Apocalypse Then

When those who survived looked back on the Apocalypse of a decade earlier, they realized their good fortune that it fell short of the total world destruction prophesied in The Book of Revelation.

Gyllian would beg to differ, and had as early as the day she was certain she would live through the desecration visited upon her world. Though relief was not what she felt, her place in the new world order prohibited everything but due deference to their survival.

It was painful to recall the hell that had been unleashed upon them, on her world. In losing everything, Gyllian had not been spared the horror of watching her mother and sister as they were swept away in The Great Purge. When she recovered from her injuries, her greatest wish is that she had been taken with the rest of her family.

The Great Purge. That’s what they were calling it now, at least in her Settlement. Gyllian wondered what it was called elsewhere in the world if, indeed, there were life existing beyond the harsh reality of what had become her home. Beyond the limits of the Settlement, Gyllian didn’t know what, if anything, yet existed. The Prime Command discouraged curiosity, and set strict limits to ensure none left the compound.

“The Prime Command has learned that the world outside these environs remains inhospitable to any life should it yet endure. To ensure the safety and wellbeing of Our Society, no settler is to travel beyond his or her sector. What lives beyond can only harm those of us who remain. Strict curfew is to be observed: No dweller may venture out of his or her Single Bay after the Orb has retreated in the sky.”

What the Prime Command learned, the Prime Command enforced with a malice that seemed to give it the seemingly infallible strength it needed to subdue any defiance or rebellion among those it demanded be under its control. Though the Command kept its activity muted from the rest, Gyllian knew there had been executions. There were people she had known who had simply disappeared. As they marked each passing time duration, Prime Command read to the inhabitants the current population statistics. Despite the relative youth of the Settlement dwellers, death was rampant and births were rare. Of those safely born, few were without the birth abnormalities now commonplace, some so severe that the child disappeared before others were aware of the birth. They were executing the babies with birth deformities, Gyllian was certain. They wanted a world of perfection. They were working to that, eliminating the opposition, and the undesirable. The Prime Command exerted total jurisdiction.

Gyllian’s sector was responsible for the crops, from planting to harvesting. What little could survive in the scorched ground had to feed the thousand or more who yet lived in this world. The Command had identified anyone familiar with agricultural production on any scale, large or small. Garden plots were scattered throughout the compound and those with any experience in cultivation - from vegetables to flowers - were assigned roles within their work parties.

Life had been totally different before The Purge, before it had unleashed its malevolence on the world she knew. Gyllian had taken no real interest in politics or the news, choosing to enjoy life without the dubious impact of societal travails. She had been wrong in this, she now knew. Had she been more attuned to the global trajectory, perhaps she could have saved at least her own family. Had she known what was coming, they could have moved to another area or country. No one in the Settlement knew if other populations had survived. There was no means yet of communication available to educate those within the world as they now knew it. Gyllian suspected The Prime Command knew at least something of what lay beyond their ravaged home, but speculation was strictly discouraged. It had been decreed that their survivors were the sole inhabitants of what had been left of Earth. No one dared challenge the assertion. No one but the Command had access to what weapons could be salvaged in the aftermath of near extinction.

Gyllian’s father had been a senior politician in their government, responsible for trade relations with other world economies. He was seldom home as his work took him to distant corners and countries, something he much preferred to the humdrum humanity of home. Her mother was a professor of Earth Sciences until she retired to care fulltime for Gyllian and her sister. Though they felt a modicum of guilt about it, the three preferred life without their father’s presence because it caused a marked change in their mother’s mood and accessibility. She, who could find humor in even the most unpleasant situations, never smiled during his time at home, when she would be called upon to host dinners and political leaders. She hated the visibility, and her anxiety would begin to drain her spirit from the moment she learned of their father’s imminent homecomings. These were tense days. The girls attempted, unsuccessfully, to buoy her spirits and coax a laugh; defeated, they steeled themselves for his return. Usually, however, despite the grim predictions for his visit, Gyllian and Myriam were happy to see him. The novelty of his presence, however, wore off quickly.

“How could they ever have become a couple?“ Myriam often mused. “They seem to have nothing in common; they don’t even seem to like each other.”

“Life”, Gyllian would reply somberly. “Life changes people, hopefully for the good but too often not.” She had seen the same sort of dynamic in her friends’ families. They were all children of the ‘ruling class’, with parents who served the government in some capacity or other. They all knew the pitfalls of the profession, the protracted absences and the profound demands on both time and energy.

“Government sucks,” Myriam lamented. “It seems like no one is ever happy; all they do is fight over policies and bills no one else even cares about. What’s the point?”

“The point,” Gyllian answered, “is that they all want power, as much as they can get. They want to curry favor with the leader so they can be big shots and think they’re controlling the world.”

“Are they controlling the world?” Myriam wondered aloud.

“I really don’t know.” Gyllian contemplated. She knew her father was enmeshed in a world of danger; she had seen the handgun he always carried and, in searching for Christmas presents in the space behind her parents’ closet a few years earlier, Gyllian had found what she believed were called AR-15s. Whatever his involvement, Gyllian hoped he would keep it in some other part of the world.

“I like to think Daddy is helping to keep the world safe. Let’s just pray that, whatever happens elsewhere, we’re safe in our little community.” Gyllian looked at her sister sadly. “I don’t know much but what I do know is that there are all sorts of bad things happening in other places, famines and genocides. I heard Mama and Daddy talking about societies disappearing completely. Everyone and everything.”

“I guess we’re lucky,” Myriam replied.

“Let’s hope so,” had been Gyllian’s response.

It was a cold Friday in February when it happened. Gyllian and Myriam were at the kitchen table when they heard the first rumble. It was grocery day for their mother and the girls were planning to make her a surprise dinner. Though the two were ‘meat-eaters’, Mama was vegan so Gyllian was looking through some old recipe books while Myriam scoured the Internet for a suitable dish.

They ignored the distant rumble, thinking it was just the noise of the noon train thundering by not far from their house. After the second, and third commotion that was definitely getting closer, Gyllian looked at her sister. “What’s that all about?” Myriam shrugged, and went back to her recipe search.

When the siren sounded, its blast was so loud, so unfamiliar that both girls jumped up and ran to the kitchen window.

“What is that?” Myriam queried. “I don’t like it. It’s scary.”

Gyllian agreed. “I don’t know. But I do remember Mama telling me about air raid drills that happened a lot when she was a kid. She said it sounded like whatever this is.”

“That was a long time…” Myriam started, then stopped when she saw Mama’s car pull into the driveway. The car horn began to honk what seemed frantically. They looked at each other, wondering why their mother was home so soon, but more frightened by the noise from the car. When Mama threw open the driver side door and started racing toward the house, there was no doubt something was terribly wrong.

In the distance they could hear what sounded like other car horns and some loud noises that were unfamiliar. As Mama opened the side door to the kitchen, the house began to groan.

“It’s shaking,” Myriam screamed.

“What’s wrong, Mama? What’s happening?” Gyllian shouted to her mother. With that another sound could be heard, beeping…then they could hear voices intoning throughout the house.

“That sounds like the TV and all the radios,” Gyllian screamed over the noise.

“It is,” Mama agreed. “Come on girls, we need to move.” She sounded scared. Their mother was never scared. Not like this, anyway.

“We have to get to the storm cellar. Quickly. Hurry.”

“Mama, what is it?” Myriam began choking on what were now sobs.

“Not sure. Just get to the cellar. It’s the safest place.”

The rumbling grew louder, growing to a crescendo that was more like a roar. It kept increasing and there was no doubt it was getting closer.

The beeping continued as Gyllian realized it was all the timers in the house sounding at once. What had set off all the racket? It seemed impossible.

Holding open the side door, Mama pulled Myriam through by the arm. Gyllian was just behind her sister when the floor between her and the door began to shake.

“Ma…” Gyllian was about to scream when she saw a crack forming just below her feet. She stepped back to see more clearly and, with that, the floor began to gape before her eyes. Before she could get a word out, the ground in front of her gave way. Gyllian grabbed as best she could onto the kitchen counter in order to stop herself falling into what was now an enormous hole.

She heard herself screaming but, when she tried to call for Mama, there was no one there. There was nothing but a huge hollow in front of her. Before this thought could even register, Gyllian was thrown back onto the floor behind her as what sounded like a bomb exploding was quickly claiming the entire kitchen. As she grabbed the wall by the den-side door, she saw a huge section of the kitchen table seemingly suspended in mid-air. She had no time to move before it flew towards her and into her left temple.

Everything was quiet. Gyllian opened her eyes slowly as a searing pain engulfed her head. She touched her hair and, pulling her hand away, saw blood. A lot of blood. She had no idea where she was or how she had got there. Time seemed to stand eerily still.

When she could she raised her body and tried to isolate her surroundings. She seemed to be in some sort of shed with the door ajar. The air smelled rancid, like a combination of filthy clothes and something so metallic-smelling she could taste its steeliness in her mouth. Looking out the open entrance, Gyllian could see nothing that looked in any way familiar. The air hung in a sort of brown overcoat, hiding any clouds or sky. In the distance, she could hear people shouting and a sound like rumbling thunder or a train roaring by.

Gyllian was scared, unsure of where she was or why she was there.

Suddenly, she remembered. “Mama! Myriam!” Where were they? Where had she seen them last?

The memory hit her like a blast. “No, no no no…“, she shouted. “No. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.”

“I’m afraid it is.“ A voice behind her spoke. “It’s all much too real.”

Gyllian turned and, in the faint light, saw a man, an oldish man, very dirty and grizzled. And skinny.

Afraid to speak, she felt as if she’d swallowed her tongue.

“You get used to it,” the man said with faint bemusement on his face.

Gyllian found her voice and asked, very shakily, “What is this? Where is this? Should I be scared?”

“If you have any sense, you’ll be scared. This isn’t anywhere you’d ever have wanted to be. Can’t you smell it? It’s everywhere.”

“I do smell something horrible,” Gyllian agreed. “What is it?”

“Mostly death. Death and terror. Some sort of life, but it’s not hospitable at all. The people or the environment.”

Not wanting to probe, but needing to know, she asked the man, “Who are you?”

He stared at Gyllian, seeming to contemplate exactly who he was. “I’m just a settler. And now, so are you. They found you after the Purge and brought you with them.”

“Who found me? What?”

“The scouting party most likely. They were going out every day, driving until sundown looking for survivors. You were lucky, especially being female. They want females.”

Gyllian squinted at him in a sort of shock.

“They don’t go out any more,” he added. “They say it’s too dangerous. But I know they know something they’re keeping from us.”

“Who’s us?” Gyllian asked.

“Like I said. Survivors. The ones in good enough shape. They put the rest out of their misery I imagine. There were some monstrous impacts on the human body when the world shut down.”

“Shut down?” Gyllian contemplated the statement silently. Remembering her situation, she felt the tears welling behind her eyes and in her throat. “I need to get out of here; I need to find my family.”

“If there were anybody else, they’d be here. Or dead. You were alone when they brought you in.”

“No. I don’t care. I need to search. They’d be looking for me.”

“Your father said you’d react this way.”

“My father? What? Who are you? Where is he?”

“Wherever he is, if he’s alive, I hope he’s suffering.”

Unable to believe any of what had just been told her, Gyllian fell silent.

“This is all his responsibility, his and the rest of the Leaders.”

When she could speak, she queried through what were now sobs, “Why? I don’t understand any of this. Who ARE you? And how do you know my father?”

The man shook his head as if to say “No”, and replied, “It doesn’t matter. None of it. But your father was living a life none of you knew about. He was second in command to the Prime Leader. He may still be. But they’re a world away from here, if they’re still alive.”

He held out a dirty cloth. “You’re still bleeding, but you’ll be OK. You need rest. I’ll be back later.”

With that, he stood up and walked out into the rancid, filthy air.

She had lost a fair bit of blood, obviously, and the ‘shed’ began to spin around her.

As determined as Gyllian was to get out and search for her family, the stress and shock overcame her and she slipped into unconsciousness.

In a fevered dream, the horror descended upon her again: Mama and Myriam just disappearing, the cataclysmic shaking, the chasm that opened below her. And the man, he was there, too. She thought he looked like someone familiar, someone from her childhood, but the thoughts were swirling too quickly to align into any semblance of sense. Somewhere in the distance, she remembered hearing voices, shouting, screaming. Suddenly, her father stepped into the dream. He looked at her and, gesturing, ordered the men with him to pick her up. “Put her with the others for now.” But his voice was mechanical, distant and he seemed miles away.

Gyllian awoke with a start. The dream had taken her back to years ago when she heard a tale about the World’s end and how it would come about. Her father had read it to her. Elsewhere in the world, the Leaders allied in the belief that what they had hoped to form, a global autocracy, wouldn’t sufficiently serve their purposes. There were too many people, too many mouths, too many competing interests to allow them the hegemony they sought in their different countries. Determined to rid themselves of any extraneous humanity, they had plotted near extinction together. What impacted them negatively, what stood in their way had to be destroyed. She remembered reading somewhere, “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

At the time, it was a horror story to her and she was glad it was just fiction. Now, she wasn’t so sure. It may have been hazy, but it seemed so real. Her father’s voice, the mental picture she had constructed in in her mind of a world with no one but Leaders. She had been too young to parse the tale, but it had burrowed deep into her subconscious.

“And now it’s happening,” she gasped.

She would see the man occasionally when she finally was able to leave her confined cubicle. Immediately she was indoctrinated into the rules of the Settlement and ordered into a lowly job with the Garden Detail. The days were long, the night – when she went over so much horror in her mind – even longer. The years seemed to limp uneventfully along, and Gyllian lost track of how many it had been. She couldn’t sleep more than an hour or two, and she dragged herself, in hopelessness, through the day.

“I know you,” Gyllian shouted to the man from her garden station. He glanced in her direction and indicated his agreement. “Not just from before. But from years ago.”

Her fellow laborers stopped what they were doing to listen. It was unheard of to raise a voice at the Command. But Gyllian persisted.

The man left the group as the rest walked on to the Command Center.

Gyllian feared his reaction, but she had to know the truth. When he was near enough, Gyllian pointed at him. “Your name is Joseph Steingard. You came to dinner one time my father was home. I remember it was after that I found the guns. I thought it was just in my dream, but it all actually happened.”

With annoyance, the man shushed her. “Not here. I’ll arrange a permit so you can leave the confine for my quarters. We can talk then.”

That evening, as Gyllian was nursing her blistered palms, a cadet delivered the permit and directions on where to meet. He lingered until she asked what he wanted.

“You can’t be unescorted outside curfew. You know you’ll be quartered. Or terminated.”

Gyllian hadn’t been certain but suspected this was the fate of any who dared digress from regular conduct.

“I can’t protect you. Your insolence won’t be tolerated,” the man told her when she arrived in his quarters. “Your father’s name can only afford you so much liberty. After that, I’m powerless.”

Gyllian was not to be deterred. “Tell me it’s true.”

“What’s true?”

“That I remember you from years ago. That you and my father know each other.”

“Knew”, he replied. “Your father long ago departed from my side.”

“What side?” she demanded.

“Let’s just say he left for the dark side. They’re autocrats intent on destroying what remains of resistance and establishing a new world order where only they can govern. With most of humanity destroyed in the Purge, they see a future where only they and their descendants will live. They broke away from the Shield to form individual autocracies throughout the world.”

“The Shield?” Gyllian repeated. “That sounds ridiculous.”

“It was the only hope we had. It still is, though our chances of reclaiming it are slim to none.”

The obscurity of the man’s explanation left her confused. And angry.

“Your name is Joseph. Joseph Steingard. My father called you a ‘citizen of the world’. And he left with you. We only saw him a few times after that. And he was different then, kind of mean.”

“Yes, my name is Joseph Steingard. Or was until Phase One of The Purge. Those of us who were trying to save - well, humanity - were hunted and killed. No imprisonment or trial. Death. A few of us were able to contact dissidents in Geneva, who arranged for our escape.”

“Where’s my father now?” was Gyllian’s response.

“With them. The Purge Perogative. Though, like I said, he may not still be alive.”

Gyllian knew it would take a long time to absorb, and make sense of, this information. It sounded insane. It sounded like the book she remembered her father reading to her. Myriam was too scared to listen to the whole narrative, plugging her ears and hiding under the covers.

“Where are they? The Purge and my father?”

“They could be anywhere now. They’ve been making their way across the globe bringing about societal extinction. We may be isolated here, and it’s believed there’s no contact beyond the Settlement, but we have enough intelligence and capability to filter some information through the few satellites that haven’t been disabled.”

It was a nightmare. It was too ludicrous and sinister to be real, Gyllian told herself. She tried not to think of Mama and Myriam, but wondered if Mama had known about her father’s involvement. When had he first become a part of The Purge? For how much destruction and death was he responsible?

Joseph’s voice intruded on her thoughts, anticipating her next query. “We’re fairly safe here, though we don’t know exactly how many Settlements have remained. Or if any others are out there. We may be the last survivors.”

With that, Gyllian ran from the quarters and back to her cubicle, the Cadet racing after her shouting “Halt. Halt.”

It had been weeks since she met with Joseph. Gyllian hadn’t seen him again, and wondered about her safety if he were suddenly gone. Life in The Settlement seemed more tense, more intense. The Cadets and Worker Parties appeared on edge. The work was suffering as a result. Gyllian did her best to tend to her chores but, like the others, she could feel a heightened anxiety and apprehension in what air there was.

She kept to herself, not wanting to discuss what she knew with the others, and not trusting herself to stay quiet. She hadn’t been told as such, but she knew her welfare depended on her silence.

The Garden Detail had finished what little food they were offered for last meal of the day. They were a haggard, near skeletal group now. Between long hours of toil and scant provisions, like everyone else, Gyllian guessed she had lost half her body weight. She thought grimly how such loss would have been welcomed before her world had been obliterated.

She was about to settle for the night, another night of little sleep, when she heard her name called. It sounded like Joseph. Knowing she was risking apprehension, Gyllian moved to the cubicle entrance. There, Joseph was holding his index finger to his lips.

“He’s coming.”

“What? Who?”

“Your father. He’s a day ahead of The Purge and heading this way.”

“That’s good,” Gyllian thought aloud.

“Maybe, but I’m inclined to disagree.”

“Why? Why is he coming?” she barely whispered, realizing her voice could carry to the Cadet hut.

“No doubt for the same reason The Purge makes its way anywhere. This seems to mean that this is one of, if not the, last Settlement left standing.”

“And they intend to destroy it. Destroy us?” She felt sick.

Joseph replied, his brow furrowed. For the first time Gyllian thought she could see fear in his eyes. “Unless your father has any idea you’re here and wants you spared, yes, I imagine that is the plan.”

“Of course he wants me spared. He’s my father. He’s supposed to care about me.”

“Just stay alert.” Joseph spoke in a tone she’d never heard before. “And be careful. Don’t leave the cubicle.”

“But what about chores tomorrow?”

“Do your best to be invisible,” were Joseph’s last words, before crawling away.

For days after their encounter, Gyllian wrestled with her memories of her father. Yes, he was gone a lot and, yes, when he was home he wasn’t much interested in his daughters. And it was all too obvious that her parents didn’t get along. Maybe he had stayed away from them because he didn’t want a family or any obligation. Maybe his work really did keep him away. But Gyllian was alarmed by Joseph’s opinion of her father, and his information about his clandestine involvements.

How long had it been since she’d seen him? It had to be going on ten years. Despite what she was beginning to believe about him, she felt somewhat guilty that she, Myriam and her mother likely never made him feel welcome. He was little more than an outsider intruding on their lives and routines.

Gyllian was often reminded of his bad temper, and the opinions he would callously express that were, she knew, decidedly bigoted and unfair. And he was vocal about his beliefs, most of which the rest of his family rejected.

Her mind kept the story he had read to her firmly in her ponderings and she would go over its details again and again. But, try as she might, she couldn’t recreate the outcome at the end of the tale. It was shrouded in the mists of memory. It alarmed her that, whenever she tried, she would feel unsettled, as if she were being weighed down by something she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but which felt troubling.

It was as if she didn’t want to remember how the story ended.

Gyllian was jolted awake by a loud noise. Perhaps it had been part of the nightmare she seemed to have most nights. She tensed, and strained to hear if it happened again, but it was quiet. Believing it to be her imagination, she began to settle back to sleep.

The second time she heard it, she knew she was wide awake. It sounded like the Quarry Team was blasting but more distant. Something was not right.

Then a noise she hadn’t heard in years began sounding. It was high-pitched and sharp, and it continued to blare for – she lost count of how many minutes.

It was that siren, the one that had terrified her and Miriyam the day of The Great Purge, the noise that accompanied her losing the two people she loved so dearly.

Her stomach churning and heart beating loudly, Gyllian edged toward the doorway. She cracked the door wide enough to scan the view outside her cubicle and a bit beyond. There was mayhem. A cadre of cadets, at least 100, were running, dressing themselves as they moved while trying to secure their automatic rifles. Gyllian recognized the gun as similar to those her father had stored away but, now, she knew these weapons were many times more lethal. Cruel and lethal. They didn’t just spray bullets; they sprayed a type of gas similar to sarin, but with a wider reach.

The sound of churning wheels to the left caught her attention and she watched a convoy of what tanks had been salvaged after The Great Purge assembling into what could only be battle formation. She heard what surely must be screams coming from beyond the front cordons. It was like hundreds of cries rising to a hysterical crescendo, then fading to a loud murmur, almost plaintive. There was a taint to the usually foul-smelling air that she didn’t recognize but understood immediately to be noxious. Gyllian quickly recoiled and fell backwards onto the cubicle command desk.

Everything seemed to stand still, propped by the incessant shouts and opaque air. Gyllian thought frantically, “Where can I go?” She knew going out into the melée would risk her safety, perhaps her life. Yet she couldn’t stay where she was. That she knew.

“Joseph.” This was what he had meant. The Great Purge was closing in on them. She hesitated only a few seconds before running from the cubicle in the direction of the Command quarters. She dropped to her knees as something flew past her head, rising only after she quickly surveyed everything happening around her.

It was madness, like an insane abstract painting. Screaming, running, swearing, the Settlers were streaming from their cubicles in frenzied panic. Gyllian wanted to tell everyone to stop and wait until they’d been told by Command what was happening and what to do, but it was clear it was far too late for that guidance.

When she reached the Command, she was perplexed to see the entrance door had been shattered. She climbed over the remnants and yelled at the top of her lungs. “Joseph! Joseph!” Silence from within the cavernous building. “Joseph!” she tried again. “What’s happening? Does this mean my father is coming?”

She hated him now. Her father. As much as she had blamed him for the dysfunction in their family, for well nigh abandoning his children to pursue power, she had always retained vestiges of filial love. Could a daughter viscerally hate her own father? Gyllian had believed it impossible but, now, she felt nothing but an abhorrence and loathing. Moreover, she felt betrayed.

The noise outside Command grew louder by the second and she heard what sounded like glass shattering amid what was becoming a hellscape.

“Get out!” The order sent shivers through her body. She turned to see a very young cadet motioning her toward the door. He looked sick and his voice was shaking, as was the weapon in his arms. Gyllian had never seen anything like it and realized this youngster was not one of the Settlers.

She ran toward the back of the quarter, pushing aside everything in her path. At the end of a dank corridor she saw a light and felt the atmosphere around her turn to a muddy fog. Forging through the oppressive and tainted air, Gyllian reached the opening. She was panting heavily from both her exertion and the stench of the passageway. “Joseph!”

This time she heard him. “Run!” A muffled sound followed. An agonized scream, then silence.

Gyllian didn’t care about her safety. She needed to know what was happening. Why had she been spared when the rest of her family disappeared? Was it all for this? To be killed in an invasion of the autonomic and filthy world she had inhabited for years? She had to follow through and find out, ignoring the fear that gripped her throat.

All but collapsing at the lighted doorway, Gyllian staggered through the opening and, as she felt her blood pooling at the back of her neck, knew she was about to lose consciousness.

She was a child, tucked into her bed with Gordon, the stuffed sheep, in her arms. Her father sat at the side of her bed, reading from a dog-eared storybook. Her first thought was that, despite what he had told her, it didn’t look anything like her other books. His voice was strangely monotonic and, after every few sentences, he would look up at her. The first two times he’d done that, she smiled at him. But it felt wrong. He didn’t deserve her smiles. She felt so many emotions towards him at that moment, but she didn’t trust him.

“You don’t seem happy I’m here,” he said. “Aren’t you glad I’ve come? Don’t you like how the story ends?”

“It’s scary,” she answered. “You’re scary.”

His response shook her. He began to laugh, throwing his head back, then peering down at her from behind his dark glasses. “I’m not scary. I’m here, aren’t I?”

She didn’t know how to respond, but shook her head in agreement.

Then she heard herself scream as her body was lifted from the floor by two sets of hands.

A wave of nausea passed through her entire body as she tried to right herself in a hard chair.

“I don’t know what to say,” she heard herself. She was only a child. Why was he talking to her like this?

“You’re acting like a baby,” he said. “Is that how you’d behave if you were in the story when the end comes?”

Gyllian’s eyes filled with tears and she felt the familiar pain of loneliness take her. She was sobbing. She heard his voice, laced with disgust, as if it were contained in a box far away.

When he began to laugh, it all felt so familiar. It all felt like she remembered…and fear gripped her as she raised her head to look at the elderly man sitting behind the desk in front of her.

“Daddy?”