That seemed to anger them even more, because a second later they were on top of him, screaming and handcuffing him. Then WAM! Pain, a bright light, and everything went dark.
Chapter 6: Prison
Rohan woke to a blur of shadows and movement. His head swam. Frantic voices surrounded him, speaking a language he didn’t understand. The darkness threatened to return, but he fought it. He had to know where he was, how he had gotten here.
When he gained enough consciousness to observe his surroundings, he saw that he was sitting upright in a chair. The walls were covered in ornate, scrolled wallpaper, lit by a single fluorescent light that gave the room an orange glow. Perhaps this had once been a hotel—one that had seen its glory decades ago. Some countries in Eastern Europe and the Middle East had turned hotels into prisons, and this could easily have been one. The place smelled of mildew and old people, and the carpet was stained in dark splotches. Light shone in from the one window, curved and arabesque, revealing an endless city of clotheslines and flat, beige roofs.
A man stepped in front of Rohan, his face shadowed so that his features were indistinguishable. He had a bulky frame and a beard, and wore a blue uniform. A gun stuck out from a hip-holster.
“Who are you?” the man asked in broken English. "Tell us why you set the Grand Hotel on fire."
"I didn't do it." Rohan’s jaw ached. He coughed, feeling pain ripple across his body.
"Eyewitnesses say you did. And they also described a strange light, the same light described at the Door to Hell last night."
Silence.
“Tell us what you were doing at the Door to Hell.”
Rohan tried to clear his head, thinking as fast as his groggy mind would allow. “I’m a tourist, that’s all.”
“Did you bring that spectacle of light with you? That must have been very difficult to pack in your suitcase, Mr. Evans. Let me guess… all part of a magic trick.”
Damn. The man knew more than Rohan thought.
Rohan struggled to figure out what to say. Before he could come up with anything, a fist to his gut sent him rolling across the floor. His head swelled at the pain and he grabbed his stomach, gasping.
“Let’s start again. Who are you?”
“Rohan… Evans.”
“We knew as much. Now, tell me what you were doing at the Door to Hell.”
“I told you. Tourism.”
The man held up a photo of Lev’s dead body, burned and covered in blood. “We prefer our tourists not to commit murder.”
Rohan felt his body go cold. “I didn’t kill him.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
The man punched him again, this time in the face. “We have the best jails in Central Asia, Mr. Evans. Our prisons are even more notorious than Turkey’s. You will be right at home among our criminals.”
“You can’t hold me,” Rohan gasped. “I’m a United States citizen.”
“They won’t know we’re holding you if you simply disappear,” the man said, grinning. “However, I’m going to be generous and allow you to tell me the truth. If you do that, I just may be able to save you.”
“And… if I don’t?”
The man pulled out a gun. “We do not abide by your laws, Mr. Evans. In our culture, it’s an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. So in your case, it’s a life for a life.”
“I told you, I didn’t set the fire,” Rohan said, doing his best to steady his voice. “I didn’t kill that man you’re talking about.”
“So you want to make this difficult." He snapped his fingers. At the sound, two men entered the room, carrying a box. They opened the lid, revealing knives, scalpels, and other devices Rohan hadn’t seen before.
“Last chance, Mr. Evans,” the man said, picking up and sharpening a small, thin knife.
Rohan said nothing as the man approached him. He tried to pull back, but the two men grabbed him and held him to the chair. Rohan winced as he felt the knife’s sharp blade prick just below his Adam’s apple. A cold trickle told him a bead of blood had escaped his skin.
“Tell us who you really are,” the man said. “Which government sent you?”
Rohan gulped. “I told you everything I know.”
The man stared into his eyes, unblinking. Finally, he spat in Rohan’s face, then exited the room. The other two smiled like they were enjoying themselves.
When the man reappeared, he carried a barrel of water. With a fierce grip, he ripped Rohan out of the chair and held his head over the surface of the water.
Gray water, murky with a layer of scum, inched closer as the man thrust Rohan’s head down. Rohan tried to resist, until his strength gave out and he was in the water, struggling and holding his breath as long as he could. Then cold flooded around him and he was back up, gasping for air.
“Did you enjoy that, Mr. Evans?”
He coughed, then managed, “I didn’t kill anyone!”
The man pushed Rohan’s head closer to the base of the barrel, and again he was pushed down, freezing water filling his nostrils, numbing his eyes. Bubbles escaped, and he couldn’t hold his breath any longer. Water surged down the back of his throat and into his lungs.
He was yanked up, coughing for breath, spitting up nasty water.
“I’m telling you, I didn’t—” he began in a raspy voice, but suddenly he was under the water again.
Time slowed. The water swirled around him, and the man’s voice sounded like a distant echo. A tingling spread across his face, coldness splintering his cheeks.
A few more seconds and he would black out. His eyes began to close, then shot open. The water at the bottom of the barrel was shifting… glowing. Two eyes appeared, and he tried to scream, air bubbles shooting up around his face. He pulled back, but the man’s firm grip held him in place.
And then he saw the face take form. It was the spirit from the hotel, Corinne. She held a finger to her lips, but he had no air left to scream.
"When you hear yelling," she said, her voice coming clear through the water, “run.”
Rohan thought he was dreaming, maybe already dead. He let his head sink as the man dunked him deeper. Yellow light emanated from the woman’s face, blurry in the water. And then with a flash, she was gone.
The hands around Rohan’s neck loosened their grip. Rohan relaxed at the release of pressure. Somewhere, people were yelling.
Rohan groped wildly about. He found the sides of the barrel and used all of his strength to pull his head above water. Fresh air rushed into his lungs and he gasped, trying to find his bearing. His heart beat frantically, struggling to keep him alive. How close to death he had really been, he’d never know.
A shape caught his eye—the man who had been holding him now lay unconscious in the corner. A second, more muscular man was curled into a ball, whimpering on the floor beside the first.
Rohan stumbled past them, unsure how to process what had happened. Again, Corinne appeared like a wisp of silver in front of him. Her eyes were sharper now, but darted around the room as if she were afraid. When she turned her gaze to Rohan, she was staring right through him.
“Run,” she said, but it was too late.
With a bang of the door, two men rushed in with revolvers drawn. They took in the situation, and then had their guns aimed at Rohan as they shouted at him in words he didn’t understand.
Corinne vanished with a flash that filled the room. Lightning shot past the men, spinning them so that their heads collided and they collapsed, out cold.
Rohan stared. He’d originally set off on this journey to bring back life, but it seemed like he was mostly finding death.
Corinne reappeared and looked at the bodies with wide eyes. “I—I had no choice.”
A shrill sound pierced Rohan’s ear, and he looked at her in shock.
Corinne's mouth moved in response, but the words never met Rohan’s ears. Instead, his head filled with a dull ringing and the room convulsed around him. A low moan escaped his lips as he collapsed, f
ollowed by a crack as his head hit the floor. He struggled to sit up, his hand going to his head where an intense pain now pulsed.
Turning, he saw a guard standing behind him with a baton, eyes wild. Had he just hit Rohan in the head with that thing? Anger overcame Rohan and welled up until it exploded—but not in a physical attack. Instead, he stretched his hands toward the guard and the spirit woman flew forward, energy shooting from her fingers at the man and causing him to stagger back in pain.
“How are you doing that?” she shouted. “I feel stronger, somehow.”
“I don’t know!” he shouted back, feeling a strange surge of energy. “You’re the spirit here!”
“Keep focusing,” Corinne said. “Concentrate on this link between us, and we might actually get out of here!”
Rohan opened and closed his hands again, preparing for the next attack.
A second door opened and two guards came running in, pausing only momentarily to glance at their fallen comrades.
Rohan spun, shouting at the top of his lungs, and the woman’s silvery form spiraled around him. Energy coursed through his limbs, growing stronger with his anger. The guards ran back down the hall, calling for backup.
“We can’t stay here,” Corrine shouted.
Though Rohan could hardly walk, he managed to follow her out of the prison. He stumbled at first, but slowly began to regain his footing.
“What happened back there?” he asked as a metal door banged open, taking them out into a steaming hot day. The door had led them to a barbed wire complex.
She took a moment to think, then floated up into the sky. When she returned to his side, she motioned to a far wall, and he followed her without stopping to question.
“You seem to have summoned me, somehow,” she said. “What matters now is that we get out of here.”
He nodded, numbly.
She moved alongside him, passing right through the wall. He hurried after her, and pushed himself flat against the metal door. It gave way, and soon they were outside, moving in the cover of trees and following a dirt hill that descended to a city below. He glanced back, anxious, and was relieved to not see anyone following. So far, they were clear, but when they came to a lookout point, she gave him a signal and zipped on ahead.
In a moment, she was back, ready to move on, but then hesitated. “I help you out of here, you help me figure out how to return to the afterlife. Deal?”
“Is this really the time?”
“I help you, you help me. This is the only time.”
He massaged his temples, trying to fight down the terror of what they’d do to him now if they caught him.
“Yes, sure. Okay? As if I have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” she said. “You could leave me to haunt the world while you probably get yourself killed.” She smiled, but then the smile vanished and she staggered back, catching herself on a rock. When she looked up at him, her eyes were dazed, unfocused.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“I—I don’t know. I feel… weak.”
Her eyes rolled up into her head and she collapsed. Instinct pulled Rohan forward to catch her, but when he did a cold wind blew through him and she vanished.
He still sensed her, though.
“Rohan?” her voice echoed, distant yet very close.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I think I’m inside you. This is so strange. So wrong, but.…”
“Yes?”
“I feel my power returning, like I’m growing stronger. Does that make sense? Can I just stay here for a bit, to recover?”
“Okay, for now.” He shifted uneasily at the realization that he’d just given a spirit permission to rest in his body.
“Thank you,” she said.
“So what now?”
“If it wasn’t you who opened the portal, we have to find the man that started this, and end it.”
“I told you, I’m not ready for that.” Rohan felt a kick inside himself, like his insides convulsing. “Hey.”
“Fine,” she said. “But you can’t exactly stay here and wait to be captured for more torture. They’ll be harder on you this time.”
Chapter 7: On the Run
The heat of the sun beat down on Rohan as he ran down side streets and narrow alleys, staying low in case the local authorities were looking for him.
After regaining her strength, Corinne had left Rohan’s body to fly through the sky and lead him through the dark areas of the city. Rohan had been following her for over an hour now.
She appeared out of a brick building to his right and waved, then vanished through the wall ahead. He ran over to it and waited, catching his breath until she appeared and nodded that it was clear. He sprinted past the wall and jumped over it as an old woman came toward him on a moped. She swerved out the way and yelled something at him.
“Coulda told me about that one,” he said.
“I’m not a god,” she said, fading through a group of trees. He waited, eyes searching for her to reappear and show him the way.
“Over here.” Corinne appeared through a wall to his right. “Just past this building, there’s a bus stop with an image of an airplane on it.”
He followed her, ignoring the thick sweat collecting at the base of his back. When he made it home, the first thing he would do was sit in an air-conditioned room, a cold beer in one hand and his remote in his other. The thought of relaxing seemed a distant memory.
They passed a small Internet café with young kids crouched behind old block-style computers, a vine-infested courtyard that smelled of burning meat, and a darkened doorframe where two men were conversing in Turkmen.
Turning down a side street, Rohan found himself in an open-air market with a marble fountain in the center. The bus stop was just past the fountain, an enclosed structure scattered with couches and plants. Several older women in colorfully patterned dresses sat in one corner, talking loudly as they waited.
A white bus rumbled up to meet them, its hydraulics whistling as the driver opened the door.
Rohan was about to dart for the bus, when three police cars pulled up to the fountain.
“Back!” Rohan whispered to Corinne.
"You know they can’t see me, right?”
“I was talking to myself," Rohan said, his back to the wall.
He retraced his steps and took a turn into the courtyard. The tables were close here, and he narrowly avoided tripping as he darted between them. Corinne appeared at the other side of the courtyard, just over the metal fence, and motioned him up. He stepped onto one of the tables and threw himself over.
Without hesitation, he was off again. The buildings went by in a blur as they darted down alleys and around narrow corners. He jumped over a cat in one alley, then spun to avoid an old butcher dumping a bucket of fat.
“What’s the plan, now?” he shouted.
In an instant, Corinne was high above him, looking back, and then she was beside him, floating along as he ran.
“Go into that door,” she said, pointing.
Rohan saw a curved door, slightly ajar, with studs covering it. With no time to think, he ducked in and threw the door shut behind him. He spun, eyes searching for a place to hide. The high ceiling was arched, painted bright white with blue patterns that looked like stars and flowers. The smell of clean stone and tile soothed his senses.
He took in the majesty of the mosque as an angled ray of light shone down on him. As his breathing calmed, his mind cleared.
“We don’t have time to rest,” Corinne said, annoyed.
An old man appeared from a side entrance. He pointed at Rohan’s shoes and shook his head.
Corinne hissed, “We need to keep moving.”
“Be quiet,” Rohan whispered, then realized the man was looking at him oddly.
“Who are you talking to?” the old man whispered in broken English as he stroked his long gray beard. Then his eyes went wide and he stumbled back. He began speaking i
n Turkmen, eyes flittering up to the ceiling.
“I think he sees me,” Corinne said.
“Yeah, I’d say that’s a safe bet.” Rohan moved past the old man. He hoisted himself out through the window. “Tell him we’re sorry.”
Corinne appeared next to him in the alley. “You think because I’m a ghost I speak Russian or Turkmeni or whatever?”
He just shrugged. “I think that because you’re a ghost, you can get me out of here..."
“Perhaps.”
“Great. What’d you have in mind?”
She pointed to a line of taxis at the end of the road, and he sighed with relief. He hopped into the first one, not caring that it was musty and the cloth seats were faded and worn.
“Airport, please,” Rohan said. He’d blend in there, and fly home. Then he’d decide what to do about Corinne. He wondered briefly if she could follow him on the plane.
The man looked at him like he was crazy.
“I don’t think these guys get many tourists,” Corinne said, appearing next to the driver.
Rohan frowned, then put his arms out like an airplane and made a buzzing sound.
The driver smiled with a mouthful of gold teeth and said something in Russian.
As the taxi eased through traffic, Rohan appreciated the break, and especially appreciated his freedom. He relaxed, closing his eyes. What he wouldn’t have given for a moment to lay low and find his thoughts. But when he opened his eyes again, Corinne was staring right at him.
“We have a problem,” she said.
Rohan sat up and looked around, not seeing an airport. The taxi driver was shouting something in Russian.
“Where are we?” Rohan asked, voice cracking with worry.
The driver pointed up the road. The Ashgabat International Airport lay ahead, its several spires rising into the gray sky. A long, bottlenecked line of traffic led up to it, and at the front of the airport, sirens blazed.
Death Marked Page 5
