The Land Across

[Rorick Skyve†]

((Maxim Kehlenbrink continued from The Strange Case of Nadia))

There was a bridge in the distance. Beyond that, he could see water, lots and lots of water. So it was true, even though he had never really doubted it. Granted he had only had a limited look around yet, but it seemed like this was an island he was on, some island somewhere. He didn't know where exactly and he didn't really care either, it changed nothing about the current situation.

Maxim looked back over his shoulder, back at the building which he had just escaped. Towering and portentous, one large death trap. He had to leave it, it had been the right call, absolutely.

It hadn't taken too long for him to find out. Roaming around on that floor he was on, ignoring the whispers and distant voices around him, it was only a matter of time until he discovered those rusty old signs, bearing the name of the institution. The name itself didn't matter, of course, only what it was. An asylum, a place to keep and imprison those who were considered insane. By the standards of shrinks at least and by extension, society.

That revelation, he had not taken too well. Never mind the fact that he had been trapped in a ludicrous game of killing, denied any chance of escape, well, almost. Bad as it was, it had not shaken him to the bone, it had left him in a state rational enough for him to function and assert his situation logically. Not that though.

An asylum of all places. He'd have laughed back then, if only he hadn't been as horrified. The irony hadn't escaped him, him ending up there. He wondered if Dr. Woolsey was watching this or any of his previous 'therapists'. People who had tried to help him, convince him he was not completely normal and had to change, adapt, in some way. Become more social. The thought alone brought back all of that long forgotten spite.

Maybe they were watching, had watched him from the very start. Snickering to themselves, 'Oh, I always knew he'd end up in a madhouse.' He couldn't bear the thought. Potentially dying in there, being ambushed and ended. Not in an asylum, not there, all but there. If he was going to die, he wouldn't do so in there.

So he had left, fled, really. Looked for an exit and soon found it and then decided to get as much distance between him and that wretched place as possible.

By now, his rational senses had returned to him, of course. And in retrospect, his decision hadn't been that bad after all, so he thought. A place the size of that asylum was bound to attract more people, flocking to the place like pilgrims. With them, some of the more dangerous brand would have come, no doubt. Sooner or later, a killer would find his way in there, looking for victims. Someone would start going berserk, it was inevitable. He wasn't dumb, he knew those goddamned terrorists had it all planned out. 'There Will Be Blood.' Shame he wouldn't have an opportunity to watch that here. Maybe never again.

Either way, getting as far away from that place as possible was probably the most prudent move, for now. And now there was that bridge ahead. He pondered about crossing it. There were other places to go, of course. Still, he liked that particular option. Even though he had no idea where it would lead him. He looked back again, back at the asylum.

No, it had to be that way. Maybe there was a place beyond that bridge, some place he could be by himself, hide until all of this was over. Maybe even remain the only one alive while everyone else merrily slaughtered each other. Even Cristo.

Maxim winced a little. It couldn't be helped. He had to consider the very likely possibility that he was never going to speak a word to him again. Nostalgia was nothing to dwell on now. He had to keep going. As much as he would have liked to lay down and-

He started walking towards the bridge. Whatever was ahead, he'd accept it. Try to make the best of it. And maybe succeed.

((Maxim Kehlenbrink continued in Good Omens))