Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“Come,” calls the man patiently, still walking forward.
“What the fuck??” cries Brock to no answer.
Kyle takes hold of Brock’s hand. Brock’s freaked-out eyes snap to his. “We’re together in all of this,” Kyle assures him. “Alright? They haven’t harmed us yet. They didn’t even keep us tied up, did you notice? Our binds were undone. They just kept us waiting in that room.”
“Waiting for what?” blurts Brock, shaking. “To be eaten? There’s somethin’ not right with this place, somethin’ not right at all. Is it even an office building? An alternate dimension? Is it fuckin’ Hell? Where are we?”
Kyle feels it, too, the strangeness, the discomforting quiet. He can say all the words of comfort he can think of to Brock, but inside, he feels no confidence, no certainty, no assurance that anything is going to be okay. All he knows about others like him are from Tristan, things he said over the years. How they each have secondary gifts that develop over time. Tristan’s Lull. Kyle and his newfound Reach. What if what they’re now experiencing is the gift of some other being? Someone with an incredible power over the mind, rivaling even Tristan’s?
Does Kyle even know anything at all?
“Let’s … Let’s just see what they want,” says Kyle. “We’ll stay calm, talk to them, and get outta here and back to our lives, alright?” Kyle glances back at Elias. “Are you okay?”
Elias, ever so brave, so fearless and daring, even he seems a touch unsettled when he gives Kyle a nod. The trio of them, less than okay, continue warily across the room.
They arrive at a single, featureless elevator. The tall man presses a button, they wait for exactly three seconds, then the doors open. “Come,” he says, stepping on. Kyle enters first, still gripping Brock’s hand like a child he’s escorting, Elias stepping in behind, his arm protectively around Kyle’s waist.
The elevator doors gently close.
The screen above shows no numbers, Kyle notices, and all of the buttons are blank. Yet the tall man taps the second one from the top, and the elevator begins to ascend.
“Sir, can you, uh, tell me where we are?” asks Kyle.
“You are in the House of Vegasyn. I am taking you to meet Markadian, Lord of Vegasyn.”
“F-Fuckin’ Vegas stupid bullshit name,” mutters Brock to himself. It is heard by all four of them.
The name nonetheless sends a chill up Kyle’s neck, having heard it from Tristan earlier. “And … who is that?”
“He is Markadian, Lord of Vegasyn.”
Unhelpful. Kyle gathers his patience. “And who are you?”
“I am George.”
Brock makes a face, glances at Kyle and mouths, “George? The fuck?” to him.
Kyle ignores Brock. “Are we still in Las Vegas or not?”
George seems irked by the question. “I do not acknowledge nor recognize the existence of this human city of ‘Las Vegas’. You are in the domain of Vegasyn.”
Kyle decides to play along with that for now. “Uh, alright, thank you. And why were we taken from—”
“Markadian, Lord of Vegasyn, requested an audience with you, Kyle Bentley Amos, and so you were summoned with your present company. As this is likely your first time encountering the Lord of Vegasyn,” he adds with a twitch of his thin lips, “I shall enlighten you of certain rules of etiquette you would do well to oblige. First, you must and will always address the Lord of Vegasyn as Markadian, Lord of Vegasyn. Full name and title included. Second, in his presence, keep your head bowed. You do not deserve to look him in the eyes. Finally, as is customary of facing such respected leaders, do not speak until spoken to.”
Kyle feels a spark of defiance from Brock, a note of heated frustration from Elias, and a sea of ice from this George.
“I do wish we could have met under better conditions,” the man suddenly confesses, smiling at Kyle at once. The smile is terrifying. “I have learned ever so much about you, Mr. Amos, I confess I feel as if we’re already friends.”
Kyle blinks, unsettled by the sudden change. “Really?”
George turns to the door, smile vanished. “We are here.”
The elevator doors open to a square, featureless chamber, four white walls, white floor, white ceiling. At the other end of the room are a tall set of doors that nearly blend with the walls, in front of which are posted two tall figures with long, straight white hair that runs down over their faces and to their waists, making them appear at first like nothing but curtains of pure white hair with legs emerging from the bottom, even their arms partly obscured.
Kyle craves reassurance, comfort, normalcy, and this place and its occupants only grow stranger the further they proceed.
As George approaches the two figures, Kyle and the others step off the elevator, following. Kyle glances behind them, then discovers the elevator seems to have vanished. “The fuck?”