by M. R. Holman
into this bank, an entrance that a lioness and its master were likely searching for at that very moment?
He could not wait any longer. Circus began laughing raucously as Traveler felt the color draining from his face. He should have never have stuck around to watch these lions or hear out these maniacs in the first place but had been glued to the scene due to his own damnable curiosity.
Traveler turned from the giant window once again and began to make his way to the hallway across the room. After regaining his composure from almost tripping over the velvet rope for a third time, Traveler moved briskly toward the hallway next to the counters.
The sunlight pouring in through the front of the bank did not reach far into the hallway. Through the darkness, Traveler could see that the marble floor broke away into a staircase several feet in. He made his way blindly up the staircase until nearly mis-stepping when he reached the top. It was completely dark up there. He reached out his arms and took short steps until he felt cold metal against his fingertips.
"Matches!"
He had a whole book of matches in his pocket. He reached into his pocket which was vacant of anything but the book of paper matches he had taken from the floor of an abandoned bar a few nights previous. He struck one. The flame was small but the light was overwhelming in the inky blackness at the top of the staircase.
The metal that he had felt moments ago dully reflected the light from the match in its polished surface. It was a vault door. Traveler moved the halfway burnt match to the edge of the vault door, discovering that it was open. It was at this moment that Traveler heard the bell over the front door to the bank chiming, announcing that new visitors had entered its premises.
The match had burnt all the way down to his fingertips and he dropped it with a gasp. He did not know what to do next. Before him was a bank vault which, while likely saving him from the lions, might or might not leave him locked inside to suffocate or starve in its dark confines. Behind him was the staircase which the gang and their pride of lions would shortly find him standing at the top of if he did not go into the vault.
Didn’t they know he had places to be? He was on vacation for crying out loud…
He slung the shotgun over his shoulder. It only had two shots left. He unslung the rifle and pressed it tightly to his shoulder, pointing it at the bottom of the stairs. It was pitch black again without the light from the match. All he could see was the silhouette of his rifle barrel against the soft light reflecting from the floor at the bottom of the staircase.
What was taking them so long? The rifle was heavy. His arms were already growing tired. He was starting to get psyched out. Circus had been right, Traveler had never shot a person before...
A cough sputtered from his lips as a shadow began to obscure the only lit area he could see. He couldn’t think. In a panic he pulled the trigger.
How could he have forgotten to cock the rifle? The fingers on his left hand fumbled for the bolt of the gun and pulled it back. The bolt pulled right out of the back of the rifle. He had not let go of the trigger when he pulled the bolt back, inadvertently engaging the release mechanism of the antique rifle.
He couldn’t breathe. He tried to push the bolt back into the rifle but it was too dark and his hands were not steady enough. The bolt slipped out of his hands and onto the ground. Traveler threw the now useless rifle down at his feet. He could hear the rumbling sound the lions made drifting up towards him. He drew the pistol from his belt and pulled the slide back to put a bullet in the chamber. It took several attempts because his sweaty hands could not grip the smooth metal well.
The crack of Circus’ whip sent a dark shape bounding up the stairs to where Traveler stood. He fired, each shot briefly illuminating the scene.
BANG! A long muscular body covered in tan fur.
BANG! Its mouth was open. Its eyes were glowing.
BANG! A vivid splash of red and a display of fear and confusion of such that Traveler had never encountered or imagined possible.
BANG! The lioness had not advanced any further.
BANG! The beast was slumped against the wall, its tan-gold chest stained crimson.
Bright spots temporarily burned into his eyes from the flashes of his gunfire were all that Traveler could see. Through the intense ringing in his ears he could hear the lioness’ lifeless body sliding down the stairs, making a dull thud on each step.
A chorus of screaming women rose from downstairs, briefly harmonizing with the ringing in his ears. Circus’ voice boomed above the cries but his words were unintelligible. The lions joined in, roaring with outrage either at the loss of their comrade or at the loss of any semblance of order amongst their strange pride. They became a sickening septet, wailing their washed out opera of rage to ears that could no longer hear them.
Traveler didn’t need to hear them properly to get the full effect. The sound waves reverberated up the staircase, off the vault door, into his skin, and down to his bones. He felt like a tuning fork.
Something had changed. The chilling tones had shifted from outrage and disbelief to panic and terror. It was a different kind of chaos. The screaming had grown even louder and was being punctuated by the repeated cracking of Circus’ whip.
Traveler, having made no conscious decision to do so, had turned around with his hands outstretched in the darkness feeling for the door of the vault. The barrel of the pistol which was still in his right hand made contact with the metal door first. With his left hand he felt for the opening between the wall and pried the incredibly heavy door open just far enough to slip inside. He squeezed through, running his hand across the smooth metal on the inside of the vault door, feeling for something which he could hold to close the door. A bar running vertically up the vault door provided barely sufficient surface area for gripping, allowing him to slowly pull the door closed, shutting out the already muffled sounds of terror and agony completely.
The ringing in his ears was nearly overwhelming, magnified by the complete silence and pulsating with each beat of his heart. It was the only thing that ensured him that he had not detached from reality into some dark limbo.
The air in the vault was still and the darkness pressed against his eyes as though it was weighted. It was strange to think that one story below his dark, silent, steel reinforced asylum was a room flooded with light, sound, and horror.
Traveler could not get the image of the lioness’ look of fear when he shot her out of his mind. He could not imagine doing that to a human, no matter how evil they were.
But, he had shot at the first sign of movement coming up the stairs. It could just as easily have been a person…
He felt pity for the gang, and what he assumed was happening to them at that moment, despite the fact that they had attempted to commit him to the same end. He was not really sure what to do with himself. He looked around but it did not do much good given the complete and utter lack of light. Considering that the gang downstairs had their hands full at the moment, Traveler put his pistol back into the holster on his belt and struck a match.
The contents of the vault would have been much more exciting had it still been valuable, but being surrounded by ceiling-high stacks of money still had a certain awe inspiring effect. This could have lasted him several lifetimes before things had gotten so strange…
He turned around to examine the door. There was no way of knowing whether or not it had locked without trying to open it, and he did not want to attempt that just yet. He leaned in close to examine where the door met the wall and reached his match-free hand out to touch the cool, polished steel. Something, he could feel, had collided with the other side of the vault door.
He dropped the match and drew his pistol, pointing it at the door. The vault went dark again. Traveler stood there, his pistol pointed at the door, unable to see or hear. Slowly, a light was beginning to rise in the vault. The silhouette of a human was beginning to show clearly in front of him but he could not bring himself to pull the trigger.
How could he
have been so stupid?
The silhouette was of himself, outlined in orange light and reflected in the metal door. A fire had begun at his feet. Hundreds of dollars had started to burn at the spot where he had dropped his match. A feverish few seconds of stomping left the fire smoldering, but filling the enclosed area in smoke. One lungful of smoke sent Traveler’s asthma over the edge. He collapsed onto several strangers' life savings and passed out cold.
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed while he was unconscious. He figured it had been a decent amount of time though because his ears had completely stopped ringing. The acrid smell of burning cash still hung heavily in the pitch black vault. It was so silent that he could hear his heart beating. It was all that he could hear.
Rolling over onto his hands and knees, he began to crawl toward the vault door, reaching out with one hand to feel for it. He paused when he felt the cool metal against his hand, straining his ears and attempting to feel any vibrations through the door. There was nothing. He leaned in closer and pressed his ear against the door.
Nothing.
But what had collided against the door earlier? Had he imagined it?
He wondered what would be on the other side of the door, providing he could get it open. He struck another match and once again saw himself reflected in the shiny metal door. He
