"How do you like the place?"
Oblivious to Cain, John slumped against the wooden support-beam, smearing it with blood as he forced himself upright. His head lolled on his shoulders and he mumbled something incoherent.
"You could act a little more enthusiastic than that," Cain said. "I've gone to a lot of trouble to get the place just right for my brother. Put a lot of time and effort into the decor. Don't you think the ambience is just right?"
John staggered. Cain clutched him under an arm, mindless of the way his?ngers dug into?esh. "Watch that?rst step; it can be a real bitch."
Then, with a shove, he pressed John forward. Watched as his captive tumbled down the short?ight of steps into darkness. Only semiconscious, John made little noise. He fell as if constructed from rags that made only soft contact with the steps. A grunt was all that marked his resting place.
"That'll teach you to pay attention," Cain said. He wasn't happy that John had lost the case of money, but neither was he unnecessarily concerned. Either Joe Hunter would fetch the money for him, or he could backtrack and collect it when all this was over. Concern was unnecessary, but a little necessary cruelty would remind John Telfer what it meant to cross Tubal Cain. Taking one last glance behind him, Cain followed John into the darkness.
Fifteen feet down, the steps leveled out on a?oor made of bedrock. Last time Cain had been here he had swept the desert sand away, but already he could feel windblown dust beneath his feet; it was the main downside to his hideaway that he had to continually maintain it by brushing and sweeping to keep the desert at bay.
He prodded John with a foot, moving him aside as he reached out in the dark and clutched for the padlock that held the metal door shut. Holding the lock in one hand, he traced the?ngers of the other up the near wall, found a narrow niche he'd dug into the sandstone, and pulled out the concealed key. The key opened the lock with little resistance. Cain pushed and the door swung inward on well-maintained hinges.
The smell buffeted him.
He smiled.
Even in his semiunconscious state, John gagged at the stench.
"What the fu…?" John groaned.
Cain didn't comment; he bent down and grabbed John's shirt, hauling him to his feet and pushing him into the room before him, urging him into the charnel stink. John gave some resistance, refusing to breathe, steeling his shoulders as he attempted to ward off the sickening stench of rotted meat.
"Get inside," Cain said, almost a whisper.
"No," John gasped.
"Yes." Cain pushed him into the cloying darkness.
Cain entered the room with a breezy exuberance. He fairly skipped over to the nearest lamp, scratched around until he found the butane lighter beside it, then set?ame to wick, casting writhing shadows around the room. That done, he emptied his pockets of the bones he'd garnered during his latest trip. They made quite a mound. Then, hands on hips, he surveyed the space before him. "Now what do you think, John? Do you think Jubal would be pleased?"
On the?oor, John was curled into a fetal ball. One arm covered his face, but Cain could see the whites of his eyes re?ected in the lamp-light, searching the room with a mix of fascination and revulsion. His pupils were like pinpricks in yellowed snow. Yes, Cain decided, John was very impressed.