Chapter 3: The Cold Light of Day

Chapter 3: The Cold Light of Day

The image of Mr. Henderson was burned onto the back of Leo’s eyelids. The ecstatic, worshipful expression on his face as he committed an unspeakable act; the final, desperate plea screamed at the sky: Not me! The words echoed in the claustrophobic confines of the apartment, a terrifying suggestion that there was a choice in this madness. A way to be chosen, or a way to be spared.

Leo paced the small living room, a caged animal in a space that shrank with every passing minute. The crimson light, a constant, oppressive presence, painted stripes across the floor where it bled through the edges of the curtains. It felt like the bars of a cell.

“We just have to wait,” Alice said, her voice a fragile attempt at authority. She sat huddled on the sofa, clutching a cushion to her chest. She had tried calling her family a dozen more times, each attempt ending with the same hollow, unanswered ring that chipped away another piece of her composure. “We have food. We have water. We stay here. We stay quiet. Someone will… they’ll fix it.”

Leo stopped, turning to face her. Her logic was sound, the exact kind of thinking he would have subscribed to yesterday. But yesterday felt like a lifetime ago. Yesterday, the world made sense.

“Fix it? Alice, did you hear him?” Leo’s voice was a harsh whisper. “He wasn’t crazy. Not like… not like you’d think. He was praying. He made a… a sacrifice.”

The word hung in the air, ugly and profane. He saw her flinch. But the thought wouldn't leave him alone. Henderson had offered up his wife to save himself. It was a transaction. A horrifying, insane transaction, but a transaction nonetheless.

An unbearable restlessness surged through Leo. It was more than just fear. It was a physical compulsion, an itch deep beneath his skin. The low, rhythmic pulse he had felt from the television broadcast earlier was back, a silent thrumming in his bones. It seemed to be pulling him, a gentle but insistent tide, towards the front door. The four walls of the apartment felt like they were actively pressing in on him. He needed air. He needed space.

I have to go outside.

The thought surfaced in his mind, clear and simple. It felt like his own. He was suffocating, wasn't he? It was a natural impulse. But as he took a step toward the door, he felt that same alien quality he’d sensed from the TV's hum—a feeling of being led.

“What are you doing?” Alice’s voice sharpened, cutting through his daze. She was on her feet now, her eyes wide with alarm.

“I’m just… I’m going to look,” he said, the words feeling clumsy, inadequate. “Just for a second. I won’t look up. I just need to see what’s happening.”

“No! Leo, are you insane? The alert said not to go outside!” She moved to block his path, her small frame surprisingly solid. “They said not to look! Mr. Henderson—what if that’s how it happens?”

“I won’t look up,” he repeated, his voice strained. The compulsion was overwhelming now, a physical need as powerful as thirst. He had to. He didn’t know why, but the idea of staying inside for one more second was unbearable. “I’ll keep my eyes on the ground. I just have to.”

He gently took her by the shoulders and moved her aside. She stumbled back, a look of hurt and betrayal on her face that was almost as terrifying as the screams outside. He ignored it. He couldn’t afford to feel it.

His hand trembled as he reached for the deadbolt. With a heavy clack, the lock turned over. The sound was deafening, a proclamation of his foolishness. He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them, forcing his gaze down to the floor.

He pulled the door open just wide enough to slip through.

The world that met him was bathed in blood. The concrete porch, the withered plants in their pots, the railing—everything was stained in the violent crimson light of the Oculus. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and something coppery that made his stomach turn. The unearthly shrieks were clearer out here, a city-wide chorus of agony and ecstasy. He could see a dark, wet trail leading from the Henderson’s open doorway across the hall, a grim testament to the sermon he had witnessed.

He kept his promise, his eyes glued to the cracked concrete at his feet. He saw his own shadow stretch out before him, unnaturally sharp and tinged with blue from the new sun’s halo. He stood there, on the threshold between his world and this new, horrifying one, waiting.

He expected heat. A wave of radiation. A searing pain.

What he got was cold.

It was an impossible, invasive cold that had nothing to do with the morning air. It sank through his clothes, through his skin, and into his very bones in an instant. It wasn't the chill of a winter wind; it was the absolute, profound cold of a vacuum, of a deep space void. It felt like liquid nitrogen being pumped into his veins, a cold that extinguished warmth on a cellular level.

He gasped, a plume of white vapor erupting from his lips. The frantic, terrified hammering of his heart didn’t stop, but it suddenly felt distant, as if it were happening to someone else. The panic was still there, a separate entity encased in a block of ice within his chest. The all-consuming restlessness that had driven him out here, the insistent thrumming in his bones, vanished. It was instantly quenched by the freezing wave, leaving a hollowed-out silence in its wake.

He felt… empty. Scoured clean.

He stood shivering on the porch for a moment that stretched into an eternity, the cold seeping deeper, hollowing him out, creating a strange and terrifying disconnect between his mind and his body. And in that cold, silent space, a thought crystallized with horrifying clarity.

The restless urge to come outside. The magnetic pull towards the door. The feeling that the idea was both his and not his.

It was calling.

The news anchor’s words. Henderson’s prayer. It wasn't just a broadcast. It wasn't just madness. It was a signal. A psychic lure cast from the heavens. And he had taken the bait. But for some reason, the hook hadn't set. While the light drove Henderson to frenzied worship, for Leo, it brought only this hollowing, absolute cold. It wasn't immunity. It felt like something else entirely. A different kind of transformation.

A fresh wave of terror, colder than the light itself, washed over him. He scrambled back, fumbling with the doorknob, and threw himself inside, slamming the door shut and ramming the deadbolt home. He leaned against the wood, his body wracked with violent, uncontrollable shivers, his teeth chattering so hard his jaw ached.

Alice rushed to him, her anger replaced by fear. “Leo! You’re freezing! What happened?”

He looked at her, but his gaze felt unfocused. He saw the terror in her eyes, the worry etched on her face. He knew he should comfort her, tell her he was okay. But he felt a chasm opening between them, a void created by the cold that now lived inside him. How could he explain that he had willingly answered a call from the monster in the sky? How could he describe the feeling of having a part of his soul scooped out and replaced with ice?

He opened his mouth to speak, but only a choked, shuddering breath escaped. He was no longer just a man hiding from the monsters outside. He had stepped into their church, listened to their hymn, and something inside him had been irrevocably, terrifyingly changed.