Saint struck the wall again. One of the hanging chains dislodged from the walls, spiraling down to the floor, reverberating against the stone. The casket swung violently against the three remaining chains. The smooth ivory of the casket made Samson tighten his grip as he struggled to stay on. He clamped down hard on one of the gold locks, securing his weight to it like anchor. Samson looked down at Saint who was howling up at him. His headache was slowly returning and all the feeling in his legs was wobbly as if someone had removed all the bones, leaving him with misshapen soup legs. He turned his gaze upward to the ceiling, the small opening, like the mouth of a well, shone down on him. He guessed he could make it to the top. Saint assaulted the wall a second time, bouncing the casket in the air, tossing Samson about like a leaf on the wind. Samson pinned his feet against the casket, waiting for the box to slow its swaying. With a quick jump, he grabbed the chain, throwing all his weight on it. The casket jostled; the screams of the chains returned as well as the slow sound of rocks crushing under metal. He began to climb.

Saint beat the wall again. His fist slammed against the marble like a stick on a drum, pounding the wall senselessly, sending large cracks up the marble, rattling the chains loudly in Samson’s ear. Samson continued his ascent, pulling most of his body off the casket fully onto the chain. Saint’s latest barrage boomed throughout the cavern. Just as Samson stepped completely off the casket another chain broke. The chain catapulted out of the small opening, whizzing by Samson’s head as it curled to the ground with a loud crash. The casket was on its side waning against the weight, the only chains that remained were one in the front and one in the back, the latter being the tool Samson was using to escape his prison. He wasted no time. Digging his feet into the rungs, ignoring their jelly like state giving him no support. He gripped the rungs harder, pulling hand over hand, spitting phlegm as he climbed. The booms of Saint’s strikes rang in his head. The climb made him feel lightheaded from the exercise. Barely able to lift his arms, he continued upward.

He was halfway up the chain, digging his hands deep into the metal, listening to its loud cry as the marble slowly crumbled around him. He noticed Saint had stopped his assault on the marble, he wanted to look down and see what the monster was doing, but he refused, seeing his way out and would not look back. Almost to the top of the chain he could see a little out of the mouth. A small room no bigger than a sauna with stone steps leading to a pair of double doors. Through those doors he could see it. The faint sliver of sun as it peaked over the desert in the early morning. His recourse was certain now. Hand over hand, he would make it. The chain shook suddenly, nearly knocking Samson off.

He turned his gaze downward. Saint had hooked the remaining parts of the pick axe against the front chain, pulling all of his weight against it. The chain bellowed its loud creaks against the pressure. Samson held tight, looking to stabilize himself before continuing. Saint growled, cracking the metal in the chain. The wood from the axe began to splinter. Saint let out a hellish roar and shattered the axe against the chain, slicing through the metal. The casket swung like a pendulum. Samson clutched the chain, holding his mangled face against the metal. He held his breath. The casket collided loudly with the wall gashing deep into the marble like an ivory wrecking ball, swinging back to the center of the room. Samson could feel the chain about break in a matter of seconds. He threw his hand up to the orifice, gripping the cold stone. He released the chain, putting all of his weight on the marble. Within seconds the last chain snapped, and the casket crashed all of its weight to the floor, knocking Saint against the wall. Samson kept his grip looking closely at the double doors, praising God in his head. As he moved to pull himself out of the pit the chain slithered loose, cascading out of the orifice. As it did, a large link swung onto his hands, crushing his fingers. He put all he could on them, but it was not enough. The metal had broken three of his fingers making his climb useless. He felt dead as he descended, the sunlight, the doors, the small opening, slowly disappeared from his view and he watched the last shred hope of disappear.

Darkness consumed him before he struck the marble. The room faded as it did before so many times, but this one was different. He did not feel as if he was in a dream or the blankness of death, more as if his soul was out of his body, spirit floating through the ether. He waited. Waited for the loud sound of his body returning to earth and his bones crushing from the fall, but it did not come. He felt free. Free from worry, from pain, from the exhaustion of his body. Even free from regret. His tried to move his legs, but they just moved on their own, without consciousness or thought he was walking against the cosmos. The world and planets swirled around him. Existence seemed a dream. The worlds passed through him in canvas of color and time. Years seemed to last a second, and a moment lasted a lifetime. He reached out trying to grasp the planets in his fingers.

“Samson!” He heard a voice cry out.

The same booming voice from his dream, deeper than the below of a whale but soft. He tried to answer back. His voice was empty, almost without sound. He tried to move, to do anything to find the voice. His feet stopped moving and the stars became still, the planets vanished into the void. He looked down at his hands, they were whole, untouched, his legs worked from his waist down. He was whole again. He remained still but the stars regained their movement, swirling and colliding, layering one star on top of another and they molded into a giant pair of eyes. The bright white and yellows of the stars melded into a bright teal. The eyes were captivating and terrifying, each one the size of a mountain. They multiplied, ten then twenty, forming first one ring then another, spinning amongst themselves appearing as a giant globe of rings and eyes. The spinning ceased, all of the eyes turned and faced Samson, focusing solely on him.

“Do not be afraid!” They bellowed.

Samson tried. The cosmic creature terrified him to his core, and he could not help being afraid. The massive ring grew closer to him. He tried to run or fly, yet his movements remained frozen. The rings engulfed him. He saw her, he saw Saint, he saw his family, he saw everything. The world seemed clear as if he knew what to expect. He was pulled out of the rings. They hovered over him, returning to spinning like a cyclone.

“Do you understand?” They bellowed again.

“Yes!” Samson shouted in a voice that did not sound like his own.

“Go forth!” They cried.

The stars disappeared, as did the rings and the eyes. He could feel himself in freefall, the pain was returning as the clarity was leaving. The worry and the fatigue returned and before he could catch himself from falling, the darkness around him consumed him and his mind went blank.

He opened his eyes. He was mangled, a shell barely holding on to life, crumpled in a pile of rubble. To his left was the casket. The ivory dented and cracked. The chains piled up around him like large snakes waiting to eat their prey. As the blood poured from his head, he wished they were snakes so that he could die. The familiar dragging of Saint’s boot filled his ears. Saint hovered over him. His dark duster brushing against Samson’s eyes. Saint spit in his face.

“Look at you. Look what your self-righteousness has cost you. Not dead but a poor excuse at being alive. I would be surprised if you could move at all.”

He lifted his boot and brought it down on Samson’s ribs. The weight didn’t even faze the priest. He was too far gone to even consider anything else but his fate. Saint lifted his boot again to strike Samson’s ribs. Samson shook his head in a tearful cry.

“No,” he wheezed out.

“I’m sorry that ship has long since sailed away,” Saint snapped.

“I will help you. Please may I have some more of that purple liquid.”

Saint set his boot down away from Samson and crouched down to face him.

“Why the sudden change of heart? Has that righteous spirit finally broken?”

Samson nodded as his salty tears mixed with his bloody face. Saint reached into his coat and pulled another mason jar out. This one was clear glass with not a drop of liquid inside.

“Perhaps you will get lucky,” he mocked.

Pulling himself away from Samson he kicked the large chains and dust back to the puddle of purple liquid Samson had spilled all over the floor. Saint produced a gray rag from his shirt pocket, slowly mopping up glass and dust with the liquid and squeezing it into the jar. A small amount accumulated in the glass, barely more than two tablespoons. Samson felt he was now a quadriplegic. His couldn’t even lift his head. His legs were useless as were his arms. He could barely move one hand. As Saint continued to attempt to get the remainder of the liquid into the mason jar. Samson reached for a small stone. Gripping it with his thumb and ring finger as the rest of his fingers were broken, he scribbled a small note into the marble floor.

                                                 “Clover”

                                                 “Jonah”

                                                “Boston”

He barely finished the “n” in Boston before he couldn’t write anymore and dropped the stone onto the ground. Saint whipped his head around to see what he was doing. Seeing that nothing had occurred he finished his last wring of the cloth and brought the jar over to Samson. Samson opened his mouth as Saint dropped all of the liquid into his mouth. The glass and dust fell down his throat slicing as it went. Despite all the pain Samson felt the same pseudo wellness he had been experiencing for the last hour. He sat up; the potion was not enough to return his legs to full strength but everything else felt good enough to move. He looked at Saint.

“What is it you need me to do?”

Saint gurgled and grinned. His sharp fangs gnashed with delight. He reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled a gold key tied to a twine. He snapped the twine from his neck and placed the key in Samson’s hand.

“Let’s let her out,” he said with a slight giggle.

Samson nodded and crawled towards the casket. He made his way to the first golden lock which was as bent and crooked as the casket and landed on it directly. He wedged the key into the lock, twisting it to line up with the gears, the metal pressing against his hand. He heard a loud click and turned the key, unlocking the first lock. Gripping the lock, he bent the metal even further, the empty sound of the lock landing on the marble filled Samson’s soul with sorrow. He moved to the next lock, using the same tinkering on this one as the first. Slowly moving the key in and out of the mechanism until it clicked and landed empty on the floor. Same with the third, the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth. Every time the hollow sound of the lock landing filled Samson’s ears, he could feel a part of his soul dying. Soon just the seventh lock remained. Samson gripped it tight thrusting the key into the lock holding it there, refusing to turn it. Saint placed his hand on Samson’s shoulder. Samson nodded and continued twisting the lock and pulling it from the casket, letting it fall from his grip to the floor with the rest.

Saint pushed him aside and wedged the shovel into the crevice of the casket. He pressed on the opening and thrust it open. A haze of blue smoke erupted out of the casket covering Saint. He screamed and rushed out of the chamber, wading out into the water a good distance before dunking his head. Samson rolled over, shielding himself from the smoke with his shoulder. Saint reemerged out of the water. His duster soaked, his Stetson drenched, his skin stained a darker blue than its original pale blue. He dragged himself back into the chamber. His scowl traveled down his face in a grotesque frown. He lumbered back to the casket he let out a howl wilder than any he had before. The casket was empty.

The interior was red looking, almost velvet in nature. The pillow and the cushion seemed unused and untouched by time. Placed in the center was a single note pinned to the fabric, which read:

“We will never forget Ruben Alcazar’s sacrifice. Take your greed and your evil and travel to the bowels of hell. You will never find Nevara Florentino.”

                                       Mason Francis Alcazar

Saint slammed the lid shut and began pounding the wall uncontrollably. Samson chuckled.

“You traveled all this way. Destroyed your entire being for an empty casket!”

Samson fell over laughing. His sides nearly burst, and his pain was slowly creeping back, but he did not care, he was going to enjoy the moment. Ruben’s journal fell out of his coat. He tried to grab it. Saint reached out faster and snatched it up. Holding the book in his hand, he looked back at the piles of papers Ruben had left. Saint’s grin returned to him.

“Ruben had to leave some idea of where it was, and you have worn out your usefulness to me. I hope betraying your morals was worth the damnation you are sure to face.”

Samson tried to run but it was no use. Saint gripped his frock, lifting him off the ground. He opened the lid of the casket again and flung Samson into it. Before Samson could react, Saint slammed the lid. He banged on the top trying to free himself. His heart sank as he heard the click of each lock slowly locking back up. He felt the casket move. The slow sound of it dragging across the marble. He struck the lid again trying to scream. He felt the casket tip down the stairs as he heard the slap of the lake and the casket slowly sink under the water. He could feel the water draining into the small cracks in the lid, slowly filling the entire casket. He hit the lid twice before letting his arms fall to his sides. He was tired and accepted his fate. Saying one final prayer, he closed his eyes as the casket sunk into the blackness.