catches the anger but ignores it.
“I have to go. I’m not supposed to be here like this. But…” He glances around as if checking if we’re actually alone before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small book. He hands it to me through the bars, his icy fingers just barely brushing mine and still sending a shock down my spine.
I look at the cover, the title “The Prophet” staring back at me. When I look up, Cain is already gone.
I read the book as quickly as I can, despite the pain of straining of my eyes. Pressing my back to the bars of the cell to get as much light on the pages from the hall as possible, I read and reread. My brain goes haywire at the stimulation. For a moment, I truly feel like a person again.
I don’t remember going to sleep. I never do, when I wake up like this. When I raise my head from the cool stone floor, an ebb of pain stems from my hand. Blood runs down my hand as I suck in a breath from the pain.
“What’s wrong?” I turn and once again, Cain stands in front of my cell as free as a bird. I want to say something mean, to get him to leave me alone, but I can’t bring myself to push him away.
He leans closer, peering at me through the bars. His eyes fall onto my hand, the bright red mark that won’t stop bleeding. I can barely see the cut but I can feel the pain and the blood.
“Give me your hand.” His voice is softer than I usually hear it. I shift closer and show him my injured hand. He takes it in his cold hands, wiping at the dripping blood. He pulls off a piece of fabric from his shirt, wrapping the cut to apply some pressure. It’s tighter than bandages should be but it works just as well. I wince in pain ever so slightly and his eyes flick up. His face is oddly emotionless. No worry, no remorse, no curiosity, nothing.
“This should stop it from bleeding.” He states, without letting go of my hand.
“Why are you helping me?” I ask with a frown. He sighs as if I have asked the wrong question.
“Because I want to.” He lets my hand go, standing up. I used to believe he was as trapped as I was. But he stands free from his cell, and I still remain locked away. Something about these meeting feels final. The way his eyes are locked onto my face, as if he’s memorizing them. The thought that dawns on me fills my body with terror.
“You’re leaving…you’re leaving me here alone. What-what’s gonna happen to me?” I hate how weak I sound but I can’t find it in me to conceal my feelings. Something like worry flashes on his face, as if he had been wondering the same thing. His wings flutter behind him.
“I’ll get you out of here, I promise. I’ll pull you out if it’s the last thing I do.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?” His eyes flash blood red as he smirks ever so slightly.
“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” With that, he fades into the darkness.
When he grasps her hand, relief fills his body. It’s warm like it had been. When he pulls hard enough to get her to her feet, she finally looks at him. She looks the same as she did, albeit a little more sleep deprived, but something in her eyes makes him pause. He thought he would see anger, happiness, maybe even relief. But she stares at him as if they have never met.
“Who are you?” She asks and something in his heart twists in a way he’s never felt before. She couldn’t have forgotten him. Surely he wouldn’t have been able to scrub every trace of Cain from her mind.
“Who are *you*?” He asks in return.
Cain has never been certain of much. But he is certain of this.
Things will never be the same.