The Fiery Heart

“Do you know where you are?” the voice asked.

I had to swallow a few times before my tongue would form words again. “Being held by a bunch of sick voyeurs who get their kicks out of locking up a naked girl?”

“You’re the one who’s sick, Sydney.” The voice had no emotion whatsoever. “The darkness that surrounds you is nothing compared to the darkness that’s defiled your soul. We’re here to help you expel it.”

“I don’t suppose you could help me to clothes and a blanket?”

“You’re being reborn into the world, cold and naked, given a new chance to save yourself.”

I rested my head on my knees again and didn’t reply. They could dress it up with as many metaphors as they wanted, but I was perfectly aware that this sort of deprivation was a psychological technique to try to crack me. The voice’s next words confirmed as much.

“The more cooperative you are in your salvation, the more comfortable we’ll make your stay.”

As though on cue, my stomach rumbled, again making me wonder how much time had passed. “Keep your comfort. I don’t need to be saved.”

“Everything you came in with has been destroyed, with one exception. It’s a sign of our goodwill. We aren’t doing this to be cruel. We want to help you.”

I stayed silent.

“The item is in your cell if you want it,” the voice added.

It was already starting: the Alchemist’s mind games. I hadn’t known what to expect from re-education. The reason it was kept so shrouded in mystery was undoubtedly to inspire fear. Mental and physical torture seemed like obvious conclusions, though. If you wanted to remold people, you had to break them down first.

The voice didn’t say anything else, and I vowed not to play into this ploy. And yet, the longer I sat there, the more curious I became. What item were they trying to tempt me with? If there really was one. I knew I shouldn’t indulge them. I knew defiance was the best course. But that curiosity continued to gnaw at me, and I really didn’t know what else was in this room. Exploration wouldn’t hurt.

I stood up, surprised to find how weak my legs were. I felt a little light-headed, but in the darkness, I at least had no sense of the room spinning. Cautiously, I moved forward, hands outstretched. It didn’t take me long to hit a wall. The surface was as cold as everything else in here, but the texture was smoother, with lines etched into it as though they were bricks or tiles. Compartments for the speakers and cameras?

My survey was brief. The cell appeared to be about twelve by eight feet. There was no obvious door. A small toilet and sink sat openly in a corner, no doubt meant to increase the humiliation of this experiment. Groping around, I managed to turn on the faucet. The water that came out was one step away from ice, but it didn’t smell or taste strange, and I cupped some in my hands to drink, suddenly feeling parched. Near the sink, embedded in the wall, was a small hand-soap dispenser that smelled antiseptic. I nearly smiled. Even amid prisons and torture, the Alchemists had to maintain their hygienic standards.

When I found nothing else, I returned to my original spot on the floor. “Well played,” I said. “I guess you got me.”

Nothing. After several seconds, I had the idea to start feeling around on the floor. I knew they were watching and I had to push my self-consciousness away as I crawled around, running my hands over every rough inch. In the end, though, the only thing it yielded me was painful knees.

“There’s nothing here,” I said. “Hope you at least enjoyed the show. I’ve been working out.”

Brilliant light suddenly flared before me, and after all that blackness, I cried out and covered my eyes from the shock of it.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” the voice asked. “After living in darkness, it’s hard to return to the light.”

It took a long time for me to adjust. Even when I was able to remove my hands, I still had to squint. I peered ahead of me and saw that the light was coming from a square in the wall. As I’d suspected, there seemed to be several compartments embedded within the wall. This one’s surface was made of glass, allowing me to look inside. It was small but still large enough to hold those blinding lights—

—and Adrian’s cross.

The defiance I’d tried to maintain started to crumble, and I quickly caught myself, knowing I couldn’t show my feelings on my face. Nonetheless, I couldn’t hold back from trailing my fingertips along the glass surface as I stared achingly at the cross. They hadn’t done anything to it. The small wooden cross was exactly the same, painted with delicate blue morning glories, strung onto its fine chain.

“You have no right to wear such a holy symbol,” the voice said. “But we took it as an optimistic sign that you even carry an item like this at all. It tells us that no matter how far you’ve fallen, how corrupted you’ve become, some part of you longs to return to purity and the righteous path.”

“I’m already on that path,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the cross. “I’ve been on it for a long time.”

“No. You’ve strayed from it and debased yourself. You’ve become enmeshed in an unholy, twisted world that runs contrary to all the rules of nature and salvation. When you can admit that, when you can confess your sins, you may have your cross back.”

My hand, still pressed on the glass, twitched with the need to touch the cross, to have some piece of Adrian to cling to. The coldness that still tormented me momentarily lost its hold as thoughts of him flooded my mind and heart. Adrian, with his easy smile and his breathtaking green eyes. Adrian, his arms holding me tight and keeping me close to his heart. Adrian, fighting through the torment within him to do the right thing. Adrian, with his unfailing faith in me.

If I could have the cross, if I could have that connection . . . then surely the obstacles and distance between us would mean nothing. Surely I could endure whatever torturous challenges they threw at me.

This is one of them, I realized. This carrot they’re holding out. They wanted me to take the cross. If I gave in, if I acknowledged their accusations, I wouldn’t be closer to Adrian. No matter how much I wanted the cross, accepting it would mean I was going against him, turning my back on all I’d worked so hard for. Slowly, painfully, I withdrew my hand and clenched it into a fist. I needed no physical object to remind me of his love. I already carried it in my heart, and it would be enough to get through this.

“I have nothing to confess,” I said through gritted teeth.

“You have everything to confess,” said the voice. “But you only need to start small. Take one step on the path to redemption. Say, ‘I have sinned against my own kind and let my soul become corrupted. I am ready to have the darkness purged.’ Say those words, and things will become much easier for you. You can have your cross. You can have a blanket. You can have food. One way or another, we will purge that darkness, but if you are uncooperative, you will find the methods we must sadly resort to will be . . . unpleasant.”

A bubble of fear rose in me, and I staunchly pushed it down. I gave the cross one last, hungry look and tried to focus not on the object itself but the love in Adrian’s eyes when he’d given it to me. I turned away and walked to the other side of the room.

“I have nothing to confess,” I repeated.

“Then you leave us no choice,” said the voice. “That disappoints us and makes us very, very sad.”

The light went out in the box, plunging the cross—and me—into darkness. My head started to feel fuzzy, and I realized they were somehow getting that drug into my system again, dragging me back into a dreamless world. Had it been the water?

One way or another, we will purge that darkness, but if you are uncooperative, you will find the methods we must sadly resort to will be . . . unpleasant.

“All right,” I managed to say, just before I crumpled to the floor. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”