“Well, this fucking blows.

“You’ve said that, like, forty-five times. I think it’s only been an hour.”

“Shut up, you love it!”

“Ellen, it’s a generic filler phrase that kinda goes without saying. I kinda just wanna

brood so…”

“So stop it! We need to get out of here!”

Ellen was very correct in that conclusion. This cell, which hadn’t been terribly interesting

to begin with, was getting very tiresome. Etching graffiti into the walls had long lost its allure,

and Jeremiah was finding it ever harder to remember the words to the songs Ellen dredged up

every now and again. It seemed such a bother, really? Why not just lean back against the wall

and sink...down and down…become bleak and withery… He shut his lids saw her face in his

mind’s eye, a wry smirk upon her violet lips, black tongue caressing her golden teeth smoothly…

“FRAND! What’s wrong?!” This outburst, and the sudden snapping of Ellen’s fingers in

his face, bitch-slapped the image from Jeremiah’s consciousness, and he immediately sputtered

out a “nothing, nothing” almost reflexively. As his vision phased back in, he allowed himself a

vain hope that perhaps he and his friend had figured out how to teleport in the last few seconds,

and that they were now on the shores of Lyon or in the sweltering jungles of Benin…

Nope.

There was Ellen, her face only just beginning to decay a bit around the eyes and mouth.

Full of humanity as she was, Jeremiah had at first envied how little the Darksign affected her.

Even as other people they knew fell under its burden, Ellen had remained roughly unchanged,
with only a few telltale wrinkles to belie that something was amiss in her youthful body. She

smiled warmly at him as she poked him in the face a few times, only a few teeth missing, and

Jeremiah felt a certain warmth rise in his chest. Whether it was affection or abject annoyance at

the fact that she was poking the parts of his face that had sloughed off (and she knew he was

sensitive about that), he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was glad he had her there.

The two of them had been the first people in America to contract the Darksign. Though

they’d heard news reports about its spread from Japan into Asia, they—and the rest of their

proud nation—didn’t think it would ever reach their doorsteps. It had seemed as exotic as bird

flu or radiation poisoning (albeit with a cooler name). Alas, one day, after one of their traditional

nights in the sauce, the friends woke up with the telltale flaming orange circle. Ellen’s rested

rather artistically in the spot between right shoulder and breast. Jeremiah’s unfortunately was on

the small of his back. He called his Darkstamp. He thought it made him look super gay.

The pair of friends had always tossed around the thought that they were special and that

they’d contribute something big to the world. This hadn’t been exactly what they’d had in mind,

as Jeremiah sardonically pointed out when the next person in Columbus got the fatal mark.

Though they didn’t know why it was spreading, it seemed the duo had indeed instigated it.

Jeremiah tried to count the number of people they’d known who had died of the initial

disease and gone hollow…Abby was the first, of course. The girl had a weak will; she hadn’t

stood a chance. Soon others followed: David and Jason, on the same day (which was fitting, due

to people never being able to remember which was which); Lauren, still cracking jokes all the

while; even Alex, who stood loyally by while his friends succumbed further into the madness the

curse wrought. All were branded. All died once and rose again, undead. All lost hope and

became hollow.
 He couldn’t remember, or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to anymore. “My parents

were right,” he sullenly said aloud. “This thing is a curse.” Ellen stopped poking him and turned

her gaze away. There was a long pause.

“How many came here with us?” Jeremiah ventured at last.

“Try to remember. I…don’t think I do.”

“I think it was…12…people we knew at least.”

“That sounds right.” Ellen tossed her head from side to side thoughtfully, fiddling in the

air as if with her absent banjo.

“Do you think they’ve…?” Jeremiah got to his feet hesitantly and took a few heavy steps

toward the bars.

“God, I hope not.”

“Me either. Do you think the warden would…?” He absentmindedly ran his hands along

the cool, rusty metal and turned back to face his companion.

“Yeah, where is the warden anyway?” Ellen pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“I’ve been trying to count. I don’t think we’ve seen it for at least a few days.”

“I wonder what it does in its spare time….”

“Do you think it masturbates?” both friends blurted at the same time, almost immediately

erupting into a chorus of giggles afterward. They exchanged a knowing look. Someway,

somehow, even after all this time, they were going to escape this stupid Undead Asylum.

Perhaps a bit sooner than they would have thought.

 There was a low rumble, and a crash overhead. Jeremiah instinctively shrunk back

against the bars as the shoddy stonework in the ceiling gave way. A corpse fell from aloft, falling

unceremoniously, ass-up onto the floor. From where he was standing, Jeremiah couldn’t see

what caused this ruckus, but Ellen shouted, “Hey, wait!” as she leapt to her feet.

“What happened?” Jeremiah queried. “Did you see who killed this…lady?” he said,

casting a cursory glance at the body between them.

“There was…a person up there…in armor, I think,” Ellen mumbled, almost as if in a

dream. “I think…he looked Astoran, maybe?”

Jeremiah peered at her, trying not to appear cruel as he did so. “Are you sure you’re not

reading into this?” he finally asked.

She nodded vigorously. “I’d recognize that armor anywhere, Jeremiah. Cross my heart,

hope to…well, die again, I guess. Those guys were literally on every street corner while I was

studying in Astora.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “So an Astoran killed this bitch. Small world I guess.” He was

brushing her off a bit, already appraising the distance between the floor and the hole and the

ceiling, wondering if they could reach…

Damn. Impossible. Whoever built this horrible place knew what they were doing. Ellen

hummed to herself as he futilely tried to measure with his arms, looking quite comical in his

hospital gown as he did so. Eventually, .he knelt down, exasperated, next to the corpse, turning it

over. “Wait...” he said. “I think… I know…”

 “Jane.” Ellen cut him off. A torrent of memories flooded through him. A sweet, slightly

vacant girl with purple hair and a penchant for remorselessly breaking laws. He had met her…in

the woods somewhere…

It was all he had gotten. But now, she was here at the asylum.

And she had died.

“Was she…?” Ellen almost whispered.

“No,” Jeremiah said, unsure of why he knew but knowing all the same. “She wasn’t one

of the people with us when our parents shipped us off here.” He caught her nasty look. “Well,

my parents shipped us off here. Sorry for that.”

Another pause.

“I miss them horribly.” She had sat again, and was stroking Jane’s hair soothingly.

“I know. We’ll find them. I’m sure they’re looking for you.”

“We’ve been over this. I don’t even know where this place is, dude.”

“Still…your family’s resourceful. Don’t…give up hope. Autumn found us, remember?”

“I don’t wanna be a dick, Jeremiah, but where is she right now?”

The image of the warden dragging his sister away by the hair came to him, and he visibly

flinched. “She could still be alive. She is still alive. I know it. Just like I know your family is

probably on their way here right now and maybe Alex didn’t go all the way hollow and he’s

okay and…” Jeremiah trailed off and let loose a dry chuckle.
 “We’re fucked,” he intoned, punching Jane in the stomach for emphasis. To their

surprise, they heard a small clink. They exchanged yet another wordless look, this one something

along the lines of what the fuck was that? And which one of us is gonna search the body? They

decided on Jeremiah, and he slowly, gingerly lifted up Jane’s hospital gown.

A penchant for breaking laws, he thought, astonished, as he beheld Jane’s midsection.

The violet-haired girl had taken advantage of her moldering state. At least a dozen small objects

were stuffed into her midsection: guitar picks, a cutlery set, an iPod, a silver crucifix, even an

entire Hall & Oates album wedged neatly between her liver and…stomach? (Jeremiah was never

that good at anatomy). But most importantly, Jeremiah espied something that, though stained

red, still retained its ecru tint. A piece of parchment, wrapped tightly around something. He

reached around it, feeling the squelch of his old friend’s innards, and pulled.

It was a key. Ellen’s dark eyes flashed as Jeremiah unfurled the parchment and tossed the

piece of metal to her. She studied it closely as he read,”

“To the first of the American Undead,

Fuck you.

Just kidding! But seriously…You have work to do. I’ve written this in case I don’t make it

out of here. I’m not 100% sure how this hollowing thing works, but I’m close. I can feel it. I

wasn’t supposed to get this far, though, so I guess I have something to be proud of. There’s a

baggie of weed somewhere in my large intestines btw. I couldn’t find it but maybe you can.

Love, Jane.”
 Their old friend’s last missive had them in hysterics by the end. Jeremiah immediately

began rooting around lower in the corpse’s innards as Ellen stood again and tried the key in the

door. It turned hesitantly, after a few rattles and “Dammit”s but then opened with a resounding

clang. Ellen and Jeremiah exchanged the last look they ever would in that asylum cell. This one

said, “Holy, fuck. It’s actually happening. We’re free.”

Out loud, Jeremiah said, “Wait… a HA!” and pulled an entire bloody ounce bag of weed

from inside their passed-on savior. He kissed the bag, kissed her head, wiped his mouth on his

gown and stood up to join his friend as she took a few hesitant steps out into the beige-tiled

hallway. Wherever they were going, at least they were going.

“Thanks, Jane,” Ellen smiled and said to no one in particular.

“Yeah,” Jeremiah echoed. “Thanks, Jane.”