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violated the
divine command in such a drastic fashion? Why would the Creator
make a world where such suffering was possible? The question could
be any one of those, or all of them together, or maybe something
beyond words and logic, something born of the darkness that could
only be sensed and never defined.
    As Hess continued to pound
his mangled fists, the objective portion of him continued its
narration, repeating a story he told himself often. The healing response restores as much moisture
and calories to the body as necessary to support life for a short
length of time. It appears likely that the atmosphere is being
scrubbed free of carbon dioxide, but this is impossible to verify.
Likely the products of respiration are reclaimed in the same way as
blood. Hess snarled wordlessly at the part
of him observing his plight.
    The rage that boiled up dwarfed everything
that came before. Hess coiled his entire body and launched himself
forward the eight inches to the stone ceiling, driving his forehead
into it. The rebound struck the back of his head against the stone
floor of his crypt. Hess struck upwards again. The impassive
narrator vanished with the other aspects of his personality, all of
them absorbed into the all-consuming emotion of the moment. Hess
struck again and again with as much force as he could generate in
his tiny prison until he died.
    When Hess woke once more in the darkness, he
began to weep, eyes burning but too dry for tears. His body was
whole and undamaged save for a touch of dehydration. “Let me die! I
don’t want to live! Please, Creator, unmake me! I don’t want to
live! I don’t want to live!”
    He wept for a time he could not determine
but which felt significant. Then emotional exhaustion brought a
blessed return to the living coma that was the state of least pain.
Memories bubbled beneath the surface, but Hess ignored them.

PART II
     

Chapter 8 – Zack / Iteration 144
    The rest of his shift flowed as slow as molasses.
Zack hardly noticed when an inebriated man dropped a gallon of milk
onto the floor, sending a white flood out to wash away the dust.
His mind buzzed with the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t
sure why he hadn’t gone with Bridgette. Lacey needed his paycheck,
but Zack had never let that fact influence his choices in the past.
Otherwise, he would have upgraded to a more profitable career
months ago.
    As the day passed, a vague
uneasiness began to bother him. He couldn’t eat anything on his
lunch break. What am I worried about? That
she won’t come back? That she won’t like me? That I won’t like her
answers? The more Zack probed at his
uneasiness, the worse it became. The slight shadows throughout the
room seemed to grow deeper as he dug into his suspicions, pooling
together and flowing towards him.
    Zack squeezed his eyes shut
and emptied his mind. When he looked again, the shadows were gone.
The darkness rarely threatened him during the day – only when he
let himself become emotional did it become a problem. Should I mention the darkness to Bridgette? Does
she see it too or is something wrong with me? Am I
insane?
    Several years previously, Zack considered
admitting himself into a psychiatric ward on the hope that he was
delusional and doctors could cure him. The prospect of becoming a
medical experiment if he wasn’t crazy hadn’t been enough to deter
him. In the end, the only reason he decided against it was because
he couldn’t be sure the staff of a crazy house would let him have a
nightlight.
    When two o’clock arrived, Zack updated his
handwritten timecard and went to the parking lot. He looked around,
but couldn’t see Bridgette anywhere. Zack let out a breath. Maybe
he could just go home and worry about the other Observers another
day.
    An African-American man with hair in
cornrows stepped out of a pickup truck and walked towards him. “You
want to see Bridgette?” the man asked him. Zack backed away from
the man in the direction of the