Awakening, Part III

I rise, scraping the dust off. I am still holding my duct tape; the only other things I have on me are my clothes. The corridor stretches out to either side of me, similar black doors spaced three metres apart. The air is cold, smelling faintly of mold, probably from the air vent that had just collapsed. The only sounds I can hear are my own heartbeat, and a faint thumping noise to my right.

The doors are nearly featureless. They seem to be made of black-painted wood, but they are as solid as iron when I test them. I suppose that it was one of these doors that I'd been imprisoned behind. Rapping on several produces no answer. Lacking any better option, I walk toward the right.

The corridor makes a sharp turn after about a hundred metres and what must be nearly sixty of those doors. Walking past it, I see the source of the thumping: a gigantic, beating heart, suspended in midair. Pulsating veins suspend it from the ceiling. Something small stands near it; by the time I take my eyes off the heart, it had scurries away, the door it exited from slamming behind it.

Suddenly, I remember. I've seen one of those hearts before. I had been... somewhere - a darkened building. My girlfriend was with me. We'd found a heart - just like this one - beating in a room in the centre of the building... that was all I could remember. Though I try, I could not remember what happened before or after that moment. I turn my thoughts back to the present moment.

The beating heart floats in a diamond-shaped room; shabby, lit by flickering yellow light (and just where is that light coming from, anyway?). There are three entrances, not counting the one I came in from. Two are closed and locked. The last proves to be, upon examination, a closet. Beneath mops and cleaning solutions, a metal box is hidden; about the size of a shoebox. It proves locked shut, as with most of this complex, but I take it just in case. I'd already found use for one lump of metal, I recall.

The heart hangs there, pulsing loudly. It is moist to the touch. I decide not to touch it again if possible.

I stand there, thinking about my situation and my options. I have a roll of duct tape, a locked metal box, and a great deal of cleaning equipment. Also, a living heart the size of a horse. I consider the heart further. It is rather bumpy; I decide that, to my distaste, I might climb it. I quickly remove my socks, put them on my hands, and begin to climb. After a few false starts, I ascend to the top of the heart. To my surprise, a trapdoor is embedded within the heart.

It is locked.

I smashe it in with the lock-box, return to the closet, wedge the trapdoor open with a broken mop handle, and climb into the darkness within.