[Short Story] Pain Spiral, Part 2 (the finale!)

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Part 1}

I ran my hand along the cold, smooth concrete as I descended the next ramp. Why build it so deep? I hadn’t thought to count but felt as if I’d descended at least forty floors, maybe fifty. I’d been turned on to the site by a long forgotten post in an archived thread from several years ago. Wanted to ask him for details but he’d left the site since then.

At least I assume so. I could find no other traces of his presence. No more posts by him. Seemingly joined the site just to post once, then vanished. Only two other people in the thread commented on it, which struck me as odd since it included coordinates to a promising site which wasn’t in the main list for my state.

I might’ve forgotten about it except that over the subsequent weeks, those two posters went missing. There were threads about it made by their friends asking anybody with information about it to come forward. I’d posted about their interest in that site, but nobody acknowledged it. Like it just wasn’t considered plausible, or got lost in all the activity.

The structure shuddered subtly. Keeps doing that. I began to time the intervals on a whim. They seem to be growing more frequent as I descend. This state isn’t known for earthquakes. The structure itself looks good as new, no cracks or crumbling to indicate any danger of collapse. Every time I’m tempted to start going up again.

No use. After the first few floors, I went back up to where I remembered coming in. Nothing but blank, contiguous concrete wall. Up a few more floors, same result. For the first several hours I kept going up until I began to suspect something was wrong. So I reversed course, wondering if I hadn’t somehow passed by the entrance without noticing it. Same result. I descend another ramp, and again spot a wrinkled page stuck to one of the concrete pillars.

“There is no such outlet for that energy if you die alone. Utterly alone, in every respect. Nobody to bury your remains. Nobody to remember you. Your grief, pain and despair compound over time. Spirit trapped in a vortex of its own suffering, unable to escape without closure. Without the rescue it so desperately hoped for. Or at least understanding of what it was like to die that way.

The intensity increases exponentially from there. Like the psychic echo of a final anguished scream, growing louder with each repetition. Eventually becoming so powerful as to distort reality around it. The radius of effect small at first, but expanding more and more quickly the longer the source of that energy goes without any satisfactory outlet.

The resulting pocket dimensions are always similar. Barren, abstract, desolate places. Always recursive in some way, comprised of self-similar repeating elements. Why? An expression of despair, maybe. Of infinity. That anyone sucked into it might experience some tiny fraction of what they felt as they lay dying in such a place, their hope dwindling to nothing as nobody comes to rescue them. As their body begins to shut down.”

I slammed my fist against the pillar. Every time I hoped for useful information. Every time, it was simply more demented ranting. Could he still be here? Did I really want to meet such a person in this empty, forgotten place? Had to be the same guy who posted the coordinates. Who else could it have been?

I laid down, again trying to rest. But I found no comfortable spot to do so. This place affords no softness, no provision for flesh and blood. Only cold, damp darkness. Floor after floor of concrete and asphalt, extending impossibly deep into the Earth. What if I’d kept going up? Would it have made a difference? I doubt it. From the outside, this place only looked three stories tall.

Why hadn’t I thought it strange that there should be a parking structure in the middle of the woods? I’d offroaded most of the way. Made no sense to put such a thing there. The exterior overgrown with vines, concrete weathered as though it’d been there for decades. Yet the inside was pristine. No doubt how it looked when she died.

“In December of 1979, a young girl was abducted and raped over the course of several days in an abandoned parking structure on the outskirts of Detroit. Because she came from a family with a long history of drug violations and runaways, police did not initially respond. When they finally did, there was no trace of her abductor. Her body was found on the lowest floor, decomposition already quite advanced.”

The coordinates followed, with a low res jpeg of the structure’s exterior below that. Thinking back, I could pinpoint that moment as when it began. When I first entered its influence, subtly pulling me towards it. How could I pass it up? Most of these places are nondescript derelict industrial buildings. This one had a story behind it. Something to give a sense of meaning to my exploration.

The hole in the wall must’ve been the event horizon. Point of no return. Looked as if vandals had knocked through with a sledgehammer. I fully expected the inside to be coated with graffiti. Instead, aside from the lack of working lights and ever present dampness, it was immaculate. Didn’t seem strange to me then. None of it did, somehow. Not enough to make me turn back.

Frivolous. Thoughtless of me. I could see that now. Someone had died here. The worst death. But for me, disconnected from it, simply trivia to whet my appetite. Something to dwell on as I poked around in an abandoned building, taking pictures for bragging rights. That I’d dared to enter with those intentions now seemed an unforgivable trespass. Perhaps I deserved this.

To wander in darkness, belly growling, legs growing weak. Alone, far from those who love me. From light, from sound. Silence and hunger my only companions as my body slowly wears down. I began to weep again, despite my best efforts to suppress it. I thought of my first day of school. My first car. My first kiss. Of everything I’d done, and everything I still wanted to.

Is it because I finally understood how it felt? Is that why I ran out of floors? I shone the light around searching for the next ramp, but found none. Stunned, I then searched for the next sheet of paper but also found nothing. Some part of me had, until then, believed that the structure simply extended forever in both directions. But at last, I seemed to have reached the end of it.

Sweeping my light around, I almost missed the frail mass huddled in the corner. It cringed slightly as the light struck it. A girl. Emaciated, neglected, long black hair tangled and filthy. “Hello?” I cautiously whispered. No response. So, slowly, I approached. Maybe because of the fatigue, I at last started to believe. Who else could it be?

“I read about you. I know what you went through, that’s why I came”. A half truth. Although after my journey, I did feel as though I’d absorbed some of it. The feeling of final surrender to the unthinkable. The vast, cold darkness of it. Realizing that nothing ever actually guaranteed that things would turn out okay for you. That it really can end this way, and is going to.

“You don’t have to stay down here. You’re not alone anymore. I understand.” I extended my trembling hand to her. At first, no reaction. Then, slowly, she reached up with her own delicate hand and grasped mine. When I shone a light on it, the flesh was mottled white and green. I then shone light on her face. Empty sockets stared back.

I cried out in fear and tried to withdraw, only to discover her grip was impossibly strong. Struggle as I might, I couldn’t pull free. She just sat there in her wet, moldy rags, staring. When I shone the light around her, for the first time I noticed the two skeletons nearest her. And the piles upon piles of bones behind them. Misery loves company.

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^{The End.}