Dead Streets

THIRTEEN

A bell tinkled as we opened the door and again when we closed it. The front room was filled with wooden shelves crammed with books, signs hanging down from the ceiling with section names painted on them to direct customers to the areas they were interested in. Self Help was directly next to Self Mutilation, and Dark Arts was followed by Darker, Darkest and Pitch Black Arts. As we walked up to the counter some of the titles that leaped out at me were The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Necronomicon, Stabbing for Dummies, The Beginner's Book of Bodysnatching, A Child's Garden of Curses, Shapeshifting for Fun and Profit, and Death: A Life.

There were a couple customers browsing the stacks. One was an elderly Arcane woman who, judging by the pile of books in her arms, was big into the culinary arts, especially cooking with children. The other was a small rotund man without eyelids who I recognized as the Insomnimaniac. I'd seen him in here before and out on the street a few times, but we'd never formally met, so I wasn't too worried he'd recognize me, but I made sure to keep my face turned away from him as we walked by, just in case. I felt a certain kinship with the man. I hadn't slept since I died and I'd often come here to buy books to give me something to read to pass the time when I wasn't working.

The counter held an old fashioned cash register and a desk bell to ring for service. Behind the counter was a closed door leading to a back room of some sort. A stock room or maybe a private office, I guessed. Since no one manned the counterI tapped the bell, received a clear ding for my effort, and then Devona and I waited. It didn't take long.

Scuttling sounds came from numerous directions as small sleek black shapes rushed toward the counter from throughout the store. The rats – or rather pieces of darkness shaped like rats – scurried behind the counter and merged to form a single shadowy mass that grew as it reshaped itself into humanoid form. A second later a grotesque looking Bloodborn male stood before us. Cadaverously thin, bald, with pointed ears, narrow rat-like features and a pair of needlesharp incisors jutting down from his upper jaw. He was dressed in a black great coat that hung awkwardly on his spindly frame. He rested long talon-like fingers on top of the counter and gave us what I assumed was supposed to be a welcoming smile, but which looked more like a grimace of pain.

"How may I serve you?" His voice was little more than a whisper and his accent was thick. It was clearly of eastern European origin, but it contained hints of other regions I couldn't place. That wasn't uncommon among the Bloodborn since so many of them were at least centuries old and had lived in many countries on Earth before relocating to Nekropolis, but there was something about this vampire's voice that spoke of great age, almost as if he were speaking with the voice of Time itself.

As I said, Devona and I had both bought books here before and we'd been waited on by Orlock every time. If he had any employees I'd never seen them. But the vampire gave no sign that he recognized us. He just stood there behind the counter, smiling that unsettling smile of his, patiently waiting for us to tell him what we wanted.

"We're interested in learning about rare magical artifacts," I said.

"I see. I have a section on magic items that contains a number of thorough examinations of the subject. If you come with me, I'll be happy to take you there."

A shadowy cast came over Orlock's features and I knew he was about to separate into the components of his travel form to escort us to the section in question. I held up a hand to stop him and the shadowy aspect vanished, leaving his features clear once more.

"Is there something more?" he asked. His tone remained professionally pleasant, but his beady rat eyes narrowed with the first hint of suspicion.

"We're not so much interested in reading about artifacts," I said, "as much as we are in selling them."

Orlock hesitated a few seconds before responding, his eyes narrowing even further, as if appraising us.

"I have several books in stock that deal with the basic fundamentals of buying and selling, but none that specifically focuses on trading in magical objects per se."

I held Orlock's gaze with my own as I spoke. "As I said we're not interested in reading about the subject."

Orlock arched a thin eyebrow at this.

"Pardon my presumptuousness," he said, "but why come to a bookstore if you're not interested in reading?"

I felt a pressure begin to build behind my eyes and I realized that Orlock was trying to probe my mind. I was surprised since usually half-vampires like Devona are the more psychically gifted among the Bloodborn. But almost as soon as it started I felt the pressure ease and I knew that Devona was running interference for me, blocking Orlock's mental probe with her own psychic powers.

Orlock realized it too, for his gaze flicked to Devona and he pursed his lips in irritation. He then turned his attention back to me.

"I'm sorry but I'm afraid I can't help you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a great deal of cataloguing to do in the back room."

He began to go shadowy on us again and this time I reached across the counter and grabbed hold of his right wrist to stop him.

"Let's cut the crap, Orlock," I said softly, so none of the other customers would overhear. "We know what your real business is, and unless you agree to talk with us in private, we'll tell the Adjudicators everything we know."

Orlock looked at me for a long moment, and though I no longer possessed the sensory apparatus to feel temperature, I swear the room seemed to get colder by several degrees.

"An empty threat coming from someone the Adjudicators would dearly love to find," Orlock said through gritted teeth.

So the vampire had recognized me. I wasn't worried that he'd turn us over to the authorities, though. If what David had told us about Orlock was true he had his own reasons for not wanting anything to do with the Adjudicators.

Without another word Orlock gestured for us to come around the counter. Then he turned, removed a key from his coat pocket, unlocked the door and – moving with an awkward, jerking motions that put me in mind of a scuttling crab – he entered the room beyond.

Devona and I exchanged glances.

A trap? she asked telepathically.

In Nekropolis? What are the odds?

She grinned at me and we followed after Orlock. Once we were inside the vampire closed and locked the door behind us.

The back room turned out to be a private office and a cozy one at that. A trio of comfortable chairs, Persian rug over a wooden floor, round table with a teacup and saucer resting on top of it, though instead of tea, the cup held a bit of reddish liquid at the bottom. And bookshelves, of course, though these were made of highly polished oak and contained one leather bound volume after another. Orlock's private stock, I assumed.

Orlock sat at the table and gestured for Devona and I to sit in the two remaining chairs. I preferred to stand – easier to fight that way – but Bloodborn, especially older ones, can be rigid when it comes to matters of etiquette, so we did as Orlock wanted and sat.

At first Orlock didn't say anything. He just folded his spiderish fingers together over his skeletally thin chest and looked at us. When he did finally speak his voice held a hint of amusement.

"Did you really think your pathetic disguises would fool me? Even if you weren't a well known personality around town, I'd have recognized you, Matthew Richter. You too, Devona Kanti. I remember the names and faces of everyone I've ever done business with, even if it was only a single transaction."

He reached out to pick up his teacup then and drained the remaining dregs of liquid.

Devona licked her lips as we watched Orlock finish his drink and I realized it had been a while since she'd fed on real blood instead of settling for aqua sanguis. I sometimes forget that while she's only half-vampire, that half needs nourishment the same as any other Bloodborn. I try not to let her dietary needs bother me, though. After all, we monsters need to stick together.

Orlock put his empty cup down on the saucer then sat back in his chair, hands once more interlocked on his chest.

"So tell me why you're here," he said. "I admit that I'm extremely curious why a fugitive from justice would choose to interrupt his flight from the authorities to visit a used bookstore."

"I suppose I could tell you that even fugitives need something to read, but the truth is I need your help. Are you aware of the reward the First Adjudicator is offering for my capture?"

Orlock looked at me as if I'd just insulted him.

I went on. "All right then. In that case, then you know the basics of the crime I was arrested for."

"Yes. You stole something from Lord Edrigu." He suddenly brightened. "Don't tell me you've come here looking to sell the object!"

"I'm not going to tell you that because I didn't steal it." I paused. "Well, my head didn't."

Orlock just looked at me.

"It's complicated. The point is I didn't steal the object, so I don't have it. The reason we've come to see you is that I intend to discover who actually committed the crime so I can clear my name. But to do that I need to know more about the object that was stolen from Lord Edrigu. It was a flute carved from bone that he wore around his neck."

Orlock's only reaction to the object's description was a slight narrowing of his gaze.

"Interesting," he said softly. But he added no more.

"We came to you because you have a reputation for being a collector," Devona said. "We know you sometimes hire people to acquire certain items for you. Supposedly you're not too fussy about how you obtain them, either."

"And you believe I may be able to provide information on this flute for you?" Orlock asked. "Or is it more than that? Do you suspect me of engineering the theft?"

"The thought had occurred to me," I admitted. "But to be honest at this point we have no more reason to suspect you than anyone else in town. And since you're the only lead we have at the moment, I suppose we'll just have to trust that you had nothing to do with the theft."

"Because you have no choice," Orlock said.

"That's about the size of it."

The vampire looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I'm a businessman, not an altruist. If I agree to help you, how will I be compensated?"

"It depends," Devona said. "What would you want?"

Orlock considered. "Your services in the future, free of charge. There are a number of artifacts that I haven't been able to acquire over the years for one reason or another. The two of you might be able to succeed in obtaining them for me where others have failed."

" One artifact," I said. "And we'll reserve the right to choose which one we'll go after."

Orlock smiled. "Done!" He briskly rubbed his talons together in satisfaction. "Now, down to business." He grinned. "And I do mean down ."

He reached beneath the table, pushed a hidden switch, and the floor began to descend. Devona and I gripped the arms of our chairs out of reflex but the descent was slow and smooth. A wooden panel slid into place above us to seal off Orlock's office and fluorescent lights affixed to its underside turned on to provide illumination as we continued dropping.

The floor descended about thirty feet before coming to a gentle stop. Devona and I looked around and saw only darkness. I remembered Devona's concern that we might be walking into some kind of trap and I steeled myself for an attack. But a moment later Orlock said, "Forgive me. I tend to forget that not all my visitors can see as well in the dark as I can."

He gestured with one of his clawed hands and more fluorescent light panels activated, revealing a corridor that extended off to the left.

"Please follow me."

Orlock rose and, moving with his crab-like walk, started down the corridor. Devona and I of course followed. It was why we'd come here, after all.

The corridor wasn't a long one and we soon found ourselves standing in a large open chamber I estimated to be at least the size of a football field, ceiling thirty feet above us, covered in fluorescent light panels that clearly illuminated every part of the chamber. Devona and I stood there for a moment, staring in amazement. For most of her adult life, Devona had served as caretaker of Lord Galm's collection of magical artifacts. I'd seen his collection and I'd been impressed, but Galm had nothing on Orlock. His chamber was packed full of items ranging in size from the three-masted sailing ship with the name Flying Dutchman painted on the side in faded letters to a round crystalline pedestal with a seemingly empty clear dome on top. A metal plate affixed to the pedestal proclaimed the dome as containing the Incredible Shrinking Man. There were hundreds of items surrounding us, from large to small, each more exotic and bizarre than the last. Rosemary's Baby's crib, the Darkwand of Manticore, Dr. Jekyll's first chemistry set, the Ark of Desecration, the Phantom of the Opera's original score for Don Juan Triumphant, two of the Headless Horseman's spare heads, a half dozen dried and preserved triffids and so many more.

While many of Orlock's displays were physical objects a number of his displays resembled exhibits that seemed more appropriate for a wax museum: men, women and creatures in frozen poses sealed within large domes of clear crystal, like that containing the Incredible Shrinking man, but on a larger scale. According to their plaques the domes nearest us contained the Seven Golden Vampires, Grendel and his mother, the Aztec Mummy, several devil bats and a pack of killer shrews. I knew without asking that these weren't wax recreations bur rather the real thing, held in stasis by some sort of enchantment or advanced technology and there were a lot of them in Orlock's collection and when I gave Devona a look and thought We'd better watch ourselves, she gave me a look back which said she agreed.

Devona turned to Orlock then, and though I knew like me she felt misgivings about the collection, she concealed them well as she said, "This is amazing! It puts my father's collection to shame! In fact, if all the Darklords' combined their separate collections, I'd doubt the result would rival yours."

Orlock bowed. "Your words do me great honor. Thank you."

As the ancient Bloodborn straightened, I said, "You know this makes you look even more like a suspect than you did before."

Orlock waved my comment aside. "If I was responsible for the theft of Edrigu's flute, I'd never have admitted the truth about what I do, let alone brought you both down here. Now let us have no more of such talk, yes?"

"What do you do exactly?" I asked. "I mean, we can see you collect things, but you seem to imply there's more to it than just that."

"There is," Orlock said. "But let us walk as we talk. I have guests so seldom and it gives me great pleasure to show off my displays."

Orlock began crabwalking deeper into the chamber and Devona and I followed. The floor was made of white marble and our footsteps echoed solidly as we walked. As we went we found our heads turning this way and that, trying to take everything in as Orlock spoke, but our efforts were doomed to failure. There were simply too many wonders surrounding us to fully comprehend, let alone appreciate them all, though we found the increasing number of beings frozen within domes to be more than a little disturbing.

"I am, as you might have gathered, incredibly ancient, even for my kind." Orlock glanced at Devona. "Old as your father, as a matter of fact. You might even say we're brothers, in a sense. When Dis began approaching the most powerful of the Darkfolk to explain his dream of creating a home for us where we would be separate and therefore safe from humanity, I was one of his first supporters. Even then humans outnumbered Darkfolk and I knew they would only continue to outbreed us as the years passed. If we were to survive as more than bits of legend and folklore hiding in the shadows, we had to build our own home. While Dis continued seeking support for his plan, he tasked me with a most important job. I was to scour the Earth and gather together scattered magical objects and creatures that didn't belong to a specific Darklord or demilord in preparation for the day when Nekropolis would be born and the Darkfolk would take up residence there.

"For the better part of a century I performed my duty, storing my finds in a system of caverns hidden beneath a mountain range in Europe. And when the day of the Descension arrived at last, everything I'd collected was brought to Nekropolis with us.

"Of course, I didn't get to keep what I'd collected. Once the Darklords were settled into their various strongholds, they paid me a visit and claimed what items and creatures they wished, leaving me to hold on to only those things none of them wanted."

"Your collection must've been massive beyond imagination if they left you all this," Devona said, gesturing at the displays around us.

Orlock gave a soft hissing laugh. "My dear, what the Darklords left me wouldn't have filled a tenth of this chamber. What you see around you is what I've managed to gather in the centuries since the city's founding."

"What happened?" I asked. "Did you find yourself bitten by the collecting bug and couldn't shake the habit?"

Orlock smiled. "Not exactly. After the first hundred years of Nekropolis's existence, a citywide conflict broke out that would eventually come to be called the Blood Wars. When it was over much of the city lay in ruins and rebuilding took some time. It was during that period that I resumed my career as a collector, but now I viewed myself more as a preserver. You see, the Blood Wars made me realize that the Darkfolk can be just as shortsighted and foolish as humanity in their own way and I came to believe that one day, one way or another, Nekropolis would be destroyed and the survivors would be forced to move again and find a new place to settle. I'm collecting, preserving and storing items and creatures for that day, the same as I once did. I suppose that instead of being a simple bookseller, I'm actually in the insurance business."

He laughed at his own joke, but neither Devona nor I found it amusing. I doubted any of the beings frozen within stasis globes had volunteered to become part of Orlock's twisted version of Noah's Ark.

"Where did all these items come from?" Devona asked.

"Some are from my original collection that I've managed to reclaim over the years, one way or another," Orlock said. "Some are objects that were left behind on Earth during the Descension and which my operatives have located and managed to smuggle into Nekropolis for me. Oh, don't look so shocked. There are other ways in and out of the city besides the Darklords' mirrors. Not many, perhaps, but they exist. And still other objects were items ordinary Darkfolk brought with them to Nekropolis and which I've managed to obtain, along with new items that have been created since the Descension."

"What about the creatures?" I asked. "Not to mention the people." I tried to keep the disgust I felt out of my voice, but I wasn't entirely successful. Still, Orlock didn't seem to notice.

"They are rare and interesting lifeforms that were either unique or endangered. They're preserved here until the day the Darkfolk once again relocate. They will be revived then."

"I see." I couldn't help sounding skeptical. If Orlock thought he was preserving everything in his collection for some future relocation – if such a thing ever took place – what guarantee would there be that Orlock would disperse his collection then and free his captives? Wouldn't he be just as likely to continue holding them against the possibility of yet another future relocation? There was a good chance the beings frozen within Orlock's stasis domes would never be free again.

Still, I decided not to say anything about it to Orlock. We still needed him to identify Edrigu's bone flute and I didn't want to risk offending him. After what we'd seen I didn't like the idea of one day helping him add another item to his collection as the price for his help, but a deal was a deal. But I'd make damn sure that we wouldn't bring him anything – or anyone – alive.

I was about to ask Orlock another question when the vox in my coat pocket said, "Someone's calling," repeating the phrase until I pulled out the phone and answered it.

"Excuse me for a moment," I said to Orlock and stepped away to take the call. It was David.

"We got lucky, Matt. I hooked ravens up to each monitor and kept going back and forth between them as the video downloaded. I haven't found any footage of the actual theft yet, but I did find some of the attack on you in the alley. It's not very clear and I can't make out the faces of the men who attacked you. I've tried enhancing the images, but so far I haven't been-"

I broke in. "Men? You mean there was more than one?"

"That's right. There were two. They attacked from behind. One put a cloth bag over your head while the other used some kind of garrote to slice through your neck. It wasn't an ordinary garrote, either, but some kind of hi-tech device that cut through both flesh and bone as if they were water."

I'd already guessed as much about the nature of the garrote, but up to that point I'd been assuming there'd only been one attacker. But now that I thought back on it the attack had occurred swiftly – too swiftly for one man to do the job himself. And when I went back over the sounds I'd heard then I realized that while in the confusion at the time I assumed the noises had been made by one assailant, in fact, the sounds had come from different directions and they'd overlapped. I had been attacked by two men and the evidence had been there all along. I just hadn't recognized it for what it was.

I asked David a few more questions about my attackers but his raven had been some distance away when it recorded the incident and he couldn't give me anymore details about the men other than they were both humanoid and wearing black coats. He couldn't even make a guess as to their exact species.

"Thanks for the info, David. It's a big help."

"No problem." David promised to continue downloading video and that he'd call me again if he found any footage of my body entering or leaving the Reliquary. I ended the call, tucked Shrike's vox back into my coat pocket and rejoined Devona and Orlock who'd been waiting patiently for me. Devona gave me a questioning look when I returned and I gave my head a slight shake to let her know I'd tell her about the call later. She nodded and we continued following Orlock through his vast collection.

After a few more minutes, I said, "Thanks for the tour and the history lesson but as you might imagine I'm more than a bit anxious to get on with clearing my name. Can you identify Edrigu's flute for us?"

Orlock stopped walking and Devona and I stopped too. We stood in an open area next to a display of a large metal framework holding a dozen amputated arms and legs, all human, all connected by thick copper cables to an old-fashioned handcrank generator resting on the floor. The flesh of the limbs was a mottled greenish-gray and their look was a familiar one. I knew why a moment later when I read the plaque identifying the display as one of Dr. Frankenstein's earliest experiments in reanimation technology. It didn't take a genius to figure out how the device worked. You turned the crank, activated the generator, and the resulting electric current caused the arms and legs to move. I imagined it would be great fun at parties.

"Of course I can," he said. "The flute was part of my original collection. Its name is Osseal and it was carved from a bone taken from the first true human to walk the Earth. When played properly it has the power to command the dead."

The news stunned me. It's bad enough that the Darklords have that kind of power, but at least Father Dis holds them in check. But for some unknown person to possess the ability to command the dead… command me, for as a zombie I belonged to the ranks of the dead, was seriously disturbing.

"I wonder what the thief – whoever it is – wants with such an object," Devona said.

"There's a lot of dead folk of one sort or another in the city," I answered. "An object like Osseal would give its user a tremendous amount of power."

"Yes, but for what purpose? Someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble to obtain Osseal. That means whoever stole it wanted it pretty badly."

I shrugged. "For some people the acquisition of power is an end in itself. Look at your father…" I almost added and Orlock.

"Maybe," Devona said. "Or maybe whoever it was wants to raise their own personal army."

The thought was a chilling one.

"I can see why Edrigu wore Osseal around his neck," I said. "An object of that kind of power-" I broke off when I felt Devona's mind touch mine.

Something's wrong here, Matt. Orlock didn't have to bring us down here to tell us about Osseal. He could've told us back in his office.

Before I could reply, Orlock said, "You needn't bother trying to communicate telepathically. I can hear you as clearly as if you were speaking aloud."

I turned toward the vampire, intending to demand that he explain what was going on, but then I saw where we'd stopped. Devona and I were standing in a thin, almost invisible circle etched into the marble floor. Orlock, not surprisingly, was standing outside the circle. Before Devona and I could react Orlock raised a hand and a clear dome like dozens of others we'd seen since entering the chamber sprung into existence around us. I started to reach for my. 45, intending to see if the inside of the dome was bulletproof, but I found myself unable to move. I tried to look at Devona to see if she was similarly affected, but I couldn't even turn my head toward her. Instead, I reached out to her mentally.

Devona?

I can't move either, Matt. We're caught in some kind of sta sis field. I don't know if it's magical or technological, but in either case my psychic powers have no effect on it.

The Loa necklace that Papa Chatha had made to protect me from tracking spells blocked all magic. So that meant Orlock's stasis dome was technological in origin. That, or it was magic of such a high order that the necklace couldn't nullify it – which, considering Orlock's vast age, experience and knowledge, was quite possible. Whatever the case, the stasis field worked and we were trapped.

Orlock spoke then, and though he was on the other side of the dome, we could hear him just fine.

"I apologize for this, but I hope you'll understand. You're a most unique specimen, Matthew. The only intelligent selfwilled zombie who's ever existed. And now, through no fault of your own, your existence has become endangered. Assuming you aren't destroyed in the process of being recaptured by the Adjudicators, it's doubtful you will survive a second term of incarceration in Tenebrus. And let's be realistic. The odds of you being able to discover who stole Osseal and framed you for the theft before you are captured are exceedingly slim. So you see, I'm really doing you a favor by preserving you here. And as for Devona…" He shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't want you to get lonely. And don't worry. You'll find that time within my domes passes pleasantly enough. I've seen to that."

He smiled and started to turn to leave, but then he paused. "You know, it is rather ironic that you're now part of my collection. After all, thanks to you, Overkill wasn't able to obtain Scream Queen's voice for me. But you and Devona make more than fitting replacements for it. Scream Queen has a truly remarkable voice – she has both banshee and siren blood in her ancestry, you know. But the way she uses her gift…" He shuddered. "If I don't manage to preserve her voice soon, she'll ruin it beyond repair. Ah well, That's no longer any concern of yours now, is it? Perhaps I'll hire Overkill to make another attempt to capture the voice. With the both of you out of action perhaps she'll succeed this time. Farewell, and I hope you enjoy your stay."

Orlock turned away then and departed. He was soon out of my view, and since I couldn't move my head to track him, I could only listen to his footsteps as they faded away. A bit later the chamber lights went out and I knew Orlock had returned to his bookstore and might well be on the vox to Overkill at that very moment.

Inside I was raging with fury at being trapped like this, but frozen as I was, there was damn all I could do about it. I reached out telepathically to Devona once more.

Still there?

Sorry I didn't take your warning about the possibility of this being a trap more seriously.

Don't worry about it. There was no way either of us could've anticipated this.

I might've been frozen and surrounded by darkness but Devona's mental presence was a comfort to me and I was grateful for it. Orlock's insane, you know.

No argument there. The longer Bloodborn live the more un stable their minds become if they aren't careful.

I thought about Devona's father and I couldn't disagree with her assessment.

So what now? I asked. Since your psychic powers have no effect on the stasis field, what do we do? Stand around frozen and wait for someone to rescue us?

I'm afraid we'll have a long wait ahead of us, Devona thought. No one knows we're here, except David, and he has no reason to suspect Orlock has captured us. And even if he did, he has no way to get us out.

He might get words to some of our friends and they might come for us. It was admittedly a thin hope, but right then it was all I had.

Maybe, Devona thought back, though from the tone of her mental voice, she didn't think much of her chances.

Speaking of David reminded me of his call and I filled Devona in on our conversation. We "talked" about the revelation that I'd been attacked by two men instead of one, but we came to no conclusion about it.

At least we won't starve, Devona thought. Stasis fields put all biological functions on hold, so I'll have no need for food and you won't be in any danger of rotting, either. We'll re main preserved just as we are…

Forever, I finished. I'm sorry you're trapped too. Orlock wanted to preserve me. He just stuck you in here to keep me company. Like I'm a goldfish in a bowl whose owner tossed in another fish to keep the first from getting lonely.

If I'm here with you, then I'm exactly where I want to be, she thought. I love you.

I love you, too. But if it's all the same to you, I'm going to keep trying to think of a way out of here.

There was a hint of amusement to her thoughtvoice. I'll try not to take it personally.

What do you think Orlock meant there at the end when he said that he made sure time inside the domes passes pleasantly enough?

I don't know, but it hasn't been a barrel of laughs so far.

No kidding. Maybe it was just another sign of Orlock's insanity. I A strange feeling came over me then, a dizzy, plummeting sensation as if my body was falling and spinning wildly out of control. I tried mentally calling for Devona but I received no answer. Eventually the sensation of vertigo began to ease and my eyes were filled with light and the sound of voices yelling came to my ears.

"Daddy, Daddy!'