The sky bleeds from orange to purple as I watch Boston slide past through the car's tinted windows. I should probably feel something more than this weird calm, considering I was just legally declared dead and sold by my own mother. But honestly? I'm too busy trying to piece together what the hell is happening to me.
I died. I must have died when that truck hit me at the Prudential. This has to be some alternate reality or maybe I'm in a coma dreaming all this up. Either way, I'm sitting in the backseat of a luxury sedan while Emily drives me to God knows where.
"Hey, Emily," I lean forward, resting my arms on the center console. "Can I borrow your phone?"
Her eyes flick to mine in the rearview mirror. "No… Vincent, you're not scared enough for someone who's been bought."
I shrug, settling back against the leather seat. "You're not very intimidating. You more just seem... annoyed."
"I am annoyed," she confirms, turning onto a tree-lined avenue I don't recognize. "You're a man who was sold by his mother to me, and yet you seem rather lackluster about the whole ordeal."
"Because you said I don't have to work anymore." I watch the mansions slip by outside, each one more imposing than the last. "You really underestimate how much I hated my job."
Emily's knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. "Are you not even considering I might be taking you to your death?"
I laugh. "Oh, Emily... I don't know if I really fear death anymore." The memory of chrome and glass flashes behind my eyes. "Been there, done that."
She studies me through the rearview mirror, something unreadable passing across her face. "I'm way too fucking old for this shit," she mutters under her breath.
"How old are you?" I ask, curious. "You look younger than me. Twenty-five?"
She snorts so hard I'm worried she might crash the car. "Yeah, sure," she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm twenty-five."
I stare at her, trying to peel back the layers of her practiced indifference.
"Fair enough," I concede, dropping the age question.
We drive for about twenty minutes, leaving the city lights behind as we cross the Tobin Bridge. The water below looks like polished obsidian in the fading light. We're heading north, and I'm starting to wonder just how far this rabbit hole goes.
"Where exactly are we going?" I finally ask, watching unfamiliar landscape replace the urban sprawl I'm used to.
"Salem," Emily replies curtly, not taking her eyes off the road.
"Salem? Why?"
She sighs. "That's where the castle is."
Castle? My brain stutters over the word. What kind of twilight zone have I fallen into?
"Salem has a castle?" I ask, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice.
"Yup."
I lean forward again, curiosity overwhelming my better judgment. "Is it nice?"
Emily's head snaps toward me, her patience visibly evaporating. "Please, Vincent. Just shut the fuck up."
Before I can respond, she jabs at the car's touchscreen and music floods the interior. Some classical piece with violins that sound like they're having anxiety attacks. Message received. I sink back into the plush leather seat, letting the vibrations of the car lull me into a strange sense of calm.
My eyelids feel heavy, the day's events finally catching up to me. "Is it cool if I sleep?" I ask, already half drifting.
"Why wouldn't it be?" she responds, her tone softening just a fraction.
"You told me I'm concussed," I mumble, fighting to keep my eyes open.
"Oh yeah," she says, almost as an afterthought. "That's fine. You're way past the point that would be dangerous."
I nod, not even sure if she sees the gesture. The gentle rocking of the car combines with the string quartet's frantic playing, creating a bizarre lullaby that pulls me under. My last conscious thought is wondering if I'll wake up in my own bed, or if this strange new reality is permanent.