“You are feeling relaxed,” a soft voice said, the owner of that voice fading from his consciousness too. “The pain in your body and mind are melting away to nothing, leaving behind only peace. Leaving behind only a sense of calm.” Diel breathed evenly. He felt as though he was leaving his body, present but at the same time not. “Listen to my voice,” she said again. “Nod your head if you understand me.” Diel felt his head move, like it was moving of its own accord. Everywhere was dark now, but not the darkness he was used to. This dark was warm—not a sea of destruction, but small, rippling currents of blissful numbness.
“We’re going to go back to the day you entered Purgatory.” The voice seemed to bring him to a hallway of doors. It guided him to one right in front of him. “In a moment, I’m going to ask you to open it. But unlike in your past, there will be no pain here, no panic.” Diel stared at the door before him. “Open the door to Purgatory.”
Diel stepped forward and pushed it open. He was descending stone steps. He could feel the priests at his back. His heart was racing and his head kept ticking from side to side. He didn’t let them lead him away easily. Diel fought and fought against their hold, something inside of him stirring, growing in strength, telling him to tear them apart. To get back to where he was meant to be. Diel frowned. He couldn’t think where that was. But he couldn’t be in this place. He had to go back … back … something waited for him wherever he had come from …
“Come back into the room of doors,” the voice said, and Diel left the steps to Purgatory and walked back into the large hallway. He felt a pull to a door at his right. “Go to the door that is calling you.” Diel moved toward the door that had a light shining underneath it, beckoning him through. He had to go through there. He knew he did. But as he placed his hand on the doorknob, something pulled in his stomach, and his heart thudded and pain burned in his temples. Diel hissed, gripping at his head—
“You feel no pain,” the voice said again, sterner. He felt tapping on his hand, a steady, rhythmic beat that his heart clung to and began to imitate. “There is nothing to fear behind that door. If it is calling for you, go through it.” Diel turned back to the door, the pain in his head once again numbed.
He reached out, took hold of the doorknob and stepped inside. He blinked as he looked around the small room. He was in a shack of some sort. Dilapidated walls dripped with damp; the panels of wood were chipped and covered in rotting paint and mold. It smelled of smoke and dankness and fear.
The furniture was old and ripped, cigarette-burned and marked. The two couches were small and barely fit for purpose. Diel felt his mouth moving, speaking aloud exactly what he was seeing.
“And what else can you see?” the voice replied.
Diel walked through the living room into a kitchen. The cabinets were no longer white, but speckled with flecks of fat from the frying pan and yellow with tobacco stains. He stopped at the door. His head tilted to the side as he saw a man and woman sitting at a table, empty liquor bottles and half-smoked cigarettes scattered around them. There were needles on the table too, and bands tied around the woman’s arms. A needle stuck out from her flesh; her eyes were glazed and her lips were parted, head tipped backward, awake but not present.
He turned when he heard a floorboard creak behind him. Diel’s eyes narrowed on the young boy who walked through. He was a walking skeleton. He had a thick crop of dark hair and large, sunken blue eyes that seemed to see everything.
“Does he live there?” the voice asked. Diel nodded. The little boy lived there. The woman was his mother, but she was a bad one. She didn’t love him; he didn’t love her. He had raised himself. The man wasn’t his father. Just another abusive jerk in his mother’s life. The boy hated the man. He beat him. He—
Diel heard soft singing coming from the back from the house. It immediately filled him with