That was when the phone began to ring.
The sound was a thunderclap in the dead quiet. John jumped, his heart instantly hammering against his ribs. He stared at the black plastic casing of the rotary phone. It rang again. A loud, mechanical, double-bell strike that vibrated through the stone wall.
He walked over slowly, his hand shaking violently as he lifted the heavy receiver.
"Hello?"
"John? Oh my God, John, is that you?"
The voice was an instant, overwhelming anchor. His sister. Relief flooded his throat, bringing him to tears. "Sarah? Sarah, where am I? What's happening?"
"John, you've been gone for three days! We've been looking everywhere. The police... oh God, John, they arrested you. You don't remember? They say you killed her. They say you killed Anna."
The name Anna vibrated in his chest, triggering a violent surge of static in his brain. A phantom image of a smiling woman flashed in his mind, but it was instantly blurry, drowned out by a high-pitched whine in his ears.
"What? Sarah, that's crazy," John stammered, gripping the cord. "I didn't... I could never do that. I love her. Sarah, you have to help me, the people hereâ"
"I know, John. I know that's not you," her voice cut in, frantic but strangely rhythmic. "You don't have it in you. Hang in there, we are doing everything we can to help you. I'm hiring the best lawyer I can find. I'll get you out of there."
"I'm scared, Sarah. This place isn't right."
"John, listen to me. We will get through this. I'm here for you. I'll call you back once I know more."
The line went dead with a sharp, heavy click. John stood frozen, holding the empty shell of the receiver to his ear, listening to the vast, hollow silence of the dead wire.
Killed his wife? No. It was a mistake. A horrific bureaucratic error.
He slumped onto the floor, the fluorescent lights buzzing louder overhead, vibrating through the soles of his feet. His eyelids grew impossibly heavy, a residual effect of the black sludge coursing through his veins. His body went entirely slackâragdolled on his sideâand he slipped into a heavy, suffocating sleep.
When John woke, the phone was already ringing. The mechanical bells cut through his skull like a rusty blade. He scrambled up from the cold concrete, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated, and ripped the receiver from its cradle.
"Sarah? Sarah, talk to me!"
"Where have you been?!" her voice exploded through the line. It was frantic, breathless, loud enough to distort the tiny speaker.
"What do you mean?" John mumbled, wiping a dry crust of black fluid from the corner of his mouth. "I was just sleeping. I just laid down for a little bit."
"A little bit? John, I have been calling this number for two days straight!" She took a sharp, trembling breath that sounded oddly harsh, like tearing paper. "The lawyer says it's bad. No one can place your whereabouts on the night she died. He was telling meâ"
As her voice rattled on, John's focus drifted. The buzzing from the fluorescent lights overhead was changing. The steady, electric hum was beginning to cadence, separating into distinct, rhythmic vibrations. If he listened closely enough, the current seemed to be translating the noise into words, whispering directly into his ears:
She's not real, John. Admit it.
The lights spiked, growing blindingly bright, stabbing into his retinas. Simultaneously, a violent, cavernous ache hit his stomach. It wasn't standard hunger. It was a vicious, cellular withdrawalâa localized panic in his blood demanding the black sludge. His body began to shake, cold sweat slicking his palms.
Right on cue, a loud clack echoed from the bottom of the door. The steel slot popped open. A fresh white bowl of black gel slid through.
"John? Are you even listening to me?" Sarah's voice sounded metallic, annoyed, drifting far away.
"Yeah. I gotta go," John whispered, his eyes locked onto the bowl. He slammed the receiver down, cutting her off mid-sentence.
He didn't walk to the tray; he crawled. He lunged for the bowl, scooping the thick, dark tar into his mouth with his bare fingers, tracking black streaks across his face. The soothing numbness flooded his system instantly. The shaking stopped. The cold faded. The terrifying confusion evaporated into a beautiful, foggy haze.
He leaned his back against the steel door, a blissful smile spreading across his lips. The cell didn't feel like a prison anymore; it felt like a womb. It was safe. It was quiet. He didn't want to leave. Why would he want to leave a place that gave him this perfect, absolute peace?
But overhead, the lights wouldn't stop. The whisper was no longer a murmur; it was an amplifying broadcast bouncing off the concrete walls:
She's not real, John. Admit it. She's not real. Admit it.
"Stop it! Stop it!" he screamed, clamping his hands over his ears.
The noise abruptly vanished, plunging him back into a dead, suffocating silence. He sat alone in the center of the floor, his mind desperately grasping for an explanation.