As soon as he takes the hammer, the rain stops. I barely notice that, because those two words keep italicizing themselves in my head. Murder weapon, as wielded by a murderer. Me. I put my face in my hands and cry because I don’t want to be a murderer. I want to be what I was before. Innocent. Okay, not innocent, but a petty criminal. What I’ve just done will bump me up all the security levels when I inevitably end up in prison.
That thought makes me sob even harder. Thor's not saying anything. He’s just grimly driving me toward whatever Fate has in store for me next. His presence is electric and heavy but comforting in a weird way. I know he’s not going to let me do anything else terrible. While I’m in his presence I’m safe from the new scariest thing in my life: myself.
Before I know it, we’re back at Direview Abbey, winding up the hill into the sunset. The abbey seems very imposing with the sun going down behind it. Ominous and turreted and generally filled with secrets that are probably quite terrible, now I think about it. I suppose I fit there, given that I am also quite terrible.
“It was like a fuckin’ toy egg,” I whisper to myself.
Thor glances over at me.
“Don’t keep playing the incident over in your head,” he says. “It won’t help.”
We draw up to the back of the abbey. I didn’t check out back here when I was casing the joint last time. I was going to, but I saw the hammer and the rest is obviously history now. The back of the place is just as impressive as the front, but in a different way. It is gothic and foreboding, cast in shadows.
There’s a barred gate in a lower hollow of the house, sort of like a basement entrance. I imagine at one time this is where deliveries came for the monks. Now this is where Thor grabs me and drags me down moss-covered stone stairs, into the depths of the abbey.
I don’t know what I was expecting to find. A dusty old wine cellar, maybe. It's not that. It's not that at all.
“This is a dungeon,” I exclaim. That’s literally what it is. There are cells down here in the little sectioned off area I find myself in. Like jail cells, they’re all bars and no walls. No privacy, save for a sort of semi circle of stone around the commode.
“Yes. It’s where I intend to deal with you.”
He opens the nearest cell and nudges me inside, closing the doors behind me, but not without snatching my rucksack from me first. He’s leaving me here in my filthy, bloody clothes. This isn't legal. But what right do I have to complain?
I don’t want to be left here. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.
“You can’t leave me here. I’m covered in bits of brain. I need a shower.”
“There’s a shower above the toilet,” he indicates a head suspended from the ceiling. I didn’t notice that because there’s too many weird things to notice here.
“Why do priests have a place to keep people imprisoned? What’s wrong with you all?”
“You just asked for a shower to get the brain off you,” he reminds me. “This is not the time to ask what’s wrong with me. Get your clothes off. I’ll turn the water on for five minutes. There’s soap on the ledge there.”
He turns a valve outside the cell and the water starts to flow just sort of everywhere. The cell is designed as one big wet room. Even the mattress is plastic. Just as well, because it is getting splashed. I extend a hand to check the water, more out of habit than any real desire to get naked in front of him in this big room of cages.
“It’s cold.”
It’s more than cold. It’s outright icy, the same way his eyes are. The first time I met him, he seemed like a big, cheerful Norse guy. Okay, maybe not cheerful but at least reasonably pleasant. Now he seems like the embodiment of cold cruelty.
I can’t take it. It’s been a really bad day, even by my standards. But I draw the line at this. I sit down on the bed which is basically just a plank with a scratchy blanket on it, and I just… stop.
I’ve done this once or twice in my life before. It’s like I go away from myself. The world keeps going. I keep going. But I’m not really there. I don’t respond to anything. I don’t do anything. I just…
Thor
There’s something wrong with her. I can tell by the blank stare on her pretty face, the vacancy of her normally vibrant eyes. I’ve pushed her too far.
“Faen,” I curse to myself. I should turn the water off and leave her where she is until she snaps out of this dissociative state. She will, eventually. Knowing her, this is probably a trick.