Sandra clicked off the news and rubbed her eyes. Her head dropped, silver hair loosely cascading over weary shoulders.
The report had been brief, but she knew that Aldus would be unhappy. Even though they never truly grasped the idea of society, he had taught them to be civil, or at least how to emulate civility. Our bodies weren’t built to play as they play. The laws and forces of earth were unforgiving when exposed to the type of speed with which they danced.
Four fucking kids were dead.
The yellow dress on the television had identified them as:
- David Klompmaker, 19
- Dan Pierik, 22
- Magnus Heller, 24
- Elco Steunenberg, 17
She pulled on a pair of fur-lined boots, zipped up the well-loved wax jacket hanging by the door, and adorned herself with a wide brimmed gaucho hat. It had begun to snow in large, fluffy clumps - The type that have the power to dampen all sound and isolate one with their thoughts. It wasn’t cold enough to stick for very long, but was the first sign that fall was coming to an end. The faded teal sleeves and brown corduroy collar kept her dry as she walked through the empty park.
As the museum came into sight, she turned a corner to approach the campus from the east side. Where others saw a uniquely angular fusion of art deco and modernism, Sandra saw edges sharp enough to puncture an invisible boundary between realms, to bisect a soul.
There was no pathway here, no trampled grass, just a pair of steel cellar doors lying just above flush with the earth. An industrial padlock bound the heavy twins. She slipped a nondescript key from her pocket. The affixed black silk ribbon removed itself from the key as she stepped towards the portal into the ground.
As she unlocked the doors and yanked, hydraulic pistons helped break through the grimy crust that had started to glue the doors together. A stale darkness awaited her. The snow touched down onto the white stone stairs before recoiling and boiling away.
“Hello, Aldus.”