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He woke to unbearable heat. He felt as if he were melting, as if his flesh were dripping from his bones.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, and he could barely move. He was helpless. And melting.
What happened? All he could remember was being with her, strolling through the arcade, then the sudden run and rush, adrenaline pumping, excitement, she smelled too good to resist, she was on top of him and—
Why couldn’t he remember anything after that? He’d fallen asleep in the afterglow, but so hard and so fast and—and then that weird conversation he could barely remember...
Where the hell was he? Sweat poured down his face. His clothes clung to him like a second skin. The heat was so thick he imagined he could see it. He moved his head and thought he felt resistance, a palpable, intense, oppressive presence. His lungs struggled to breathe.
He could not last long in here.
He was tied up like a rotisserie pig, on his haunches, hands at his side. He could barely move and there didn’t appear to be far to go. He tried to squirm—
He felt something. A person. Someone else, not moving. He rocked from side to side. He felt someone on the other side as well.
He was not alone. But he was apparently the only one conscious.
Dark, hot, many people, unable to escape. This was a death trap.
“Helllllp! Help meeeee!”
His words echoed, but not for a moment did he imagine anyone had heard him. There was a metallic tone to the echo. This was a small enclosed space with little clearance. When he shouted, it sounded thunderous.
He was inside something. Metallic. He felt the wall behind him. Iron, or so he thought.
A cascade of memories flooded back. They had entered a bakery. She had a key. That should have made him suspicious, but he was hot and he wanted her and that blacked everything else out of his brain—
A bakery.
He felt a tightening in his already tense chest.
Was he in the oven?
His pulse raced. He pulled at the ropes binding him, his hands so wet with sweat he could barely maintain a grip. He knew some of these artisanal bakeries had large ovens. If you removed the trays, you could easily fit a person inside. You could fit several people inside.
Is that why he felt others all around him? This was like a concentration camp oven. This was a weapon of mass destruction.
He’d been put here to die.
“Helllllp! Please help me!”
If he was inside the bakery, then they were on Central Avenue, not far from the arcade. Not far from one of the busiest pedestrian areas in the city. Surely someone would hear him. Surely.
He leaned forward because the wall behind him was so hot it burned. The atmosphere was oppressive. The miasma was so thick he could barely breath. He sensed he was breathing the same air, over and over again, and he knew that could not continue for long.
“Helllllp me! Helllllp!”
“Oh, be quiet already.”
He would recognize that voice anywhere. The voice was faint, but nearby.
“Let me out. Please. Let me out of here.”
“That is not what I have planned.”
“I don’t deserve this.”
“I disagree. Obviously.”
“No one deserves this.” The panic was so intense his voice trembled. He could barely focus. “Look—I’m sorry.”
“Are you? Or just terrified?”
“I—I know I didn’t—I should’ve—I was a fool. I see that now. I was only thinking of myself. I—I care about you. Truly. I always have, I just—I don’t know. I get confused. I do what I think I’m supposed to do when I should listen to my heart. I’m genuinely sorry.”
“Wow. Concern—for someone other than yourself. This is new.”
“You’re not a bad person. You don’t want to do this.”
“Pretty sure I do.”
“You’ll regret it. Over and over. For the rest of your life.”
“Or maybe it will fill me with unbridled joy every time I think of it.”
“You’ll never have peace.”
“Peace is overrated.” A long pause, then, “I prefer justice. Justice is paramount.”
“Let me out of here. I can’t stand this.”
“You can and you will. Since you have no choice.”
“How long do you think I can last?”
“Only a few minutes. Slowly roasting. Before you explode and die.”
“That’s inhuman.”
“You let me suffer far longer.”
“Not like this!’
“You’re the one who’s inhuman. You’re the one who thought he could get away with anything. While you’re in there, I want you to think about what you’ve done.”
“I can feel my skin melting! I can smell my flesh cooking! Do you hate me?”
He heard a creaking as an outside door swung shut. “No, Nick. I love you. I always have. You’re my eternal flame.”