The face that appeared in the far wall made their stomachs boil with acid, their hearts pound like machines and their skin tingle with gooseflesh despite the sweat clinging to their weary bodies. It was the face of a woman, but different from the first one. This woman was heavier, her face rounder, her features pudgier. She was fairer than the lusting woman and had a mole under her right eye. Her mouth was open in a frozen and silent scream so fierce that, had she been real, her vocal cords could not possibly have gone undamaged. Her eyes bulged with terror, her lips peeled back. It was the face of sudden madness, of fright so terrible it could kill.
“Albert, I don’t know if I can.”
“Of course you can.”
“No. I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
“Please, Albert.”
He turned and squeezed her hand. “This has got to be the last one. The only emotion as powerful as lust, hate and fear is love and I doubt if Cupid’s got a pad down here.” It was a lie though. He was sure that any mind sick enough to create these three rooms was also capable of forcing other emotions into dangerous levels. Sorrow, and even joy, could become too much to bear under the right circumstances.
She stared at him, pleading with her eyes, and it broke his heart.
“You did wonderful in the hate room. You didn’t feel any hate at all.”
“But I didn’t feel any hate before I went in. I’m already scared.”
“But you won’t be any more scared if you don’t let yourself be. I’ll be right beside you, holding onto you the whole time. I promise.”
She stared at him, suddenly trembling with fright. “I don’t know.”
“I do. You’re a brave girl. I’ve seen it.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“What if I can’t go on? What if we get in there and I can’t go any farther?”
“Then we’ll turn around.”
She stared up at him, her eyes pleading. “Promise?”
“Promise. I wouldn’t make you go on. You know that.” He gazed into her eyes, pleading with her. “I just want you to try.”
Brandy did know that. Even in the short time they’d spent together in this strange labyrinth of stone, she somehow knew that he would take care of her. Something deep inside her heart knew with certainty that he was not deceiving her.
She took a deep breath, gathered strength from his touch and his honest eyes and then removed her glasses. She stepped up to the woman’s face and stared at her, terrified of what lay waiting in her throat.
Albert stepped behind her and put his hands on her bare hips. “I’m right behind you.”
“You said earlier, before we went into the hate room…why have another room like this when, if you got through one, you probably knew the secret?”
“Yes I did.”
“Well?”
“I’m right here. I’m not going to let anything hurt you. Be as careful as you can. Watch where you step; watch what you touch. I’ll be right here the whole time.”
She took another deep breath and stepped into the woman’s mouth.
Chapter 18
Shapes in gray materialized as Brandy entered the fear room. For the first time in her life, she wished her eyes were actually worse than they were. A single stone statue stood before her. She could not tell if it was male or female, human or otherwise, but its arms were outstretched, almost a cruciform pose. She felt her way around it, gently feeling her way across the floor, her bare toes tracing the unseen path before her.
This room was bigger than the others. She could feel it. All around her, limbs were reaching toward her. She turned right, then left, then right again, slipping around statues of things she knew would drive her mad if she could see them.
Seeking distraction, she began to sing softly to herself as she walked, trying to focus on the words to Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Less Traveled,” that she used to sing in choir when she was in high school.
An aisle spread out before her between the gray forms, and the silhouette of a woman appeared at its end. This woman was on her knees, bent painfully backward. Brandy could barely see it, but from her angle the profile of the breasts and chin and upturned face were clear, and she could only imagine what might have caused her to take that pose. Something was standing in front of the woman, something big and animal-like, something that she could not make out at all, but that scared her nonetheless, as though the shape reminded her of something, something locked away deep in her mind, something forgotten all her life, too terrible to remember.
“How are you doing?” Albert asked.
“Okay. I’m scared. I don’t think this room’s as nice as the last one. It still scares me.”
“That’s because you’re scared of it.”
“No. There’s something else.”
There was a pause from Albert as he considered this and then, “Just hang in there, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And be careful.”
“I am.”
Every step was painfully cautious, her mind flooded with agonizing certainty that the next would bring unspeakable pain. Beneath her bare feet was cool stone, smooth and hard, and she tried to focus on that, tried to see only the floor, the flat, cold surface that could be her undoing if it should suddenly end, but all around her, hulking figures loomed, figures that were almost unseen by her poor eyes, but were there nonetheless, as much in her mind as in the room. She felt Albert squeeze her hips reassuringly and tried to focus on that, tried to focus on him, on his companionship, on his friendship, on his courage, and when she could not, she focused on his sexuality, on the sex room and what they’d done together. She forced herself to remember how he felt inside her, how they’d attacked each other and did what could not possibly be called making love even by the most perverse joker. They “fucked.” That’s what they did. The two of them, no telling how many miles underground, in a room full of stone pornography, threw away all their modesty and shame and morals and they fucked each other like animals. She recalled the act—what she could remember of it—and focused on it, though she’d hardly let herself think of it until now. She grew hot, her stomach knotting. She reminded herself that they were still naked and that she could have him again if she wanted. He wouldn’t turn her down, not even down here. She reminded herself of this and it made her hotter, more excited. She could have turned around and fucked him again, as hard and loveless as she did in the sex room, right there amid the ageless terror of the fear room. She knew she could. That sexuality scared her. That excitement terrified her. The effects of the sex room were still with her and embracing it was like embracing a deadly sea snake, its slimy, coiling body writhing against her skin, but she embraced it nonetheless. She gorged herself on it, for the fear of her lust was not as great as her fear of the fear. Yet the terror of the fear room was still there. The fear still surrounded her. Even unrestrained lust could not push it back entirely.
She stopped. Before her, amid the dark, shapeless forms, something stood blocking her path, something that was a good head shorter than she, but made up for its height in breadth. She told herself she could see nothing, not a thing, only shadows and forms and blurry gray blobs, but she could not take her eyes off it. It was familiar to her, like a forgotten childhood boogeyman lurking in the closet, peering out at her from the darkness and grinning hungrily. A memory rushed back to her, a memory buried so deep inside her brain that it could not possibly have been her own. A cloudless sky, a burning sun, dunes of sand… She closed her eyes and forced away the image. That memory was not her own. That was the memory of a desert and she had never in her life been to a desert. But the image persisted. There was something in the sand, something hungry and clever and merciless.