House of Horrors

The sound of heavy breathing, of two separate pairs of lungs working under same strain to suck in air and breathe in out again. Joseph’s swinging had stalled to a slight rock, the tips of his pointed shoes propped slightly on the ground, the grip of his hands on the chaffing metal the only thing keeping him sill. Faris lay on his back, chest rising and falling as he fought painfully hard to stay alive and stay sane. The gun was still in his hand but empty once again, the bullet in question lodged somewhere in Joshua’s back. A bruise was forming in the heart of his palm, a reminder of the harsh recoil of the gun that had been fired what seemed so long ago, years maybe. His legs still felt quiet unsteady as the drugs wore off. The quiet was astounding, as in between breaths, they listened to nothing. Faris got on his hands and knees and crawled towards Joseph’s feet, stopping right by his feet.

“F-faris?” Joseph whispered, afraid.

“It’s okay, Joe. Put your feet on my back and push yourself off,” he instructed, bracing himself for Joe’s weight. Even though he knew deep down, Faris was trying to help him, he couldn’t stop the fear from blinding what little sense and sensibility he had. So instead of listening, he stayed where he was, pretending he never heard and ignoring the sharp, hot pain in the small of his back which throbbed outwards, stinging the rest of him and the warm stickiness of the blood seeping into the fabric of his shirt.

“Joe?” Faris asked. He was rewarded with no answer.

“I’m not going to hurt you and to be honest, I’m not going to stay in this position forever you know,” Faris muttered, still facing the space on the ground in between his hands. It didn’t take anymore persuasion for Joseph to finally place his feet on Faris’ back.

Sensing he was ready, Faris called, “Now be careful okay? Try and pull yourself up and then over it.”

Joe nodded in response, gritting his teeth as he lifted his arms to hold onto the width of the chain above his head. The first time tried, he arced outwards in a bow shape instead of up, causing discomfort for both Faris beneath him and himself. The next time he was more successful, wobbling on his feet and carefully sliding out of the curve of the glinting metal, using it to steady himself as he stepped off Faris back.

“I need you to tell me how bad it is,” he croaked, running his tongue over his dry, cracked lips, the feeling similar to sandpaper on hardwood. “Honestly.”

He pulled the shirt over his head, frowning at the amount of blood visible in the dimming light. Turning him around slowly, Faris gasped, clamping his teeth over his lips to silence any more disgusted sounds. On his second glance, he saw the ragged and torn, the dark red of blood a stark contrast to the ghostly white of Joe's weary skin. From what he could see, the wound didn’t look terribly deep and if Joe could still keep that furious look of bravery in his face without fainting then he guessed he hadn’t lost too much blood either. For now anyways.

“Honestly, it could be a lot worse,” Faris answered. “Pass me your shirt.”

Pulling it up and over his head, Joe handed him the crumpled bundle of fabric in his hand, watching as Faris began to rip it into long strips, first using a wad to stop the wound then securing it with the rest of the torn fabric, wrapping it around his shoulder blade, back and chest. At that moment, the next door creaked open and they looked up at each other, the pain and grief tearing them apart.

“I don’t…” Joe stammered, shaking with fear. Faris smiled at him, placing his hands on either side of his head.

“Joe, it’s okay. I’ll fix this,” he whispered, his eyes filled with a strange glow, the expression one Joseph couldn’t recognise. Before he could ask, Faris led this to the next entrance, ascending a few steps before they reached level ground. They had gone quite a way in what Faris assumed was a long tunnel or corridor when the door behind them slammed shut, trapping them in the thick, heavy obscurity. It was as black as pitch and Faris couldn’t see anything in front of him, not even his own hand. In the gloom, Faris didn’t see the sudden steep step and tripped, falling to the ground, his ankle twisted at a painful angle.

“Faris?! Oh my god, Faris are you okay?” Joe yelled, his hands reaching out for his friend in the dark.

Groaning where he crouched on the ground, Faris called out, “Don’t move Joe. There’s a sharp step and I didn’t see it. I think I hurt my ankle but I’m fine.”

“Oh okay. Where are you Faris? I’m scared,” Joe whimpered, staying put as Faris instructed. Getting to his feet, Faris reached out behind him and took hold of Joe and they shuffled forward into the dark. His ankle burned intensely, the pain increasing with every step but he looked forward, his heart pumping madly in his chest. But fear wasn’t the emotion coursing through his veins, causing his thoughts to churn and fly within the carven of his mind. It was faith.

His steps were surer now, despite his unsteady limp, strengthened by determination as they walked through the ocean of darkness until they reached a second door. Pulling open the bolt and twisting the heavy lock, it groaned open, letting them into a large atrium. The room was as high and as tall as it was wide, like a large cube, with a staircase on the far side of the room across from where they stood. There was a door at the top of the stairs. It was the exit. It looked at though it was made of steel in the wall of reinforced concrete and electronic hinges. There was no way they could have gotten it open with just their bare hands. Faris let himself fall to the floor, physically, as well as mentally, exhausted. It was nearing the end of the game but he was sure he had enough strength to finish it. The right way.

Looking down to his feet, he saw his ankle had swollen to twice it’s size, so much so that it pushed against the confining fabric of his tight black jeans. Tugging the trouser leg upwards, he took a moment to frown at the purple and red bruised skin, coming to a conclusion that something was broken. It didn’t matter though. There were more important things to worry about.

Joe bit his lip and grimaced, understanding the pain induced from breaking bones. “Are you going to be okay?”

Faris chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t need to be okay.”

Just then another hatch opened, and as they expected, a silver box was shoved in, Joe walked towards it, giving Faris a full view of his back which was now pink with a light layer of blood which seeped through his shirt and dribbled onto his skin. Looking at himself, his ankle worsened by the second and the dull pain in his chest from the gas in the first room never ceased. Maybe it was because he was taller or his lungs were bigger or he was particularly sensitive to it but there was something that happened to him that although he could see on the inside, he could feel raging and reeking havoc on the inside. They were running out of time. Both of them.

In Joe’s attempt to lift the box, his eyes rolled and he lurched, landing with a thud on his hands and knees. It was the blood. He was losing to much to fast. Taking deep, sucking breaths, he dragged it backwards to Faris and sat facing him and the steel container between them.

“Open it,” Joe breathed, keeping still as a means to reserve his energy. With shaking hands, Faris opened up the box and lifted out the single sheet of paper cradled inside. There was nothing else in the box.

“The final room – the stairway to heaven. Congratulations on surviving until the last room, however, one person must still loose for a true victor to emerge. In this room there are no time limits, there are no additional or hidden weapons and, as always, there are no other ways out. Sic transit gloria mundi. You again must choose fate's end.”

Joseph bowed his head. He was too tired to do anything. Too tired to move, too tired to fight, too tired to live. All he wanted now was to curl up and protect himself from the pain and the hurt which he felt all over and everywhere in between.

“What are we going to do?” Joe whimpered, shaking. Faris breathed out and reached into his back pocket, to reveal the bloodstained revolver which shone dully in the light.

He watched as Faris expertly loaded the gun, cocking it and putting its smooth, round muzzle to the temple of his head. “You’re going to live Joe.”

Aghast, his hand flew to his mouth which bobbled up and down in horror, those sky blue eyes dilated enormously to the size of saucers. Tears beginning to fall down his face and he couldn’t understand why his friend was so calm. Why there was a smile on his face as if he was content.

“What’s going on Faris? Why are you doing this?” Joe wailed, shock rooting him to the ground.

“Because you’re strong, Joe. You can make it out there and live and love without the rest of us. I couldn’t do it. This band was my everything, I had nothing else. But you’ve got people that love and care for you on the outside who can help you get through this. I couldn’t live without you guys but you Joe, you could live for us. I couldn't bear it if you died in here. You need a doctor Joe and this sooner I do this, the sooner you get one.”

Sobbing, he gasped, “B-but I don’t want to leave you! I don’t want you to do this.”

“I want to do this Joe. Why are you crying?” Faris whispered and the older boy looked up into his friends eyes and reached out, running his finger tips over the skin of his face.

“I can’t do this Faris. I can’t,” Joe wept.

Smiling, Faris whispered, “Yes you can. I know you can. You’re going walk out of here for us Joe. For Rhys, for Tom, for Joshua and for me. You’re going to do it for us Joe. Si vales, valeo.”

His voice turned into pleas as he begged his friend. “But Faris, you mean the world to me. Even though you’re younger and all, you were like an older brother. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

“You’ll live.”

Joe let out a cry of pain. Faris’ mind was set. It was sort of poetic in how it would end. There was no other way it could have happened. Like the door at the top of the staircase which looked down at them with cruel eyes, it was the only way out.

“I’m sorry, Faris,” Joe whispered, silenced to a quiet squeak. Faris looked back with kind eyes, a look of pride placed courageously on his face.

Chuckling, with the gun still pointed firmly into the centre of his skull, he smiled, “Don’t be. I wouldn’t have wanted to die in any other way. Thank you Joe. Thank you for making me brave. I am not afraid anymore. But before I turn the last page of my story, I ask, can I have a last request?”

“Yes,” Joe nodded, slowly rising to his feet due to the crippling pain in his back that was becoming harder to ignore. “I’d do anything.”

“I want you to turn around. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you saw it happen. And yes I understand the irony of that statement but still. Don’t look. I don't want you to.”

Nodding, Joe faced the door, leaving Faris at his back and out of his sight. The only way to go now was slowly forward. Remembering something, Joe cleared his throat and spoke.

“Amore, more, ore, re, my true friend.”

At this, a single tear graced slowly down Faris’ cheekbone and in that moment before death, he was most alive.

“Drink to me, you wonderful bastard.”

Joseph shed a tear and heard a single bang followed by a soft thud coming from behind him. The deal was done.

He was alone.