She crosses to the door and
opens it. Removing an old key from her pocket she closes the door behind her
and locks it with the loud squeal of rusty metal on metal. The sound makes me
grit my teeth together.
‘I wouldn’t try travelling
through the door,’ she says. ‘It would be pointless. I’ll come back in an hour
when you’ve had time to think.’
She leaves and I realise I’m
quite alone. Of course I try to travel through the bars. I find they’re as
solid as they can be. I can put my arms through them but that’s it.
‘Hello?’ I cry. ‘Elle, Yates?’
The whistling wind is my only
response.
I cast around, looking for a way
out. The room contains the remains of a bed, a plank of wood held up by two
chains and some straw on the ground. They haven’t even granted me comforts. Her
words echo in my head. We don’t need to
feel the cold. But I do, I do every day. I wake up in the morning and feel
the warmth of a quilt on my back. After that I go outside and sit on the garden
chair. Every morning whatever the weather. I’ve sat with the sun on my back and
relished my lack of sunburn. I’ve felt the rain on my skin and a gale force
wind that refuses to knock me down. I am alive, I refuse to accept my death.
I close my eyes and reach out.
Thankfully, that power remains mine. I reach out and try to find Elle and
Yates. Their consciousnesses are so familiar to me now, I pick them out of the
crowd. Yates is on the floor below me and Elle above. The problem with the Edge
is that it shows me spirits, not where they are. I’m astounded by the amount of
people above me. High above us there is the bustle of hundreds of spirits
running back and forth live bees in a hive.
I realise how far away from us
they are and conclude that we’re being kept deep below the earth.
I
close my eyes and spread further. Come
on, Graham. I think.
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