Tunnels 03, Freefall

wish," the one on the left said in a nasal voice, and immediately reached towards the device on the table. His movement was darting, almost reptilian. His pale fingers flicked a switch on a small black box, from which a twisted brown cable ran to an odd-looking device she had assumed was the Dark Light. While this did vaguely resemble some kind of table lamp, the bulb in it didn't look anything like a normal bulb -- it was purple, but so dark as to be almost black.
    With a rattle the box on the tabletop began to vibrate, then settled down again. The Styx adjusted some controls behind the light. As he withdrew his hand from it, Mrs. Burrows was sure there was a suggestion of a smile on his tight lips. She saw the bulb flare a dark orange, then dim again.
    Quite abruptly, without either of the Styx moving a muscle, the room seemed to be plunged into darkness. Mrs. Burrows tensed as her ears popped -- she felt as if she was descending in an express elevator. Here we go again , she thought as her teeth rattled together. She remembered the same sensations when the machine in Mrs. Tantrumi's trolley on Highfield Common had been fired up.
    Although the Styx were lost to her in the gloom, she heard them talking to each other. Then she heard a click, as if a switch had been thrown, and before her eyes was a scene in which millions of tiny sparks showered down on what looked like a calm night sea. Were they trying to frighten her with these special effects? This isn't so bad , she said to herself.
    Then it got bad.
    It was as though something was attempting to get inside her head, like a hungry maggot trying to push its way through the skin of an overripe peach. But whatever it was, it was bigger than a maggot -- more like a hedgehog, but a world apart from the Tiggy-Winkle variety one finds in piles of leaves at the bottom of the garden. No, this one had super-sharp steel spines and no compunction about causing pain. And cause pain it did. Mrs. Burrows screamed in agony as it suddenly sunk inside her cranium, bouncing from one hemisphere of her brain to the other and back again. Then it scurried forward so that it was sitting just behind her left eye, making her blink involuntarily as her eyelid went into raid spasm. Then it was back in the very center of her cranium again. She grimaced as her headache returned, worse than ever, and she was sure she was going to vomit.
    Both Styx began firing volleys of questions at her.
    "What is your name?"
    "What is your purpose?"
    "Are you with the man named Drake?"
    "What was your purpose?"
    "Where is Will Burrows?"
    "Where is your husband, Dr. Burrows?"
    "Where are the girls you knew as Rebecca?"
    "Where are the Dominion phials?"
    "Name? Purpose?"
    "Where are the Dominion phials?"
    There was no way she was going to answer, but each question seemed to be launched from afar, as if she was watching a flaming comet plummet towards her from a starless sky. And when it actually struck her, she was racked by the most excruciating pain. Her whole body was rigid and straining against the restraints, and she was dripping with sweat.
    The Styx kept the questions coming, repeating them in a continuous cycle, every so often lobbing in a fresh one. And when those fresh ones came, it was as though an even larger and fierier comet, a white hot streak of pure plasma, had been shot straight at her.
    And all the time, the evil hedgehog in her skull was rooting around and going exactly where it pleased. Memories of various events in her life were flashing up before her; first it was the day when she and Dr. Burrows moved into their new flat in Highfield, then the meal at the local Indian restaurant to celebrate his appointment as the curator of Highfield Museum. She remembered the afternoon they had brought Will home for the very first time -- when he was not much more than a toddler -- and they put him into his brand new playpen.
    As if a pack of cards was being fanned through, these memories were appearing and disappearing so fast she could barely keep up with them. She wondered if this was her life passing before her eyes because she thought she was about to die. But, no, she realized it was the thing in her head. It was helping itself to whatever it wanted, and she couldn't do anything to stop it. She felt violated.
    She attempted to hold on to the thought that at least she'd tried to help Drake, tried to assist him in his struggle against these people and, in so doing, to help her son Will. She'd