Chapter 29

“Hello?” Suzi’s voice sliced through the air, echoing and reverberating off the walls.

The sound was almost deafening, as though she stood within a colossal church bell freshly rung. She cradled her head in her arms until the reverb subsided.

Arms. She had arms. In Guillermo, the Ether, and vessels, she’d been a mere consciousness—a floating specter devoid of physical form. But here, she was different. Real. Naked. Her own skin, her own limbs. Annie and Judas, both comfortable in their nudity, would probably relish this situation.

Yet, there was no response from her internal companions. No Guillermo, no alternative identities, no demons rattling their cage. Just her.

She stood motionless, straining to perceive anything beyond the silver walls. A steady, familiar pulsating rhythm filled the air. Her heartbeat echoed from her chest, resonating off the sheer, blinding silver surfaces.

Suzi explored the walls, her fingers tracing their smooth perfection. No seams, no tool marks—just unyielding surfaces reaching ten feet high. Above, the sky was black, textured like fabric. Not void-black, but something else. Somehow, she shrank herself to the pellet’s surface.

No visible light sources, yet everything was brilliantly lit. Her reflection stared back at her—sheer, smooth, and reflective walls. She attempted to transition to Guillermo, but no tunnel vision, no engulfing darkness.

Following the wall, she turned corners, marking her path with saliva-drawn arrows. Dead ends forced her to backtrack. Time eluded her; her feet and knees never ached. Thirst and hunger remained absent. Fatigue never set in.

To measure time, she hummed ‘Anything You Can Do,’ each rendition lasting three minutes. However, humming became a headache, so she abandoned the musical clock. Even her footsteps echoed, annoyingly loud. She mastered the art of silent foot placement.

Math became her refuge. In three hours, she navigated fifteen lightning-bolt-shaped rooms, completing one room every twelve minutes. She hadn’t counted initially, but now she knew: eight hundred forty rooms.

Her eyes widened as she did the math.

“Bullshit,” she muttered, checking out the calculations on the wall.

Impossible.

Seven days. A week of relentless navigation. No sleep, no rest, no food, no water. Her mind raced. Would she ever escape? What was happening to her body? What about Ygritte?

Desperation whispered: This is a dream. Wake up.

She had to break free.

Her fist collided with the wall, a resounding clang like a massive brass bell struck by a minuscule, fleshy hammer. She knew better—knew the futility of such an act—as the bones in her hand crunched, pain flaring. Undeterred, she struck again, pouring all her might into the blow. A scream erupted from her throat, merging pain with fury.

The echoes rebounded, more torment than the broken bones. Blood seeped from her ears, staining her hands as she tried to stifle the sound. She cried silently, unwilling to add to her suffering. Huddled in a corner, self-pity and tears consumed her. Kariel’s words echoed: Celestials could “retire,” willingly to be judged by God. But how? She was lost, adrift in her celestial existence.

Why had she been chosen? Her abilities remained enigmatic. She couldn’t aid her friends, follow their plans, help Aiden, or salvage her marriage. Even her dog’s fate weighed on her. And her children—could she truly ensure their happiness?

Then, a revelation: “I did save my dog,” she whispered.

She stood, determination igniting. “My kids are happy,” she affirmed, voice low. No reverb this time.

“My marriage isn’t perfect, but it’s working. We still love each other,” she declared, her words unencumbered.

Tears wiped away, her hand miraculously healed. “I may not fully understand or be able to help them, but I have friends who stand by me,” she asserted, louder.

In the unseen distance, a colossal crack reverberated—an avalanche of change. The walls aged, tarnishing into dull steel. The ground shifted, walls lifting, shrinking, moving inward, and apart. She danced through rooms, until the shifting stopped. Walls transformed, revealing new views. Heights varied—some four feet, others towering sixteen.

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Saliva was no longer sufficient for markings. Blood from her ears became her ink well for her phalange-based quill, etching her path. When blood ran dry, she considered more self-harm but decided self-harm was going to be a last resort.

She needed to climb.

She clambered onto the four-foot-tall wall, pivoting to face the room. The narrow perch offered little improvement—barely wide enough for her foot. Adjacent, a wall slightly taller than her loomed, its top edge perhaps nine feet from the floor. Slightly thinner than the first, it challenged her balance. From this vantage point, she glimpsed other walls stretching into the distance, an unbroken expanse. She yearned for greater heights.

She walked on the precarious perch until she reached another, higher wall. This wall was much taller than her. She gave it her all and jumped to get her hand over the top of the landing and pulled herself up.

Once on the perch, she suspected sixteen or more feet above the floor, she could see further, but the landscape did not change. The wall was now less than the width of her foot. She was convinced that there had to be something. Some castle in the middle of the maze. Some treasure to be found. There was only one thing left to do. Only a few walls were higher than she was now.

Carefully, she made her way to the closest wall. Slowly navigating the corners and sharp turns. She had never been afraid of heights, but this was certainly putting it to the test.

Arms outstretched for balance, she navigated the edge, sweat slicking her legs and feet onto the metal wall, making for an interesting few slip-ups along the way. The next wall, maybe nine or ten feet above her, beckoned. She glanced down, tracing the room’s design—the same as on the ball in her bed. Giving up wasn’t an option; she had to defy this place.

Returning to the farthest straight section of the wall, she prepared for her leap. Runner’s stance, visualization: she’d sprint, time her jump, soar like a majestic fucking eagle to the ledge.

“I can do this,” she whispered, rubbing her hands together. She wished for a sports bra and shorts.

Launching into a run, her sweat-slicked foot slipped. The next step, meant to propel her upward, faltered. She collided with the wall, lost her footing, and tumbled to the ledge below. Somehow, she halted her descent.

“Graceful,” she quipped. She tried to take a step and quickly realized her ankle was sprained.

Stranded, she faced a choice: leap back up to her previous perch or descend two levels to the floor. The floor held nothing—she was going up. Hobbled but determined, she launched herself, fingers gripping the wall she’d fallen from. She pulled herself up, standing defiantly.

“You won’t beat me,” she declared to the wall ahead.

She jumped, stretching her good leg, reaching for the top edge. Missed by a foot.

She massaged her ankle. Sprained, but not truly injured—not in this surreal place. Her broken hand had healed similarly.

“Just an illusion,” she told herself.

Suzi squatted, toes curled over the edge of the thin wall. With all her energy, she launched herself upward, ignoring the pain in her ankle. Stretching, she reached for the top edge, but fell short.

Frustration erupted: “Damn it! All those basketball players make it look so easy!”

Then, a revelation struck. Was it that simple? James—the tall, gay black man in her repertoire. Kariel told her that a celestial can change their physical appearance through concentration. She might be in a physically fit 20-something body of her former self, but she was still only five feet tall.

She held on to the wall and closed her eyes. Even though James was not present in Guillermo, he was still part of her. She could not call him forward, but she could channel him. She concentrated on his image. He was tall, magnificent, and fashionable—but mostly, he was tall. Her eyes closed, and pushed his essence outward to the rest of her body. Squatting, she jumped, reaching as high as she could.

Her fingers wrapped around the top ledge. A smile spread across her face. She could tell this wall was only about an inch wide.

While he was tall, the downfall was that James apparently lacked the upper body strength to pull themselves up. The struggle wore her out, and she slipped off after several minutes of unsatisfactory effort. The fall should have been almost instant, but her feet never landed. The walls never rushed up passed her. She never plummeted to her death.

She was floating, hovering above the tangle of metallic walls. She could turn and pivot but not raise or lower herself.

“Well done, child,” a voice rang in her head.

“Thank you, I guess? Who is this?”

“I am Miraleth. I am the designer of this labyrinth. I have bound myself within this orb.”

“Please tell me how I get out?”

“You are out. You are now worthy. You are confident and you know who you are.”

“This was some sort of test?”

“Of course. I asked Azazel to build this specifically to test celestials. If they allow themselves to be drawn in, they face self-doubt and self-pity, which has been the downfall of many celestials. You are one of the few who were proven worthy.”

“Azazel?”

“Yes, he is the weapon designer for the angels.”

“So, are you saying I can use the pellet properly now?”

“I’m saying you can do so much more.”

Reality snapped back, and she sat on her bed, staring at a tiny golden orb. The intricate design matched the heavy lead ball, but this orb was more manageable.

“Holy fuck!” came James’ voice from within her head.

“Wow!” came from a few others.

“Bitchin’,” she heard at least one say.

“What’s going on?” Suzi asked the collective.

“You might want to see for yourself,” Judith said.

Suzi grabbed the golden orb and knife and rushed to the bathroom. As she dissolved them into her skin, she smiled.

“That’s fucking cool.”

In the bathroom mirror, she first noticed that her eyes held more gold than they had previously.

She slipped into Guillermo.

The second thing she noticed and assumed was the reason for all the commotion and clamoring inside her head was that Judas now sported magnificent golden wings sprouting from her shoulder blades. Even the stoic warrior princess admired them, tears glistening, as she practiced furling and unfurling them.

As awesome as the wings were, the epitome of imagery of a typical angel, she realized neither of the angels she had met or seen in ‘person’ had wings. She was left wondering what role, if any, they actually served.

Yet, Suzi was more disturbed by the third thing she noticed: a new personality room had materialized.