“Gage?” From somewhere in the shadows above there came a giggling—a cold and sunless laughter that made the skin on Louis’s back prickle. He started up. It was a long walk to the top of those stairs. He could well imagine a condemned man taking a walk almost as long (and as horribly short) to the platform of a scaffold with his hands tied behind his back, knowing that he would piss when he could no longer whistle. He reached the top at last, one hand in his pocket, staring only at the wall. How long did he stand that way? He did not know. He could now feel his sanity beginning to give way.
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