The Very Last Days of Mr Grey (18 page)

A few minutes later, and the lights were still tailing them. “This is ridiculous,” Sera said. The roads were twisty enough that they weren’t yet at the peak. She felt this was somehow their destination, even though Mason hadn’t specified.

“He’s just going to keep following us. Do not play his game.”

“I’m not. And where else am I supposed to go? It’s two lanes that’re barely wide enough for two cars. There’s no room to turn around and too many blind corners.”

“There’s got to be a turn off.”

“Is there? You’re the one who brought us here.”

“I can’t remember. We used to drive around, getting lost on purpose.”

She looked at him.

He shrugged. “It was fun. Late at night, we’d do it to scare ourselves. Leave me alone, we were teenagers.”

“As if that explains everything.”

“I think it does.”

Then the car following sped up and passed, cutting in front of them just before another blind corner.

“Dammit!” Sera had to brake hard, but the brakes were better than she expected and the ABS kicked in to prevent them from skidding off the mountainside.

“I don’t think we should race them,” Mason stated.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

When the rounded the blind corner, Sera saw that the other car had sped up significantly and now disappeared around a far off curve, leaving her and Mason apparently alone on the twisty road.

“I’m torn. Shattered.”

Sera said nothing, but her stomach dropped. She didn’t know why. Finally, she willed herself to ask, “What do you mean?”

“I feel… we shouldn’t go that way, and yet I have to.”

They continued on, a few cars coming from the opposite direction, the occasional car far in the rear turning into one of the intermittent drives Sera had been so tempted to pull into and use to turn around. But she kept going. Because she was Martin’s only hope. Rather, Mason was. The sole responder, and after so long. Maybe he was the only one. Maybe he was special.

Maybe not enough people had insomnia in LA.

Or they self-medicated.

They occasionally saw headlights much higher up on the mountain, near what looked like the top, and it seemed close enough, but the road was long and winding and it was hard to judge how far away the peak really was. They’d already dipped back down twice, and were now lower on the mountain then they had been at the stones, despite staying on the road whose only turnoffs were one-lane wide private gated driveways with steep drives leading to houses that were all but invisible in the dark and trees.

Sera saw headlights in the rearview, the closest yet, just a few car-length’s back. She sped a little. So did the car behind. “The hell?”

Mason was staring off ahead.

She quickly glanced at him. “Hey, is that your friend’s car? The other one?”

“They aren’t my friends.” But he turned and looked. “It’s too dark.”

“The
tint’s
too dark. What were they thinking?”

“It’s a convertible. She usually has the top down.”

Sera shook her head. “I’m tempted to brake check them.”

“Don’t.”

“I won’t. Too dangerous here. If they hit us, that guardrail might not be enough to prevent us from going off the edge.”

Mason glanced that way. “I sure am calm.”

“I told you not to take it all.”

Mason didn’t catch the joke.

“At least you’re awake,” Sera muttered, turning her full attention to the road.

A few more minutes and the other car finally fell back as they headed into a deeply forested part of the mountain, where the road widened as the cliff flattened out into trees on their left, and the mountain spread further and further away from their right, the moonlight snuffed out by the tall trees filling in for both. “Guess they gave up.” They rounded the bend to a tree across one lane. “Shit!” Sera quickly swerved around it. Beside them, Dalton’s car was waiting on the other side of the downed branch. It squealed out as they passed, matching their pace, and preventing them from merging back into the right lane. Sera scanned ahead of them. No cars.

She floored it, and the tires actually spun even though they were already going decently fast. The back end fishtailed, and in the time it took for her to get this under control, Dalton had matched her speed.

She tried a different tack, slamming the brakes. But a horn prevented her from getting in behind Dalton, as another car—the other friend, she was sure now—came in to fill the gap. “Dammit! Goddammit! What’s wrong with your friends!”

Mason was rubbing his face. “Not mine.”

“Are they still there?”

Mason turned. “Yeah.” Then he said, “That’s a small rear window.”

“No kidding.”

The trees began to thin and the mountain zoomed in to meet them, while the cliff on the left returned to form. Now the only trees were those poking past the guardrail on their left, and the sad, hardy specimens that somehow grew through the rock on their right.

The two cars of Mason’s ‘friends’ didn’t allow them to pass, keeping them in the wrong lane.

Mason turned in his seat to look behind them. “Brake and fall back.”

She was driving on the wrong side of the road, with a huge drop on the left, and two speeding cars and a mountain on the right. And oh yeah, it was so dark out, and the road so curvy, that visibility was worse than poor.

“I can’t! There’s too many.”

“Pull in between them. If a car comes around—”

And then the car did. And neither had anywhere to swerve to. So both took the least scary route, and that was swerving inward toward the cliffside. Dalton and the other car slammed on their brakes.

The oncoming car slammed into Dalton’s front fender, sending it spinning, right into the nose of the car with Sera and Mason. The curve was here now, and they were skidding sideways, and—

“Shit!”

Mason experienced a feeling like he’d never before as the tires went first into the dirt, then they crashed into the guardrail, and then it was breaking and they were going to slide off. Mason held on to the hope that they wouldn’t, that they’d get stopped—miracle of miracles—on the edge, and they’d have to carefully climb out and everyone would live and the worst of it would be buying a new car—but Emily’s insurance would pay for that—

And then they were off the side, falling. In the moment before the first impact with the cliff face that would send the car spinning laterally, Mason looked over to Sera.

*This*, was how he died. He wasn’t okay with that. He wouldn’t allow it.

He closed his eyes, and with the feeling like waking from a nightmare, he denied this reality, denounced the fact of it, and willed it not to be true.

The car had the first of many dents put into it.

Mason never felt the impact.

Something had happened. He wasn’t where he was supposed to be; in a car plunging off a cliff because of some stupid teenagers playing a stupid game.

Emily’s voice:
I’m twenty.
It repeated in his mind. But Dalton was only nineteen, and infinitely dumber.

Mason realized where he was. Again, he’d come here when things went bad. Again, he had no idea how he had managed it. But this time, he
had
meant to.

“Sera?” he called out. But he already knew no one was here with him.

And maybe it was because of all that had happened, and all that had changed, everything he’d been through. Maybe it was that. Maybe it was the drugs. But what mattered, was that now, he knew. Now, he felt.

And so he reached out, and opened the door he’d been told an eternity ago that he had to. He grasped the handle, and pulled. This time, there was no void beyond, no warm mist that he now realized had been Mauve.

And this gave him even more confidence. The realization that he had done then what they’d wanted of him all along. That he’d been able to, capable of this feat the whole time.

And Mason Grey stepped through the doorway, and into hell.

His senses lit with the new environment. Stone walls, screams echoing off them. The smell was odd, something he didn’t recognize concealing a deeper scent, an odor that he did, a primal odor. It could represent sickness, or fear. In this case, he suspected it was both.

Before him stood a door. But this wasn’t his door, just a normal door. In as much as a door obviously made of steel could be called ordinary.
Iron. It’s iron
.

It was made of several panels, with obvious rivets securing them to the frame. There was also a small panel that could be slid aside.

Near the center of the door was something of a handle. A mechanism that if turned would pull the two large thick bars out of the slots on either side of the door frame, and release the door.

In the center of this, was a lock.
But what purpose does a lock serve, if not to be unlocked. For it is only in action that the worth of something may be judged
.

Mason nodded at this, noted the wisdom. Then he grabbed the mechanism, and twisted. There was a click, the lock disengaging, unlocking, and Mason released the door, and it swung inward.

The room it revealed was barren. A bed, a window, something bucket-like.

But the bed only seemed like such because of the man lying on it. As Mason got closer, he saw it was more of a table than a bed, and that the man was tied to it, straight-jacketed arms strapped into study metal loops securely fastened to the table.

And he saw that the man was someone he recognized. The white jacket, it was familiar the way a dream was.
Jamais vu
.

“Martynn?”
Martynn
, he realized. Martin and Martynn. They were the same, but different, and this thought made him aware of the shatter in his mind, the parts that were separate, yet concordant. The two, where there should have been many. There was something to that, something special about two. The link, the bond.
And then it was broken.
Because things were changing, things were splitting, but Mason Grey did not know why.

The man’s eyes opened. “
Falik ashis cley
?”

“What?”

Martynn shook his head. “Did…” He frowned. “Your language.” He grimaced. “Not easy. Did, did I summon you here?”

An image of Mauve flashed in Mason’s mind. His language?

Where was he? he wondered as he looked around this place, listened to the screams, the cries, so much like… “Is this Hell?”

The man laughed, a ragged, unhappy laugh. “It may be.” He rested his head. Mason thought he’d lost consciousness and approached nearer. Martynn raised his head again, looked deeply into Mason’s eyes. “Are you real?”

“I think so.” Mason shook his head. “No. I know I am.”

Martynn sighed, a small smile on his face. “Sera. She got you here.” It was almost a question.

“You could say that.” He reached the man’s side. “How do I get you out of here?”

Martynn looked at him. “The same way you opened that door.”

After freeing the man and undoing his straightjacket, Mason got him carefully to his feet. He wanted to move faster, but it appeared Martynn was weak. “Can you stand?”

Martynn nodded. “They’ve been sedating me, after the trouble you caused. Sedating all of us in hopes of finding you.” He laughed weakly and bitterly. “Unimaginative fools, never considered you were somewhere else. Couldn’t comprehend that you might be beyond the Fog.”

Mason had many questions for this man who’d appeared in his not-quite-dreams, but they would have to wait. He hesitantly released him. When the man didn’t immediately collapse, Mason went to the door, looked out into the hall. “Come on,” he whispered.

The man shook his head. “Just take us out the way you came.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“It is?” The man’s face drew in. “How did you get here?”

Mason shrugged. “A door appeared.”

“So make one appear again.”

“How?”

Martynn stared at him. “You still don’t know?”

“I— I wasn’t trying before. I’ve never tried.”

“Splendid. Shall you just not try again then?”

“But that’s what I’m doing now.”

Martynn sighed, sidling up to Mason. “Fine, we can walk.” He peered out as Mason had done. “I think I remember the way. We’ll figure out crossing the Fog when we get to that bridge.” He leaned back in. “Maybe you can navigate the tunnels.”

“How long have you been here?”

Martynn shook his head. “Let’s go.”

They walked the cold, musty, humid halls, listening to the cries of the condemned. The corridors twisted and seemed to loop back on themselves. But even this was uncertain, since everything looked so similar.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

Martynn lifted his chin toward the way ahead of them. “There.”

Mason squinted. “What is it?”

“The stairs.” Martynn glanced at him. “Can’t you see? Or do you not have stairs beyond the Fog? I guess that wouldn’t surprise me. The way we suppress innovation here, even if inadvertently…”

“I’m not wearing my contacts.”

“What are those?”

“For seeing. Contact lens.”

“Ah, seeing lenses. Glasses. Your language is difficult. Too many words for one thing.” He turned to him. “Here, I have an idea.” He took Mason’s hand.

“Uhh,” said Mason.

“Think of words.”

“Words?”

“Yes, any words. Just picture them flowing by in your mind.”

Mason did. Then he blacked out.

When he came to, it was because someone was shaking him. His head hurt, and he had the sense of having collided with something very solid—a brick wall rather than drywall.

“Can you understand me?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good. You can speak it as well.”

Mason looked at him.

“You’re speaking my language now. Just don’t switch back to yours.”

“How would I do that?”

“Worry about it later. For now”—Martynn pointed at the stairs.

Mason nodded, and went to them. When they got there, Mason opened his mouth to speak, but a scream from somewhere distant interrupted him.

They were both silent for a moment, listening, but the sound did not repeat.

Mason asked, “You spoke my language fine before. What happened?”