Damnatio memoriae

iv. the abduction

I wake unprompted, by the sense of something terribly wrong. I sit up in bed, struggling to right myself with the persistent weakness of my right side. Sitting up in bed, my eyes comb the half light of the room, glancing over my dresser of clothes, the small closet, the travel bag by my door. All I can hear is the steady rumble and tick of the radiator. What woke me?

I feel my breath catch in my throat as I see a flat shine of eyes at the level of a man's head, reflect back at me from the shadowy corner. "Faust. Awake."

It is Mephistopheles' voice, but there is a tone there that sends my stomach plummeting in fear. "What is it," I ask, and I hate the shudder of terror that drowns my words.

"You must come with me. There is something you must have."

His insistence feels wrong, feels off. Even marginally awake as I am, I realize this feels like a trap. "Where are you taking me."

"It doesn't matter. What matters is what you find."

I heave a sigh. Physically, I don't think I'm ready for this. I can feel a shudder go through me, a new development since Mephistopheles pulled me back from the brink of death. That, with the weakness of my right side, and I'm beginning to think whatever boons he grants me are less for my benefit and more to keep me tied to him.

He is beside me. I feel hot hands on either sides of my ribs, lifting me to sit more fully. "You will understand, John. Isn't that what you wanted?" I try to push him away, but I can't. Several questions bubble to the surface of my mind, then get swept away. Why the middle of the night? Clearly he wanted me in a compromised position. Why won't he tell me what he wants to show me? Clearly I would object if I knew what and where he wanted to bring me.

Is he going to kill me?

God, I hope so.

Lips dip next to my ear as I struggle to push aside the bedsheets. A hissing voice says, "Think on the devil, Faust."

I reach up to push his face away, but he's still across the room. The flat sheen of eyes blink at me. A sigh escapes me and I say, peevishly, "Well, help me then. If you want to get there before dawn."

Mephisto steps out of the shadows, and the grayish light of the room bathes over him, turns him into a colorless figure. When he steps nearer, I say more to myself, "I think I'm hearing things."

"Ignore them."

"Who," I ask, as he steps so he's standing before me, stooping slightly to help me stand.

"You'll meet them later."

The promise I would meet the source of either disembodied voices or my hallucinations is not a comforting promise. I start to draw back, but Mephisto fixes me in place with a grip of iron. He offers me a shirt. "Get dressed."

I don't remember dressing and leaving the house, but we're in a car, what I assume is his car, the world around us bathed in a purplish hue, staining the snow a brooding gray. I look over, watch the man drive as though he's commuted every day of his life. He absently scratches the scruff of beard under his lower lip with his thumb, eyes flicking across the road. His eyes leave the road to scan across me. He seems to share my unease.

"Where are we going," I persist. It's not a question.

"There's a book. Several, in fact. I can't obtain them, they're... warded, in a way. You can get them though."

"Now?" My tone is incredulous. "I'm aware there are certain days and certain times of day are best for--"

"Then you see." He cuts me off gently, his eyes tightening in something like sadness.