SAVING GINA by Denada Rule

I lay awake in velvet darkness, feeling each beat of my heart, hearing the labored rasp of my own breathing. Stretching out my hands, I press once more against the torn and tattered ceiling. It is too close and will not be forced away. There is no space to turn, no room to shift. Even without light, without sight, I feel the closeness of the walls around me.

Walls of blackened oak, lined with unadorned satin, they keep the moist, dark earth from tumbling in and crushing me. They insulate me from the world, and it from me. There is nothing here to distract me from my own thoughts, only the empty peace of silence.

I would speak, cry out in terror, anything to break the emptiness. I have no voice left, not even a whisper. When first I woke, I tore vainly at the ceiling, rending the smooth satin with claw-like fingers. When it refused to give way, I screamed until I thought my throat must bleed. It seems there is nobody to hear me, no rescue, nothing but the ever-present darkness.

When I wept and begged for death, I never dreamed that it would be like this. I dreamed instead of peace, release from sorrow, and thus I chose to die. I sold my soul for this. All in the name of love, for the sake of saving Gina.

I sold my soul, the essence of my heart, and was betrayed. There was to be a dignity in dying, some sublime sense of peace as I escaped the pain that wracked my beleaguered body. In that much, they had kept their word. I no longer hurt to the core of my bones. In fact, I felt magnificent, healthier than I had in years. They had transferred the funds too. It was in my little sister's hands before I reported to the set.

The price of my soul? A 10 mil, one-time payment for my life--non-refundable.

It went against everything we believed in, every tenet of our faith. It mocked the very peace and dignity our people had lived by. In the end, only my pain had spoken to my sister, winning her consent. There were just the two of us, Gina and I. The rest of the commune had dispersed after Father's death. Without his strength to shepherd them, they could not maintain the purity needed to reach the next world. One by one, they succumbed to the blandishments of the modern age.

We two had retained our faith. Maintained it well until the plague took root in me, beggaring us with medical bills. And to what end? They could not save me. I would die in agony, leaving my sweet sister alone and destitute--easy fodder for those who prey upon the weak and innocent.

It worried at me constantly, stealing what little comfort my faith might have given me. That was when I first saw the ad; terminally ill woman required for tasteful commercial. It was a rather gruesome casting call for an ad agency. I called out of curiosity, and found that they were representing the Euthanasium, the biggest mercy house in the city.

It seemed to be a legitimate plea, not a front for some seedy snuff house. After a little while, I became obsessed with the idea. It seemed the perfect answer to all my worries. I would be free of the incessant misery I endured, and Gina… Gina would be set for life. It was ideal, the best I could ask for under the circumstances.

It took me days to convince my sister that I would be better off dead. It was no easy task. Suicide was forbidden to us, a sure-fire way to lose your soul. My concern for her welfare was so great by then that even damnation seemed a small price to pay for her salvation. She had become my focus, the reason for everything I did. At last, tortured by my pain, she gave her blessing, and so it came to pass.

My soul was forfeit, but Gina would survive. My little sister would be able to live out her life in faith and purity, and my death would have some meaning. There would be no more worry, no stress. It would be at once dignified and peaceful.

I remember reporting to the set. It seemed a little shabby for such a big commercial, but I told myself that I was worrying needlessly. The Euthanasium had a sterling reputation, they could not possibly be involved in anything second-rate or shady. It was just my lack of experience, my innate distaste for the film industry that caused me to feel apprehensive.

Everything seemed to go perfectly, absolutely according to the script. I was dressed in a gauzy white gown and settled prettily in a huge, comfortable bed. As they gave me the injection, I could hear the announcer softly explaining both my history and the mercy process. I smiled beatifically on cue and closed my eyes. I felt the blackness rush in on me, and my heart slowed to a standstill. My last thought as I died was for my little sister.

I remember it clearly, my death.

Yet I woke up here, wondering what had gone wrong. Unaccountably alive, and trapped. There is no dignity in this black box, no saving grace. My innocence, the part of me that believed in them, sears my heart. I taste the bitterness of bile as the quiet whirring of the camera impinges on the soft silence. No doubt it has been there all along. No doubt they watch me now, struggling for breath as the air becomes deader. It is clear to me now, as I go down a second time into the arms of death, that I have been a terrible fool.

They are being deliberately cruel, I think. Why else bring me back with all the memories intact, other than to have me know that I have been brutally betrayed?

My death throes must be popular with the snuff junkies. I have lost count now of the number of my deaths, there have been too many. There is no end to the unusual demises I have met, all marked by the relentless whirring of the camera. The sound comforts me now, feeding the growing blight on my soul.

This time, I am chained by the wrists, hanging naked between two posts. There are snakes on the ground, writhing sinuously around my ankles. I have no doubt they will eventually cover me, causing my death. How predictable.

Dying has become boring, but they must not know that. My survival depends upon it. I still scream and struggle vainly, giving them their money's worth.

The memories were an accident. I know that now.

I wake earlier each time, learning more of them than they know. I have seen the lab--the cloning tanks. I have felt them imprint me with the urge to live. The impetus to struggle. I am merely merchandise, flesh grown in a vat for their amusement.

I am a slab of meat--a thing of human appearance, possessing no soul. In this, they are wrong. This is my punishment, my first taste of damnation. I swallow it whole, becoming unclean--tarnished by madness.

Even so, Heaven is not needlessly cruel. My soul has been bound here for some purpose. To free my heart from torment, I must find that purpose.

What is it with these people and nudity? The stone altar is cold and rough against my back, but my bonds allow no movement. But for an ornate headdress, the heathen priest is naked too.

He stands between my legs, eyes closed, a twisted dagger stretched heavenward in supplication. As he chants, a woman grasps him firmly from behind--stroking, raising him to orgasm. In the instant of release, his eyes open and he plunges the dagger straight into my heart.

As my lifeblood stains the altar, I meet the woman's eyes over his shoulder. Gina's eyes. No! My soul cries out, echoing with anguish as the camera whirs.

I fight my way to consciousness this time, desperate to get a grasp on what I saw. Images of my sister fill my mind with turmoil. I see her innocence rent from her, tattered and bleeding. Apostasy forced upon her--heresy. This cannot be what I damned myself for.

Slowly my surroundings intrude upon the maelstrom within me. It is dark and warm, soft and secure. There is no sound but the hum of machinery. I open my eyes slowly in an atmosphere both thick and liquid.

I'm still in the tanks!

Even as the thought registers, I feel a change in temperature around me. The viscous liquid drains away and I become aware of the harsh light of the lab.

My first clear sight is Gina laughing as she cuddles up to the technician. I can hear them making twisted little jokes about how they offer me salvation, and I know the truth. My sister is a willing whore, belittling my faith. I sold my soul for nothing.

In that instant, my purpose crystallizes. At last, I know why my spirit lingers in this wretchedness. Divine purpose fills me, steadying my hand. They move me to a cold steel surface, still blindly unaware of me. As they lower me gently to that unyielding hardness, something sharp bites into my down turned palm. I grasp it tightly, allowing the pain to be my balm.

The clarity of madness becomes my salvation. Faithless hearts gasp out their terror as I rise up, the living instrument of holy retribution. Blood spatters brightly, staining the sterile confines of the lab. Unclean, they reap the wages of their sin and the harlot's screams fall upon deaf ears.

Somewhere a door slams open and bullets riddle my chest, blooming like roses. They come far too late.

The camera whirs as I fulfill my purpose--saving Gina.