CHAPTER#58

Letting out a scream, Dana made it to her feet and bolted. She didn't go back where she came-a dark shadow had already slammed the front door open. Instead, she ran down the hallway behind the kitchen and out the back door. Running up to her car, she saw that the tires had been slashed.

"Fuck!" Dana heard the back door slam. Without looking back, she raced into the garage, bolting the door behind her. Running across the concrete pad of her garage, she raced up the stairs, frantically trying to call the police on her cell. Strangely, her phone had no signal.

The door to her apartment splintered inward, and the landlady stumbled in, followed by the driver of the town car. They walked with purpose, their blank eyes fixed on her.

"If I bring you to him, he said he'll let me go," the landlady explained, stomping up the steps. Dana looked at the window, wondering if she could jump out of it and land without breaking her leg. She should have run literally anywhere else-she had trapped herself in the garage with nowhere else to go. The driver and her landlady were at the top of the stairs now, moving slowly toward her.

"Leave me alone!" Dana screamed. Turning to look for anything to throw or use as a weapon, she stared in amazement at the large, open wardrobe that was where the clock had been. Painted on the back wall in bright yellow paint were two words.

Get In

Seeing no other option, Dana jumped inside of the wardrobe, pulling the doors shut. She was tossed about when the wardrobe began shaking, as if someone had picked it up. She heard the wardrobe crash into the landlady first, and then a solid mass that Dana suspected was the driver. She cracked open the door to see that the wardrobe had sprouted wooden legs and was running toward the stairs.

"No!" Dana hollered, but the wardrobe scurried down the steps with ease. The doors opened and spat her out, and she landed on her ass right next to Alex's motorcycle. Scrambling to her feet, she saw that the wardrobe now had different words on the inside.

Look Away. Ride.

"What?" Contemplating the words, she heard movement upstairs. The driver and the landlady were back on their feet, moving toward the steps. Outside the door, Dana heard footsteps, and she turned to look. With a loud bang and clatter, the mostly restored engine of her motorcycle blew itself across the floor of the garage. Turning back around, she saw that a pristine engine had taken its place. The bike roared to life, and Dana jumped on it. The mysterious stranger appeared at the door, a wand clutched in his hand.

The bike's engine revved, and left a streak of rubber on the concrete, racing forward toward the garage door. Dana screamed, and the bike punched a hole through the old garage door, leaving bent steel and broken wood behind. The bike slid around the car parked in the driveway, tires squealing across the concrete. Hair billowing out behind her, Dana chanced a look over her shoulder to see the man from the kitchen step out onto the street, his wand raised.

A garden hose, left unattended in someone's front yard, stretched itself across the street. Dana turned forward in time for it to strike her in the chest, flipping her upside down, the motorcycle crashing to the pavement. The whole world spun, life moving in slow motion while he approached, the heels of his shoes clicking on the cold hard asphalt.

"This is going to hurt," he told her, raising his wand once more. Yellow light gathered around the tip, and Dana's world turned black.

-

The river wasn't terribly deep, but it was very fast. It could have been ten seconds, or ten minutes, he had no idea. The river had carried him through a path of its own, the water terminating on both sides at walls. Eventually, a break had come, and Mike pulled himself to safety.

Lying on his back, Mike stared at the stone ceiling, hundreds of feet above him. He had lost track of Beth in the river, the memory of her hand slipping out of his. His clothes were soaking wet, and he was chilled all the way to the bone.

Reaching behind his belt, he touched the hilt of the dagger. He sighed, realizing the thing had caused more problems than anything else. It was the reason the others had left without him, and he had had a chance to face the minotaur, but ran instead. Why bother carrying the damn thing if he knew he was never going to use it?

Shivering, Mike stood up, glancing back at the river. There was no sign of Beth, and he was worried that she could be seriously hurt. Everyone in the house was in danger now, and he felt powerless to help. Mike stripped off his clothes, standing naked on the cool grass while he attempted to squeeze as much water out of them as possible. Giving his pants a good twist, he was surprised to see the blue stone dangling from its chain. He had stuck it in his pocket, promptly forgetting about it until now.

"Shit," he muttered, laying it on a rock with the dagger and his shoes. With no sunlight up above, cold and miserable was going to be the recipe for the rest of his day. Frustrated, he threw his pants at the ground and sat down on a rock. The sensation of cold stone on his scrotum made him jump up, and he swore again.

"The wet man is mad," a tiny voice said from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, Mike knelt by the dagger, his hand hovering over the hilt.

"Cold and wet and miserable," another voice squeaked.

"But he's still cute," a third voice added.

"Show yourself," Mike said. "Please. I mean you no harm, but will fight if I have to."