Feet move against my will as Terry follows Chief into the Mainstay. Try as I might, I can’t move in any direction other than with Terry. A hold on me, is what he has. I should’ve let him have a hold on me before last Sac Day but now will be just fine.

Chief doesn’t see me, doesn’t talk to me. Doesn’t know I’m here while Terry hesitates.

“Agree with him,” I whisper, my hand resting on his shoulder. My chin resting on my hand. An intimate space, Terry and I would shy from but he doesn’t know, though the muscle in his shoulder flexing under my fingers says he knows I’m here. “Say yes, I’ll help you.”

“Sure,” Terry stammers. “Yes. I can do this.”

Chief’s lips curl in that smile he reserves for Sac Day. The kind he uses to swoon us. Let us know it’ll be okay. It’ll be okay because it’s not us on the altar. It’ll be okay because a sacrifice to the heavens will keep the rest of our village safe. Not me. Not Terry.

“I’m going back up,” Chief says. His hands prop on his hips, the smile turns to a grimace as he looks further down the hall. “Feel free to stay as long or as short as you like. But from this day forward, you talk about this place, you’re next up on Sac Day. Got it?”

Terry nods, just barely. Good enough for me.

“Terry,” I say, “can you hear me?”

His lip trembles again, endearing. So sweet.

“It’s me, Odon.”

Terry glances down the hall and back towards the stairs. What are you thinking about? It’s just me and you like old times. He mutters to himself, pacing back and forth. But he pauses, hand back on the cell bars of a deep black pit.

If I close my eyes, I can feel it. It’s rhythm. It’s heart. It’s life. But when my eyes open – nothing. Just Terry and I.

“You should paint, Terry. Find a spot down here and paint.”

My feet are pulled against my will again but I don’t mind walking beside Terry. He pulls out the dragon he carved. His thumb rising and falling with the details.

A crash against a cell startles me but not Terry. Not Terry at all.

“What the hell was that?” I ask him.

But he only shrugs his shoulder, eyes focused on the dragon, feet moving as if he’s memorized how many steps it takes to head down the hallway. Into the dark. The deep. Black.

And then he stops and lights a little flame, setting it to a torch which ignites with a puff. Orange light glows, waxes and wanes against an empty cell. Bars broken and sheared to points. Terry pulls the torch off the wall and steps into the cell.

The wall is brown but Terry has a sheet of white paint over top. A palette of dried colors sits haphazardly on the ground. A cup of water and a brush next to it. And next to that is a pile of bones, withered flowers on top. They crinkled and turn to dust in my fingers. Terry glances to me as he picks up his pallet. The corner of his lip rises.

“Hello, Odon.”