THE TUNNEL IS longer than I appreciated and every step is filled with thoughts of Suh’s death. They’re no longer laced with the fear that I’ll die the same way. I’m finding that I can think about it calmly now, without the threat of being overwhelmed by pure emotion. Perhaps I’m still keeping it at bay. No, I don’t really think that. There’s a relief I’ve never felt before, now that the secret is out. I worry briefly about what will happen to her body now but only in the most abstract way. In here, it seems that all those things are much further away than they’ve ever been before.
I want to find a way to that topmost room, the one in which Suh said God was already dead. I didn’t believe her then and I don’t now. I was willing to follow her so far, but not to that place without hope. She saw something on the other side of that veil that made her lose belief in everything. I want to face whatever she did and see what is left behind. I’ve lost so much in the last few hours I need to see what is left.
I reach the valve and press my hand against it, trusting that whatever I’ll come into contact with won’t kill me. The valve opens and another stretch of tunnel lies beyond, this time curving upward. There’s a pungent scent that reminds me of burned toast mixed with the taste of aniseed and I realize I’m breathing in a different kind of chemical mix. I pause, waiting to see if there are any side effects, but all I feel is light-headed. That could be from the exertion and lack of food and water for a few hours. I step over the threshold and wait for the valve to close behind me.
When it shuts, the color of the tunnel shifts to a deeper blue. A variation in the shading slowly becomes apparent, revealing what seems to be a pathway up the right-hand side of the tunnel. Is that the right way to interpret it? I move over to the right with a couple of steps until I’m aligned with it and tentatively put a foot at the start of the darker color.
Nothing happens. I breathe out and take another step, then another. My feet sink into the surface as if there are steps below it, hidden beneath a spongy slime-covered material. I pause and prod the area to the left of the path. There are no depressions there and the incline is getting steep enough to make it impossible to climb without these hidden steps. I climb a little higher before I realize I didn’t see any difference when I was prodding the floor, as if my foot was invisible.
I stop, jarred out of the excitement of finding a path by the thought that my understanding of what happened to me in the previous tunnel was wrong. I hold up my hand and press it against the wall next to me, feeling the slight sticky depression form in its surface. I can see the dent but not my hand. It’s like I’m not there.
It makes me shudder. I’m certain I would have noticed that before. Has another chemical entered my brain and altered my perception further?
I slip and fall to the bottom of the tunnel, my back hitting the valve door.
“Focus,” I say out loud, half to chastise myself and half to see if I can still perceive my own voice. It’s a welcome sound.
I stand up, my clothes now damp and clinging to my skin, clogged with the mucus. I try not to think about that and instead concentrate on the way ahead. The darker line I saw before has gone, and when I try to step where I did before there’s no depression to a step beneath.
Doubting my memory, I stare at the tunnel until the darker line coalesces again. This time it’s stretching up the middle with a slight curve to the left. I don’t question it. I walk and feel the steps there as before.
This is the beginning of being tested. I start to remember early immersion games from my childhood but pull myself back into focusing on the path. I mustn’t overthink it. I look. I follow. I climb.
Toward the end of the tunnel I have to use my hands, still repulsed by the way my fingers sink into the stickiness, but it’s getting so steep I need to use the hidden steps like a ladder. A new valve comes into view above me and I go through. There is a tangle of possible ways onward, instead of the interior of another pod, as if several tendrils have partially merged with one another and formed an internal junction.
I don’t remember climbing down the outside of any such tangle and feel horribly disoriented as I try to match what I have found with what I remember of the outside; then I remind myself that it’s not important now. I breathe in and out, studying the different tunnels, hoping that there will be some sort of shift to indicate the route on.
Just as I’m starting to doubt my idea, a flash of light ripples along the interior of a tunnel stretching off to the left. Instinctively I go to activate the goggles I’m not wearing and swear. Another tunnel starts to flicker with a different rhythm and any moment now I expect the migraine and vomiting to begin.
I lean back against the door, taking care not to touch its center and accidentally open it. There are six possible ways to go and now all of them are pulsating with different-colored lights. Thinking that these lights are the ones picked up by my goggles on previous occasions, I raise my hands hopefully, thinking I might be able to see them now. I don’t see anything and feel that lurch in my stomach again at my own invisibility. An awful sound like a screeching animal breaks me out of that worry and I press myself against the door harder as all the lights stop.
Did I do something wrong?
I take a moment to steady myself, letting the memory of the sound fade. I try not to think about where it came from and the possibility of some alien creature bounding down the tunnel to eat me. Instead, I try to remember what I was doing before. Yes. That was it. I was looking for the way on.
The lights begin again. Different colors in different tunnels, pulsing at different rates. Which one do I choose?
I pick a tunnel and try to study the light to see if there is a pattern, but it keeps shifting and seems random. I try with two more and suspect I’m taking the wrong approach. I try to think of a way to interpret the different colors, but there’s no reason to suggest that the meanings my European upbringing have associated with each one have any validity here.
At least the migraine hasn’t started yet. I focus on my breath, trying to relax and step back from the puzzle, like I do with any engineering problem that foxes me for more than a few minutes.
My gaze settles on one of the tunnels without my realizing it. Something about the pulsing light seems familiar. As the thought occurs to me, a sound gets louder, a steady, rapid beat. It’s my heart, sounding as loud as if it were being amplified down the tunnel. The pulsing light has fallen into phase with it. I confirm my theory with a minute of my hand on my chest, feeling the beat through my palm. That’s the way on.
As soon as I step into that tunnel, the other lights stop. The light in this one fades to a pleasant, soft red, moving in the direction I’m walking now as if to confirm I’ve made the right choice. Soon enough it starts to curve upward and I’m filled with same elation as defeating a gaming puzzle.