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〃Am I blind？〃 he asked。
No； the room replied。 You're seeing truly for the first time。
〃I 。 。 。 don't 。 。 。 like it。〃 Of course you don't。 But you'll learn in time。 Living's not for you。 Ghosts of ghosts； the living are。 You want to lie down； be done with that caper。 Nothing's essential； boy。
〃I want to leave。〃 Would I tell you lies？
〃I want to leave 。 。 。 please。〃 You're in safe hands。
〃Please。〃 He stumbled forward； confused as to which way the door was。 In front； or behind？ Arms spread before him like a blind man on a cliff edge； he reeled； looking for some point of security。 This wasn't the adventure he'd thought it would be； it was nothing。 Nothing is essential。 Once stepped into； this boundless nowhere had neither distance nor depth； north nor south。 And everything outside it…the stairs； the landing； the stairs below that； the hallway； Carys…all of it was like a fabrication。 A dream of palpability； not a true place。 There was no true place but here。 All he'd lived and experienced； all he'd taken joy in； taken pain in； it was insubstantial。 Passion was dust。 Optimism； self…deception。 He doubted now even the memory of senses： the textures； the temperatures。 Color； form； pattern。 All diversions…games the mind had invented to disguise this unbearable zero。 And why not？ Looking too long into the abyss would madden a man。
Not mad； surely？ said the room； savoring the thought。
Always； even in his blackest moments （lying on a bunk in a hothouse cell； listening to the man in the bed below sob in his sleep） there had been something to look forward to： a letter； a dawn； release； some glimpse of meaning。
But here； meaning was dead。 Future and past were dead。 Love and life were dead。 Even death was dead； because anything that excited emotion was unwele here。 Only nothing： once and for all； nothing。
〃Help me；〃 he said； like a lost child。
Go to Hell； the room respectfully replied； and for the first time in his life； he knew exactly what that meant。
On the second landing； Carys stopped。 She could hear voices； not； now she listened more closely； plural； but the same voice…Marty's voice…speaking and answering itself。 It was difficult to know where the exchange was ing from； the words seemed to be everywhere and nowhere。 She glanced into her room； then into Breer's。 Finally； steeling herself for a repeat of her nightmare； she looked into the bathroom。 He was in none of them。 There was no avoiding the unpalatable conclusion。 He'd gone upstairs； back to Mamoulian's room。
Even as she crossed the landing to the flight of stairs that led up to the top story； another sound caught her attention： somewhere below a blade was hacking wood。 She knew at once it was the Razor…Eater。 He was up and itching to e for her。 What a house this is； she thought； for all its bland facade。 It would take another Dante to describe its depths and heights： dead children； Razor…Eaters； addicts； madmen and all。 Surely the stars that hung at its zenith squirmed in their settings； in the earth beneath it； the magma curdled。
In the European's room； Marty cried out； a bewildered plea。 Calling his name in answer； and hoping to God he heard her； she scrambled to the top of the stairs and crossed； heart in mouth； toward the door。
He had fallen to his knees； what was left of his self…preservation was a tattered and hopeless thought； gray on gray。 Even the voice had stopped now。 It was bored with the banter。 Besides； it had taught its lesson well。 Nothing is essential； it had said； and shown him the why and how； or rather dug up that part of him that had known all along。 Now he would just wait for the progenitor of this elegant syllogism to e and dispatch him。 He lay down； not certain if he was alive or dead； if the man who would presently e would kill him or resurrect him： only certain that to lie down was easiest； in this； the emptiest of all possible worlds。
Carys had been in this Nowhere before。 She'd tasted its flat； futile air。 But in the past few hours she had glimpsed something beyond its aridity。 There had been victories today； not large； perhaps； but victories nevertheless。 She thought of the way Marty had e； his eyes with more than lust in them。 That was a victory； wasn't it？ She'd won that feeling out of him； earned it in some incalculable way。 She would not be beaten by this last oppressor； this stale beast that smothered her senses。 It was only the European's residue； after all。 His sloughings； left to decorate his bower。 Scurf； dross。 It and he were contemptible。
〃Marty；〃 she said。 〃Where are you？〃 〃Nowhere 。 。 。〃 came a voice。
She followed it； stumbling。 Desolation pressed in； insisting on her。
Breer paused for a moment。 A long way off； he heard voices。 He couldn't make out the words； but the sense was academic。 They hadn't escaped yet； that was the important thing。 He had plans for them once he got out： especially the man。 He would divide him into tiny pieces； until not even his loved ones could tell which part was his finger； which his face。
He began to hack at the wood with renewed fervor。 Under his relentless attack the door finally began to splinter。
Carys followed Marty's voice through the fog； but he eluded her。 Either he was moving around or else the room was somehow deceiving her； echoing his voice off the walls； or even impersonating him。 Then his voice called her name； close by。 She turned in the murk； utterly without bearings。 There was no sign of the door she'd entered by…it had disappeared； as had the windows。 The pieces of her resolve began to unglue。 Doubt seeped in； smirking。
Well； well。 And who are you？ somebody asked。 Perhaps herself。
〃I know my name；〃 she breathed。 It wasn't going to unseat her that way。 〃I know my name。〃 She was a pragmatist； damn it！ She wasn't prone to believing that the world was all in the mind。 That's why she'd gone to H： the world was too real。 Now here was this vapor in her ears； telling her she was nothing； everything was nothing； nameless muck。
〃Shit；〃 she told it。 〃You're shit。 His shit！〃 It didn't deign to reply； she took the advantage while she had it。
〃Marty。 Can you hear me？〃 There was no answer。 〃It's just a room； Marty。 Can you hear me？ That's all it is！ Just a room。〃 You've been in me before； the voice in her head pointed out。 Remember？
Oh； yes； she remembered。 There was a tree in this fog somewhere； she'd seen it in the sauna。 It was a blossom…laden freak of a tree； and under it she'd glimpsed such horrid sights。 Was that where Marty had gone？ Was he hanging from it even now： new fruit？
Damn it； no！ She mustn't give in to such thoughts。 It was just a room。 She could find the walls if she concentrated； even find the window maybe。
Careless of what she might stumble over； she turned to her right； and walked four paces； five； until her outstretched hands hit the wall： it was shockingly； splendidly solid。 Ha！ she thought； fuck you and your tree！ Look what I've found。 She put her palms flat on the wall。 Now； left or right？ She threw up an imaginary coin。 It came down heads； and she started to edge along to her left。
No you don't； the room whispered。
〃