Page 111 of Obsession

“I’m trying to have a conversation with you!” I say, staring at him closely.

Does any part of him remain, the boy who gave me seashells and took me to a waterfall? Maybe the fact that he won’t answer is indicative that he is cruel again.

I glare, waiting for him to contradict my thoughts, but he says nothing. Fine. He doesn’t want to talk about what happened.

“Why are we here?” I demand, my left eye twitching. “And what is this place—really?”

“It is ‘really’ a zoo, but there are no animals here.”

He prowls closer, thrusting open the door closest to me. From where I’m standing, there is nothing but a black hole pulsing past the threshold, and I have the sense that if I were to fall forward, I would be falling forever.

“Come closer.”

I give him a look, thinking he might shove me into the dark. He just smiles.

No reassurance from this one.

Finally, I come to his side to take a closer look. And then, I am not seeing the hallway. I am not seeing through my eyes at all. I’m somewhere else—someone else.

He is going to fall.

He is going to fall, again.

His hands grow sweatier at the thought, his hold slippier on the metal pole. He tries to get a better grip but cannot.

He will fall.

Stupidly, he looks down. He already knows what’s down there, because it’s what is always down there. He looks anyway.

The pit of alligators—at least thirty of them—stare back at him rabidly. One notices his attention and jumps, missing his foot by inches, and he lets out a sob, clutching the pipe tighter.

But he is slipping, and he will fall.

The more he tries not to think of their sharp teeth, relentless appetite, and the pain that awaits, the more the thoughts overwhelm him. The panic makes him stupid, grip loosening. He doesn’t have much time.

Thirty seconds—tops.

He tries to prepare himself. He has done this before. Many times.

But the pain is always so unbearable.

Neverending.

Unavoidable.

Finally, inevitably, he falls.

The gators descend in a swarm, chomping, biting, hissing. He screams as his throat is ripped out, blood spraying the scales of his killers. They take his arm, biting from the shoulder down and pulling it off with a mighty yank. His leg next. His other arm.

When it’s too much, body giving out from strain, he feels a single second of peace. Death, claiming him.

And then he is again hanging from a pipe over a bat of alligators. Above the pipe is nothing—no ground or feature that the pipe is attached to, so there is no way to climb out. He can only hold on for as long as he can.

At the thought, his hands begin to perspire.

Soon, he will fall.

I stumble back from the doorway, looking between Aris and the abyss. He watches me, a little smile on his face.

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