Incorruptible

He turns and faces me as he bends over and lights a decrepit oil lantern. The rising flame within illuminates his expressionless eyes like distant stars you would only see where it is most dark, secluded, and wild - where there is no influence of men.

" So, are you ready to see her?" He asks with a slight grin. His gold tooth flickering ominously from somewhere deep within the shadowy folds of his leathery face.

" I... I suppose I am." I squeak, suddenly losing my voice as well as my nerve.

" Are you sure about this?" He presses, revealing annoyance.

I check my pocket watch, fumble with the buttons on my vest, and then mutter something under my breath about wasting time. I bravely take a step toward the door, which is crafted of dark, polished oak and accented in what appears to be gold-leaf. I fold my arms and defiantly turn and face him.

" Well, what are we waiting for?" I hiss, motioning toward the door.

" Very well."

Sweat trickles down my sides and my hands begin to uncontrollably shake as I watch him slide the topmost surface bolt... then the two on the bottom.... then another closer to the top. The vacant room is completely silent except for a series of sharp clicks and metallic scrapes as he unlatches the mess of bolts and various locking mechanisms in what seems to be a very specific order known only unto him - some of which appear to be modern in design and others, ancient and queer in make. I stand behind him remaining quiet and not asking any questions fearful of distracting him from the task at hand.

My eyes nervously dart to the bottom of the door. Bright light streams in through the crack, almost struggling to escape. For a second I wonder if this door leads to the outside but then I quickly remember it is almost two o'clock in the morn and this is all but impossible. But for a moment, I truly believe this door, which lies in the deepest recesses of this labrynthian cathedral, does in fact lead to the outside world and that the entire night had come and went. I attribute this mistaken sense of surety, my ardent belief in this delusional fabrication, to my delirious state. Perhaps a result of lack of sleep, but far more probable, a dangerous mixture of opium, fatigue, and gut-wrenching anticipation. The imagination can play strange tricks when you are in such an altered, distressed state of mind.

My eyes travel up to his turned back. At last I see his gnarled hand reach for the handle. I feel my pupils dilate as a hot wave washes over my body. My lips begins to tremble. I silently count to myself... 1, 2, 3, 4... I must remain strong. I have waited for this moment much too long and I mustn't fail. I've travelled preposterous distances and endured unimaginable hardship to finally arrive to this "arcane sanctuary" - this pandemonium fortress which lies deep within an uncharted Eastern European forest only gypsies dare to claim.

I suddenly realize that this is undoubtedly my own personal moment of reckoning, and here I stand, precariously perched on the very edge of sanity itself. Here I stand, mere yards away from a relic that has remained hidden from the eyes of men, unaltered and undefiled, for almost a millenia... the only barrier now separating us an old door and a crooked contemptible man. And I realize, I will soon taste her sweet lips and lie down next to her, in a bed of white satin immersed in her flowery scent.

I also realize it is time to act, no words, as I slowly unbutton my vest and reach for my derringer.