Chance pressed forward. “The dark will take us down these halls counter-clockwise as the ritual wisely guides us. Light would break this dark wisdom and leave it lifeless.” Strep followed him, mumbling about flashlights.
“Come on.” Fiona took Dane’s hand and pulled him along. “What’s a few extra steps?” He followed grudgingly, but kept a warm grip on her hand.
This route was longer and would bring them to the back of the Sanctuary, where they would emerge as the pastor did every Sunday, from behind the altar. Following Chance and Strep, Fiona pulled Dane forward into the dark and through the halls, bearing always to the left—counter-clockwise as the ritual demanded, though no one but Chance knew why. Fiona wondered if maybe they were rewinding the clock, moving back to the time before God was captured by the light, but then it struck her, as they rounded the last corner, that maybe this was the route Chance followed through the halls of the building that was trapped inside him, the building with a thousand rooms full of all those confusing voices. At the end of the hall, a dim light flickered through the open door of the Sanctuary. Dane’s hand slipped from hers, as he moved to join his brother. Maybe they were only trying to unwind the clock to the time before the voices started to speak and if they reached that dim light there and completed this ritual, Chance would find the relief the medicine didn’t give him.
|this one's for the Th. Bastard|