John Everson - NightWhere

Mark was willing to sacrifice a lot for Rae. He’d already given more than he thought possible. But he didn’t intend to give her his life.

He stabbed her in the chest with the knife, and she screamed in anger, falling back. Then he sliced the wrist of the Watcher holding his other hand, and leapt forward off the table right at the two who held his feet.

After two quick stabs, they released him and Mark didn’t waste a second. He ran for the door without looking back.

He sprinted down the long corridor, past the rooms of pain and degradation, and darted through an open arch to a small foyer where dozens of candles burned. Noise grew behind him. Mark yanked open the heavy wooden door and then pulled it shut behind him.

He recognized the room as soon as he stepped into it.

The Blue Room. He’d managed to get back to the front facade of the club. He now knew that this was just a false face-the real NightWhere was behind the medieval doors. In The Red and The Black. The Red seemed to be just another word for hell. Mark did not want to find out what The Black was. Though Rae seemed determined to get there.

The outer room of the club was alive with people still. They danced in a half-clad bacchanal to the gothic tones of the band, and a handful of people were lined up to get drinks from Sin-D’s bar. The bartendress looked up as he took stock of the club, and her eyes widened when she saw him.

Mark didn’t waste time. He bolted to the front door, pushing aside the ever-present doorman as the pale man’s long fingers grabbed futilely at his shoulder.

“You can’t go out now,” Tailor insisted, but Mark threw himself against the door and forced his way through.

“I have to,” Mark said.

“Wait!” someone screamed from the club, but Mark pulled the door shut. Then he turned around and looked at where he’d ended up.

Instead of leading outside, the exit from NightWhere had put him in another room. This one had a large window on one side, and a desk and rolling chair on the other. It appeared to be someone’s office. Only, the chair lay on its side, and the window was so dirty you could barely see outside. It didn’t look like a place that had been used in a long, long time.

Mark ran to the door on the other side and turned the knob, but it wouldn’t open. And the lock appeared to be on the other side. There was no button to press or knob to twist to unlock it from within.

Behind him, the door opened up and Tailor stepped out. “You can’t leave,” the doorman said. “Come back inside.”

Mark laughed. “No fuckin’ way.”

He grabbed a paperweight from the desk and threw it as hard as he could. It caught Tailor right in the forehead, and the doorman collapsed with a grunt to his knees.

Mark grabbed the chair from beneath the desk and lifted it over his head. With a yell of anger, he flung it against the window. The glass exploded and a cool draught of dawn rushed into the room. The doorman was getting to his feet, and Mark righted the chair from where it had fallen sideways on the floor. Then he stepped up on the chair and jumped like a diver to arc through the window.

He landed with a whoof of expelled breath on a patio paved in red brick. His shoulder felt raw, but he didn’t slow to look at the damage. Already he saw a half-dozen Watchers reaching through the broken window a few feet above. He ran away from the window as somebody leapt out behind him. He realized absently that he’d fallen into a courtyard. On the far side, he could see the dark opening of an alcove and he ran to duck through it. Behind him he heard the slap of feet against the pavement.

Mark threw himself into the dark alcove, praying that there would be a door to the outside.

“Over here,” a voice called from his left. “Hurry.”

He looked in the direction of the voice and saw a figure standing there at a doorway. One hand was on the knob while her other motioned him closer. “They’ll catch you if you don’t come now.”

Mark only took a millisecond to realize that whether this was a trap or not, it was his only option. There was no other exit from the alcove and the Watchers were right behind him. Damia ran in the middle of a crowd of six black-robed Watchers. The white of her skin stood out against the night and the robes. And as Mark turned, they entered the alcove with him. He launched himself to the door as hands grabbed for his waist.

Mark swung his fists backwards at his pursuers as he ran forward, thwarting the grabbing hands with punches. He threw himself through the door, landing off balance on the floor just inside. It slammed shut behind him and he heard the metallic click of a lock setting just before the air was filled with the hammering thuds of fists pounding on the outside of the door.

“Shit,” he gasped, raising himself to a crouch. “Thanks.”

Then he squinted in the dark, trying to make out the face of his savior. The place was too dark, but hands slipped gently around his shoulders and helped him back to his feet.

“Come on,” a feminine voice said. “The lock won’t hold them for long.”

“Why are you helping me?” he asked.

She put an arm around his waist and walked him quickly down a dark hall.

“Because you tried to save her,” she said. “That was a really loving, selfless act. But you could never have saved her. Those who have chosen The Black…are already damned. But you…you still have a chance. I want to help you get clear of all this.”

She pulled him forward, pressing against his back as they navigated the shadowed hall. It was as if they were racing through a tunnel, with a light of salvation at the far end. A few yards ahead, Mark could now just make out the outline of a door. The grey light of dawn filtered in through its small window. As they got closer, Mark could finally see a little bit of his surroundings. He looked up at the woman who guided him and instantly knew her familiar pale-white face. She was almost albino. Beauty in shades of cream.

Her eyes were filled with fear.

“Hurry,” Selena said.

“I am,” he said.

“If they catch us, they will kill both of us.”

Selena pulled him through the door. Mark looked around, disoriented for a moment. For the first time in hours his world wasn’t masked in shadows and dimly lit by bloodred light. He was able to see his surroundings clearly. The first rays of the morning crept over the horizon and reflected off the quiet rush of the canal nearby. He looked back at the building they’d just exited and knew exactly where they were. The abandoned fuel refinery on Kedzie. He used to pass this on the way to work each day. They were at the edge of Blue Island. Behind the door stretched an office building and beyond that was a steel castle of tanks and towers that belched white smoke into the crisp air.

“Come on,” he said. “We need to follow the canal up to town.”

They broke into a run along the sidewalk. Behind them, Mark heard the slap of other feet on the pavement. They rounded the office building and Mark led the way left, towards the gate in the complex’s perimeter fence. He pointed as they ran. “There are some businesses just a few blocks away. We can get help there.”

Selena followed him through the gate, and they had only gone a few yards down the sidewalk outside the refinery when Mark realized the sounds of pursuit had died away. He darted a look behind them and saw nothing but fence and empty asphalt. He slowed his run to a walk.

“Where did they go?”

“It’s dawn,” she said. “They need to close the club. There’s no point in drawing attention to this with a crowd of half-naked people running down the city streets. They know how to find you. They can always find you. They’ll be back.”