She licked her palm and smoothed the hair from his face.
“My mother used to sing to me when she thought the world had stopped turning and she was lost somewhere dark. She’d tell it that when she sang about the place over the rainbow, God remembered everything good he’d created and he got off his ass and heaved the world going again. And before you knew it the sun reached you and lit the bad till it glowed so bright you couldn’t look at it no more.”
He spoke in a distant voice. “I think there’s vents. I think they let in the air but not the light.”
He felt the mattress dip as she settled.
Patch thought of the metal that pierced his stomach, that maybe it left something in him, something slow acting but something that might slowly change him. A rust. Burnt red and brown creeping through that healthy flesh till decay set in like rot through timbers.
“How long have you been here?” he said.
“Our universe is black. A galaxy and stars and dark matter, the planets and people and organisms. Everything is contained in this room with no light at all. Even when we get out, we’ll take it with us, our own private black hole that’ll swallow every good thing.”
“I need to know your name,” he said.
They heard noise.
She raised her voice and spoke in a clear tone. “Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.”
“I have to go home now,” he slurred.
Louder, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”
He pleaded.
“Pray and stay alive,” she spoke in a whisper.
“My name is Patch. And I was taken from—”
The key found the door.
Her hand found his.
He would not let her go.
Already he felt that way.