"Redemption," I tell. I don't know how I know. "The key to my redemption."
"There's a lock for it," he growls, "somewhere in your torturous imagination."
"Limbo of the Infants or Limbo of the Fathers?" I ask. Damn Roman Catholic foster parents. Why do I retain these things?
With one finger he pushes his glasses down his nose a bit. Condescension reigns, "Do you look like an infant?"
The clouds have gathered now. A storm breaks into motion. I step back into the open doorway as the rain falls.
"Five good deeds for others," he pauses to grin, "and you can leave here."
"On Earth, Hunter. Good deeds for others here are just self-serving deeds. Others here are just your self."
"How do I return? Isn't the Earth dead?"
"The key, Hunter. That was not Earth that died. That was you."
I watched him turn to go. Trench coat in the storm. Drench coat. I laugh.
"One last thing," Wesley tells me. He seethes now, "Stay the fuck away from Laura."
Or what? You'll turn me into an imaginary vampire? It's not like I don't already lack a soul. An imagined soul.
He left me then. I looked down at the wet dirt around me, wishing to see a keyhole in the mud. Some kind of orifice with which to exit my imagination. My Limbus Patrum. For God's sake, the Patriarchs aren't even here anymore! So give it a new name! Limbus Huntrum. There. That better be Latin, or Hebrew or something.
But I'm not sure whether I'm in my limbo system or my limbic system; in my dead or in my head.
"Where's my God damn keyhole, bitch?"
She doesn't answer. The fog fades. Laura is unimagined. I am alone now. That's all she did: clouded me like fog.
Had to hurry, though. This plane of hell, this dark corner of my dark mind...knew it would get darker. Would corrupt me. Will keep me from my escape, and keep me from my deeds. I am to be a prisoner of my mind.
No! I will escape. Maybe, I muse, if I had had Hindu foster parents, I'd be facing reincarnation instead of God damn heaven! Hah! God damn heaven! That's a thing to curse, if ever there was one. So much for my agnosticism. Or was it aethiesm? I never could tell.
Damn, I want to scream!
I do. Long and low, as only Hunter can.
And somewhere in the distance, she screams back at me.