Page 36 of Lamb

Next to the door, a little table lamp stood proudly on the sideboard. I propped my body against the wall, quaking hands making quick work of screwing off the lamp shade before tearing it apart without mercy. Two wires, one from the top and one from the bottom, were now in my hands, the material thin and malleable, not meant for anything more than holding the lampshade taut.

It did not take long to fashion two long prongs resembling lock-picking tools. Often, hair grips, bra wires, and hangers could make good impromptu substitutes when the situation called for it.

I had debated escaping from the room a few times before, after figuring out it was a relatively simple drop pin lock. But each time I had, I often thought about what awaited me outside. I had spent months wandering about; little places were welcoming to those who perhaps hadn’t showered for days, wore clothes with a few holes too many, and a grime that no public bathroom sink could wipe away. For the price of a warm bed, shelter, and safety, playing along with Lamb’s antics hadn’t been too big of an ask.

Until now.

I took a breath, jamming the two wires into the lock. It rattled as my shaking hands pried the pins in further, using more will than strength to control my limbs and delicate, precise gestures.

It took a few too many tries, and frustration built rapidly in my chest. I was a few moments from exploding when I heard that sweet, sweetclick.

I calmed myself, making sure to hold the pins in place as I gave the handle a steady twist, and with a little pull, the door swung open.

I was free.

I had no time to feel excited as caution was thrown to the wind. I tossed myself out the door, staggering and slamming into the hallway wall as I struggled to hold onto my balance. It slowed me down, but it did not stop me.

I thundered forwards with more momentum than control, heading towards the stairs, remembering the few stolen peeks I had gotten from the hallway on my way to and from the bathroom.

They wrapped tightly to one side, and I did not slow on my approach. Clinging to the singular railing with strength powered by pure adrenaline, I rushed the stairs. I skipped half the steps as I ran down, the steps seeming to continue for far longer than they should have until the carpet vanished from underneath me and ice-cold tile slammed against my feet.

It was a shock to my system that froze all operations. Unable to stop my pace, my knees buckled, and I slammed hard into the ground, a dull flash of pain radiating up one side. My stomach churned, and bile rushed up my throat, threatening to explode onto the cold floor. Slapping my hand over my mouth, I fought to swallow it, my nose stinging and eyes watering.

Forced to take a few seconds, and a few deep breaths, I waited until the floor stopped moving and I’d successfully managed to contain and return the meagre contents of my stomach.

Daylight was sharp and harsh, bouncing off the bleach-white walls and white tiled floor as I pulled myself up. I had no doubt been bruised, the panging ache already spreading across my side, but it was easily drowned by the drum beat of my brain.

In the bright, blinding daylight, my eyes screamed to close, and my vision was bleary. That and everything around me was a sea of white.

I had died.

This is what heaven was like, right? Just an endless bright white room all around?

I struggled to believe that heaven was in Lamb’s house, of all peoples. Hell, perhaps. But I would be severely disappointed to find that the pearly white gates ledhere.

I turned, and turned, and turned, slow and steady, with a hand on my belly, as if it might persuade it to stay calm.

Not a single ounce of colour stood in the endless ocean ofnothingness.

Huge, expansive windows seemed to pour light into the room, reflected off every possible surface, like a spotlight being shot at my face.

I raised a hand to my brow, trying to shield some of the light from my eyes, but it did little to ease my suffering. With my other hand, I reached out for anything—an object, material, a body—anything to provide a clue to what surrounded me. My stolen glances had only gotten me this far, and unless I had developed x-ray vision at some point during my capture, there had not been much more for me to find.

Something firm butted against my hand, and soft suede brushed against my knuckles.

A couch?

I tried once more to get a better look, but the thing was just as white as the room around me, not a single stain or fingerprint suggested it had even been touched, never mind sat on.

This man was living in a simulation. There was no other explanation.

“I do not need this.” I shook my head, abandoning the couch as my guide as I began to move away from the light, deeper intothe room. “Kitchen, kitchen, kitchen …” I chanted repeatedly, as if it might suddenly appear right in front of me and—

A shiny black surface cut through the white. I closed in on it like a moth to a flame, like a portal cutting through the void, offering me a sweet escape from the blankness.

My fingers ran over the ice-cold marble, and relief washed over me.

“Kitchen!” I breathed, the only word I was capable of speaking.

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