We walked for what felt like ages, each step taking us deeper underground. I could tell we were descending by the change in the air -cooler, damper, carrying the faint tang of stone and earth. The temperature had dropped several degrees, and the faint scent of mildew mingled with the sterile tang of something metallic, like old pipes. My footsteps echoed softly, hinting at the vastness of the space ahead, while Father Ben’s steady pace set the rhythm.

“Where are we going? You’re not gonna take me to some hidden lair where you’ll perform unspeakable experiments on me, are you?” I asked, injecting a touch of humor to mask the unease creeping up my spine.

His silence lasted just a beat too long, and when he finally answered, his tone was unsettlingly calm. “I told you I’d shed some light on why you were drawn here. And that I might be able to help. But sometimes extreme means are necessary to achieve the desired results.”

A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the temperature. For a moment, the only sounds were the soft scuff of our shoes against the stone stairs and the distant drip of water somewhere far below. His words hung in the air like a warning, and yet... I couldn’t argue with them. If he could help me figure out what happened -how I’d lost an entire week of my life- then maybe a little discomfort was a price worth paying.

Finally, the stairs leveled out, and the space opened into a cavernous room. The air here was thick, humming with a strange energy that prickled against my skin. Our steps echoed faintly, bouncing off what I guessed were high ceilings and stone walls. The cool, smooth floor beneath my feet felt like polished stone, and the vastness of the room pressed in on me, palpable despite my blindness.

“Ah, we’ve arrived,” Father Ben said, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction.

“Just how far down are we?” I asked.

“Oh, quite a ways. Sometimes there are things best done far out of sight of the surface world.”

“Like luring poor blind boys into torture chambers of doom?” I quipped, forcing a laugh.

“Exactly,” he replied, his tone so casual that I stopped smiling.

“You’re joking, right?” I asked, pausing mid-step. “You’re just messing with me.”

“I’ve been around long enough to know that humor can be a useful tool,” he said, sidestepping the question entirely. “But I’ve also learned that some truths are best approached with a bit of levity.”

“That’s... not reassuring,” I muttered, but I followed him anyway.

“You’d be surprised. Appearances can be deceiving, Declan. Take you, for instance.”

“What about me?” I asked, the edge in my voice sharper than I intended.

“Well, you’re something of an enigma. You walked through the desert, blind and alone, and somehow found civilization. You entered this church without hesitation, ate a meal without much struggle, and sat here calmly despite your condition. You are... resilient.”

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“Thanks, I guess?” I replied. “You’re making me sound like a lost puppy that somehow survived traffic.”

He chuckled softly, guiding me to sit on the edge of a table. The surface was cool and smooth beneath my fingers, grounding me in the moment.

“Why don’t you relax while I get things prepared?” he said.

I nodded, though relaxation was a tall order given the circumstances. The quiet was heavy, broken only by the faint rustling of Father Ben moving around the room. There was a strange comfort in the rhythmic sounds of his movements, but the anticipation buzzed in my chest like static.

“Look this way, please,” he said, his voice coming from just ahead of me.

I turned toward him, and almost immediately felt a warmth against my face - a soothing, pleasant sensation that reminded me of sitting in the sun on a brisk autumn day.

“That feels nice,” I said. “What is it?”

“Oh, just a UV lamp,” he said casually. “I’m going to raise the intensity a bit. Let me know how you feel.”

The warmth grew stronger, almost comforting, until it crossed a threshold and became uncomfortable. Within seconds, it felt like I was standing in the desert at high noon in the middle of summer. My skin prickled, heat radiating in waves that made my breath catch.

“Okay, that’s... a lot,” I said, shifting uncomfortably.

A soft click followed, and the sensation transformed into searing agony. I screamed, the sound raw and guttural, as my nerves lit up like wildfire.

“Ah! My apologies!” Father Ben exclaimed, hurriedly turning off the lamp. The heat vanished instantly, leaving a phantom burn that lingered on my skin.

I sat there, trembling, resisting the urge to clutch my face. Even the thought of touching it sent shockwaves of imagined pain through me. Father Ben’s hurried movements came next, followed by the faint hiss of an aerosol spray.

“Here, this should help,” he said, spritzing something cool and soothing onto my face. The relief was immediate, the burning sensation ebbing away like a receding tide. Within moments, it was as if the pain had never been.

“What was that?” I rasped. “What just happened?”

“I became... preoccupied with the readouts,” he admitted sheepishly. “I may have turned the dial up far beyond human tolerances.”

“Beyond human tolerances?” I echoed, my chest tightening. “What does that mean?”

“In due time, my boy. There are a few more tests to confirm what I suspect,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

I heard the heavy clunk of a refrigerator door, followed by the soft clinking of glass. A moment later, he pressed something cool into my hands.

“Thirsty?” he asked.

I hesitated, then took a sip. The liquid was icy and clean, refreshing in a way I hadn’t experienced in days -maybe longer.

“Thanks,” I said, handing the glass back to him.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice taking on a clinical edge.

“Great,” I admitted. “That was some of the best water I’ve ever had.”

“Interesting,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Now, can you hold this for a moment?”

He placed something in my hands - a cool, rectangular object with extensions jutting out on either side and another at the top. It took me a second to realize it was a cross. The weight surprised me, heavier than I expected.

I turned it over in my hands, feeling the smooth metal surface. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said simply. “Just hold it.”

A long silence followed, broken only by the faint tap of his fingers against something -a notebook, maybe?

“Quite remarkable,” he murmured after a moment.

“What’s remarkable?” I asked.

Father Ben took the cross from me, his movements deliberate. I heard the faint scrape as he placed it on a nearby surface, followed by a thoughtful hum.

“Nothing definitive yet,” he said, though the tone of his voice suggested otherwise. “We’re making progress.”

“Progress toward what?” I demanded.

“All in good time,” he replied, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of tension. “We’re not finished yet.”

I swallowed hard, the taste of the water still fresh on my tongue as I waited for whatever came next.