Panic Room

Part three; the first

Ok, so, I kind of love this chapter. Idk if you can relate, but when I write sometimes I just get so wrapped up in it and it's less like I'm writing than watching and the scene is just being written down. I felt that in this scene. One of my favourites. I introduce what I like to call my "Monday character". It's how I feel when I have to go to school.

Wednesday; 1998; S.P.I.D.E.R; Oliver, the Master; 13:40 pm

"Master" Oliver said with a bow as he walked into the large room. The room was massive and made to look like the inside of a cave. Torches in brackets lined the walls, casting a dim glow over the contents of the cavern. It was a barren place with little furniture. The only decoration was a type of chandelier made of stalactites and chunks of glowing quartz that hung from the middle of the vast ceiling and reached nearly to the floor. In the middle of the back wall was a pillar of darkness and this is what Oliver walked towards. He moved swiftly between the patches of light and darkness made by the torches along a path made of many small stones. As Oliver walked, he saw the cylinder of darkness coming closer and closer and it was to the centre that he directed his attention. Oliver moved right up to the base of a small raised platform made of black rock and here he kneeled. As he looked up at the black, Oliver saw two lamp- like eyes open in the darkness and stared down at him. The eyes were slits like a snake's and bright, shining yellow like a cat's. The eyes observed Oliver and suddenly the darkness vanished in a swirl and Oliver saw a man sitting there. He was hooded and cloaked and nothing of him could be seen except his eyes and the end of his long, pointed nose. The hooded figure had his hand against his face and two fingers, his index and his middle, held pointed toward the roof. He was hovering a meter above the ground, with his legs crossed and the tip of his cloak brushing the floor. The figure observed Oliver with interest and slowly lowered his hand to grip his leg.

"Why have you come, Oliver?" Asked the man, looking Oliver in the face. His voice did not come from underneath the cloak, but emanated from the walls and ceiling as though through from speakers.

"Master." Oliver said, a slight quiver in his voice. "I have come to bring word of Luna. She has brought something rather alarming to my attention.

"And what is that Oliver?" Morfran prompted, his voice carrying the faintest hints of a smile.

"I have come to ask of Amaya Grace, master. It seems that I had forgotten her until her granddaughter, who is currently being held in one of our interrogation rooms, reminded me. Why had I forgotten about Amaya Grace?" The head of Morfran's cloak tilted up and down, as if he was sizing Oliver up, before he raised his hand, and Oliver, into the air. "You have forgotten, because I wanted it to be forgotten." He spat as Oliver writhed in the air in front of him. "Remember who you are talking to, boy. I can make you forget whatever I want, and there is not a single thing you can do about it! I needed Amaya for a reason, and it turned out I had the wrong girl, now listen to me. YOU WILL NEVER REMEMBER AMAYA GRACE AGAIN! And if you do, you can go and join her in the basement. That is where I have left her to rot. And if you ever question my authority again, you will rot down there too!" With that he clenched his fist and spun his hand, and with a sickening crunch, Oliver's neck twisted.

"You have already told Luna too much." Morfran spat again, a slight smile rimming his voice. "I cannot risk you revealing any unnecessary information. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear." He punctuated each word with an extra twist of his hand, which caused Oliver's throat to knot, now resembling an extremely rung cloth. Morfran gave his hand a final twist, and with a sickening crunch, Oliver's neck snapped. He collapsed in a crumpled heap on the floor. He let out a hitching, rattling breath, and a bubble of blood formed in the corner of his mouth. He breathed again and it swelled to a greater size. Oliver reached out his hand and clutched at the masters sweeping robes, but he kicked it away with a disgusted look. Oliver drew in another gasping, wheeze, and the blood bubble grew larger and larger. He grabbed for the masters robes again, but he was too weak, and his hand fell to the floor. His watch smashed when it hit the stone and, at the same time, the blood bubble burst. It splattered over his face, and dribbled lazily into his open mouth. The sound of the pop, mingling with the sound of breaking glass, echoed around the chamber in a sick medley.

Morfran moved backward, away from the body, and raised a hand from beneath his cloak. He twisted the hand in a complicated movement and a lock of Oliver's slick, black hair (Now matted with blood) pulled itself from his head and flew into the Morfran's hand. He took the hair and moved over to a small stone basin that rested on a pedestal in the corner of the room. He placed the hair in the middle and it was suddenly engulfed by a flow of glowing, white mist. The hair rose up into the air, encased in a sphere of fog and hovered above the basin. It spun in a slow circle and then dropped onto the floor and began to grow. It took on form and shape and spun faster and faster. After a while, it stopped moving and took on a solid form.

Before Morfran, stood Oliver Reath. He looked behind him and saw his twin slowly crumbling into powder, making a heap on the floor. As they looked, the powder drained into the floor, running into itself and disappearing. All that remained of Oliver Reath, was a pool of blood that ran into the cracks of the floor. Morfran turned back to Oliver and looked him up and down.

"Hello." He said softly.

"Hello Master."