Eighty Eight

Marco

A noise rouses me. But there is no one in the dungeon. Now I am sure I am hearing things.

My brain tries to focus, but it is like slogging through quicksand. I am numb and weak, and every second I am conscious feels like an hour.

There. I hear it again. It is the door.

Cristo! No, no, no.

I shiver, the dread filling my veins like ice water. I try to remember what little words of prayer I can still recall. Please, help me.

There are more of them this time. I count at least eight men coming down the stairs. They are moving slower than usual. But why hurry, I suppose? I am not going anywhere.

I hear whispers but can't make them out. That is odd. Usually Dante is shouting at me, taunting me the second he enters the dungeon.

They come closer, but I don't bother looking. I don't need to see the smug satisfaction when he sees me, naked and crumpled, on the dungeon floor. I pray he kills me quickly, but I know he won't.

Please.