Fate’s Substitute

Chapter 1: Abducted

I must be going mad; it’s the only plausible explanation.

Yelling, cursing, and pleading with my unseen captors has accomplished nothing! Absolutely NOTHING! Not a single answer has been forthcoming. I’m not even sure they can hear me because this crazy cell seems to absorb all sound. The walls won’t even reflect a reassuring echo when I scream for help.

The high pitched whine of my overactive tinnitus certainly wasn’t helping the situation. After hours of being imprisoned in this deathly silent cell, the phantom noise has only increased in pitch and intensity from the lack of stimulus. I’ve tried to drown it out by humming a tuneless song, but I’ve only succeeded in making myself hoarse.

The omnipresent white light; however, is much worse than the enforced silence. The all-illuminating light seems to originate from everywhere within this space, streaming in from every direction. Even if I shut my eyes and completely cover them with both hands, the light still finds a way to assault my vision.

It’s really amazing how much you miss your shadow when you’ve lost it, but maybe I’ve become Peter Pan and I just need to catch the damn thing. I must be going mad if I’m seriously starting to think that fairy tales are real, though this place certainly seems to warrant it.

During the first few hours of my stay, I threw everything I had into trying to break out. All of my strength and ingenuity meant diddly-squat to the impenetrable walls, which easily absorbed blow after rage filled blow. The scary part was that I hadn’t hurt myself in the exchange, not a single scratch or bruise marred my skin. In the darkest recesses of my psyche, I’ve begun to worry that the final option of suicide is not available here; though I’m not that desperate… yet.

As the hours slowly tick by, I’ve come to realize that it’s impossible to escape on my own. Like a dog in a cage I’m forced to sit and wait, there’s no other choice. I violently pounded my fist against the floor and stood up, struggling to drive away the feelings of hopelessness.

I need something to do, anything to keep my mind off it all.

I hastily work my hands over my business suit, trying in vain to smooth out the wrinkles born from my struggles. If this is hell and I’m to meet my maker, I figure I should at least look somewhat presentable. I frowned and shied away from the walls as I cautiously eyed the others also smoothing out their own suits, mimicking my every move.

Since the beginning of this ordeal, I haven’t been entirely alone… or maybe I have. My ‘companions’ are the six portly gentlemen who’ve been silently watching from the walls, ceiling, and floor of this crazy cell. Slightly balding with a tinge of grey and all sporting identical navy blue business suits, they look like investment brokers who belonged on Wall Street. I say that they look like they belong in New York because they actually do, for they’re my reflections… I think.

The walls, ceiling, and floor of this insane prison are mirrors which reflect my image, but nothing else. They don’t reflect my mangled briefcase in the corner nor do they reflect any article of clothing that I take off. The mirrors also don’t show the expected infinite regress of reflections that Science Museums love to display. They selectively reflect ONLY my image… most of the time.

Even though I suffer from acute paranoia in the real world to the point that I’m always armed, doesn’t mean that I’m wrong! Out of the corner of my eyes, I sometimes catch my reflections gloating, laughing, or winking at me. I’d react to the grinning specters by quickly pivoting my head to look, but as soon as my eyes focus on the offender he instantly reverts to a standard reflection, as if it was all just a hallucination.

It’s probably just my paranoia acting up, but I’d swear on a stack of bibles that the feeling of eyes boring into the back of my skull is real. They constantly leer at me like a lion eyes its next dinner. If I wasn’t so certain that I couldn’t be hurt in this space, I’d worry about a heart attack from the constant stress.

Originally, I thought that my incarceration was due to a clandestine government study on the psychology of isolation, but I doubt our government is really that sick… or competent. The second possibility is that I’ve been abducted by aliens and it’s only a matter of time before I’m lashed to a metal table, raped by scientific instruments, and dissected by their biologists. I guess it could also be an acid flashback, but I’ve never had one so coherent before. No, none of those options make any real sense; however, I am truly afraid of another possibility.

My father was a zealous, firebrand preacher and used to preach that fire and brimstone awaited my brothers and I if we didn’t lead a godly life. My father was so proud when my two older brothers joined the clergy, but he never truly accepted my profession. I’ve long been resigned to the annual Christmas Dinner Sermon where he always questions my morality and warns of my impending torture at the hands of Satan. Maybe he’s right.

It might be the years of sermons or the fact that I’ve got no other solid ideas, but I’m fairly sure that I died on my way to work and this is my personal hell. It would at least explain why I couldn’t hurt myself and the instant dislocation of how I got here. I must have been hit by a truck or something fell and crushed me, because one second I was walking down the sidewalk in a crowd of pedestrians and the next I was in this wretched cell.

An eternity of silence and being laughed or leered at is probably one of the worst punishments imaginable. I haven’t led a selfless or truly charitable life, but I don’t think I’ve done enough wrong to actually deserve a trip to hell.

“Please let me be in an asylum, and they’ve just forgotten to give me my meds,” I plead while covering my eyes with my hands, trying to hide from my mocking reflections.

I’m far past the point of frustration, rage and fury fester within a hollow core of hate at the very center of my being. Every attempt to escape this mirror-walled nightmare has failed miserably, forcing me to sit idle and wait. Am I to spend all of eternity alone in this bright and silent nightmare? Is there nothing I can do?

I was startled out of my seething anger by the realization that my hands were wet. Looking down at the offending appendages, I could tell that I’d hit rock bottom. I was crying, blubbering even. Aaron Dority Medders; Vice President of the Samson and Lawrence Brokarage, one of the hated “one percent;” was crying like a damn fool. Only a few hours of torment and I’d completely lost it…

‘I give up… There’s nothing I can do to escape…’ I moaned to myself, so tired of the madness. ‘But, there is one last possibility…’

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I stood up and straightened my business suit again. With an aura of determination I didn’t know I had left, I marched over to the mangled remains of my briefcase and started searching. Partially hidden by a torn contract, a glint of metal morbidly lured me forward.

Hours before, I had succumbed to a fit of rage. I kicked my designer briefcase across the room and violently tore it apart, but I gave into a false sense of hope when my engraved Colt .45 revolver fell out of the case. Laughing manically, I aimed the revolver at the head of one of my reflections and rapidly fired off three rounds. I was absolutely sure that the kinetic force would release me from my prison, but the mirror refused to break and the reflection’s grin remained unscathed.

The mad hope that I held was dashed upon the impenetrable mirror, but I wasn’t ready to give up. My addled mind was convinced that if I just got closer, I could do some damage. I leveled the revolver at my reflection, the muzzle flush with the mirror, and fired off two rounds into my observer. The gun had bucked in my hand and the bullets left the chamber, but nothing happened. The mirror stood impregnable as always, and in another mockery of physics there wasn’t a ricochet either.

I was devastated. I had wasted five out of six shots, leaving just one left…

Back in the present I opened the revolver’s action and rotated the cylinder so that the unspent bullet lined up with the barrel. I had been saving that round for vengeance, but now it was my only salvation. I had to break out of here, one way or another.

Taking a moment to survey this crazy cell, I couldn’t help but curse at my reflection a final time. I still wasn’t sure this was going to work, what with the insane physics and what not, but it was worth a try.

“Linda… I’m sorry,” I quietly called out to my wife, hoping beyond hope that she might one day forgive me.

Taking a deep breath, I placed the muzzle flush against my temple. I waited for a second to see if my captors would try to stop me, but my reflections only mimicked my act of desperation.

“FUCK YOU!” I spat out as my rage returned and pulled the trigger. My last thought as the hammer came down was that I hoped I made a hell of a mess for them to clean.

But… I made a mistake.

My heart hammered in my chest and I broke out in a clammy sweat, evidence that I was still alive. I had heard the click of the hammer striking the pin, but nothing else happened. Taking the gun away from my head, I quickly broke the action and checked the cylinder. The unspent bullet was still there, but was now one spot to the left of the barrel.

“GOD DAMNIT! How could I be so FUCKING STUPID?” I exclaimed in disbelief. “Double-action revolvers always cycle the cylinder when you pull the trigger, not after the shot like a pistol…”

The damn hammer had hit a spent casing, and now I’d have to work up my courage again for another try. I opened the action to place the cartridge in the CORRECT location this time and closed the gun.

‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,’ I thought to myself as I hesitantly aimed the muzzle at my temple again.

My interior debate on whether to pull the trigger was thankfully cut short by a deep, gravely voice. “Hah! That was very entertaining, my little human. Your idiocy would serve you well as a court jester or perhaps as one of the Three Stooges,” his laugh boomed in the cell from no discernible direction.

My reflections disappeared and were instantly replaced with monstrous eyes that took up the entirety of each wall. The irises were blood red while the whites of the eyes had turned a sickly bright green color. The cat-like pupils followed me as I paced around the cell in a panic, my revolver at the ready in my hand.

“Who’s there?” I ask in a mixture of anger and bewilderment. The last thing I expected was for my warden to make himself known after all this time, and in such a spectacular fashion. “Do you have ANY idea of what you’ve just put me through? I’M GONNA SUE YOUR ASS!” my anger got the best of me.

The voice laughed heartily at my tantrum, probably seeing me as nothing more than a spoiled child, “Heh. Calm yourself human, or would you prefer to spend some more time in this cell?” His voice grew darker, “We could do an experiment if you prefer… I’d love to know how long your sense of self would survive if I left you to rot.”

“Wha… What do you want from me?” I managed to stammer out as my anger turned to terror at the threat of being left behind.

He chuckled darkly, “That my dear, is something I’ve already received.” The eyes winked out of existence and a plain, wooden door appeared on the wall I was facing. “Come. Let’s discuss your fate in a more… comfortable setting.” And with that the voice was gone.

It took a couple of minutes to work up the courage to move. The cell was horrifying in its ability to psychologically torture me, but at least it was a known quantity. The wooden door; however, lead to the unknown, a place where I might be physically tortured or worse. I mentally struggled with my fears for a minute before my emotions took a very dark turn and made the decision for me.

My anger, previously muted by the hopelessness of the inescapable prison, had returned in force. All the rage and hate from being abducted, ignored, and psychologically tortured, possessed my heart. I silently swore vengeance upon my captor, and I had exactly one bullet to do it with. I quickly pocketed the revolver and trudged toward the door, my fury somewhat blocking my fear of the unknown.

As I neared the exit, the entire door was engulfed by a translucent black fog and opened by itself. Peering inside, I witnessed a completely new hell that defied the senses. The doorframe enclosed a roiling haze of thick black fog, accented by random flashes of green lightning. The portal was terrifying, but I argued that anything was better than remaining in my cell.

My hand shook as I nervously prodded the churning mist with a finger, trying to physically gauge how much of a risk it was. As soon as my finger made contact; however, the boiling fog reached out for me. Dark tendrils of smoke shot out of the doorway and deftly wrapped themselves around me, suffocating me in the thick haze.

As soon as the solid fog had a firm grip on me, whatever hell beast that lived on the other side of the doorway slowly dragged me forward. I dug my heels into the floor and cried out in terror as I fought the haze as hard as I could. My progression slowed a tad due to my struggles, but the monster that commanded the haze picked me up off the ground like a rag doll and threw me through the doorway.

The transition was almost instantaneous and I was able to land on the other side without stumbling too badly. The room that greeted me was so much different than my cell that it took a moment to take it all in.

Gone were the dreaded mirrors, and in their place stood the rich maroon coloration of stained mahogany paneling. The room was at least three to four times larger than my prison, and was richly decorated with a large four poster bed, dark red leather sofas and arm chairs, and a few intricate tapestries on the walls. My nose indulged in the flavorful smoke of cedar crackling away in the large fireplace, casting long shadows that flickered across the entire room.

A magnificent oil painting, depicting the military conquest and destruction of a medieval city, hung over the mantle of the gigantic fireplace. Many of my lawyer friends had similar paintings hanging in their offices as physical expressions of their ‘power’, but this painting was odd. It depicted an armored grey horse, triumphantly standing over the ruins of a city that looked very similar to the Emerald City in the Wizard of OZ. Bloodied bodies were strewn all over the landscape, but none of them were men.

The room was dimly lit by a few lamps and the fireplace, seeming to embrace a subtle darkness that I could only find comforting after the confines of the bright room. The room stunk to high heaven of old money, reminding me of the gentlemen’s club that some of my partners and I belong to.

I actually felt myself beginning to relax in the rather familiar setting as my anger abated slightly, until I remembered how I’d been brought there. I jumped back a bit when I noticed the pair of red and green glowing eyes, glaring at me from a sofa by the fireplace.

His name for me ‘human’ made sense now, seeing that he wasn’t one at all.

The creature’s coat was a dark grey while his mane and tail were black as midnight. Mane seems to be the right word since my captor looks to be closer in relation to a horse than to anything else. It takes a moment to notice the odd protrusion on his head, though. A single red horn jutted out of the middle of his forehead, apparently marking him as a unicorn. I realized rather late that the painting above the fireplace was in fact of him, though he was now wearing a burgundy bath robe instead of armor.

A drug induced nightmare seems all more likely now…

His eyes bore into mine with a ferocity that I’d never encountered before, far far worse than any irate billionaire I’d ever dealt with. His fiery gaze drilled through my soul, battering down any mental defenses I had erected to hide my fear. I quickly averted my eyes, unable to hold my own against his stare.

After a few more seconds of intense scrutiny, his lips contorted into a smirk as the bright green of his eyes faded to a more normal white. “Welcome to my humble abode, human,” he said with a chuckle. “With the amount of time you’ve spent in your crystal, I suspect that you’re rather thirsty. Let no one claim that I’m not a gracious host,” his horn was enveloped by the dark fog from before.

Working up my nerves to stutter out a question, I was interrupted when the back of my neck was assaulted by something very wet and cold. I jumped with a bit of a shriek as I turned to see a glass of water impossibly floating next to my head, surrounded by the now familiar dark fog.

The glass hung weightlessly in the air for a few seconds before I tentatively reached out and grabbed it. The black mist faded and the weight of the item suddenly returned. My thirst overwhelmed my caution as I quickly downed the water, quenching my thirst. He didn’t turn his head, but I could feel his presence studying my every move.

An uncomfortable silence took hold after I set the empty glass down. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but nothing came to my mind. I was absolutely terrified and though I was hydrated, my mouth felt like it was filled with cotton balls.

He turned back to the fire and enveloped his horn in the black mist once again. While he was distracted by whatever he was doing, I took a chance to fumble around in my pocket and get a firm grip on my revolver. One lucky shot was all I needed, one shot and I could just go home…

A somewhat forceful cough caught my attention as my captor pointed to a newly set carpet next to him with one of his fore-hooves, obviously commanding me to sit. I hesitantly took a step forward but stopped, very much afraid to get any closer to this freaky equine. His impassive face scrunched into a bitter scowl as he violently thrust his hoof at the offered rug.

I hung my head a bit and quickly took the offered seat, careful to keep my right hand on the gun and in my pocket. My knees cracked and complained from sitting on the floor for the first time since college.

If we were both standing side by side I’d be at least two feet taller than this miniature horse, but he towered over me as he sat on his couch. He looked down at me and his stern visage softened a bit, his lips curling into a predatory smile, “Your politicians are such a boor, wouldn’t you agree?” his horn glowed as he summoned a TV, cleverly hidden behind his portrait.

The television was split into four quadrants, each displaying a 24hour news show. I noticed a floating remote off to his side as he un-muted the sound, causing a cacophony of reporting to assault my ears. There were too many overlapping sounds to make any sense, but all four programs were focused on the most recent North Korean threat. He muted the sound again and looked back to gauge my reaction.

“They all seem to have tiny minds harboring little creativity, easily manipulated with simple things like money. No backbone at all really,” he waved a dismissive hoof. “They play god and lord over others like they themselves actually matter.” His visage darkened a bit, the fire danced within his eyes, “They wouldn’t know a god if one appeared right in front of them.”

“What is it you want from me?” I asked shakily, tightening my grip on the revolver.

“What do I want?” he turned away as a malicious smile crept across his face. His dark chuckle evolved into a full blown evil laugh, spanning multiple octaves.

I slowly pulled the gun out of my pocket, making sure to keep it out of sight. His maniacal laughter reverberated across the room, hopefully muffling the loud metallic click of the hammer cocking.

His head suddenly shot toward me, stopping only an inch away from my face. His eyes glowed a baleful red and green while wisps of a purple mist formed at the sides of his eyes. He growled as he moved even closer, the fur of his muzzle scraping against the tip of my nose. “I am King Sombra, rightful ruler of the Crystal Empire. What could you possibly give me when I’ve already taken everything?”

Author's Note

Thanks for reading my first foray into fiction! Comments and critique are always welcome. I’ll try to get the next installment out in a couple of days.

• Crystallite