My stomach was gnawing. My hands swung by my sides, hitting the emptiness. I felt death so close to me... Every time I touched the walls of the tunnel, I felt a pang of pain. Who knows, perhaps the Angel of Death feels this way when taking a person's soul. The Lamplighter had remained somewhere behind me. I didn't know how long the tunnel was. Does a person fear their own shadow? I was afraid.
I didn't care about the crumbling, pulverized pieces of earth falling from where I rubbed my finger. "Four hundred," the word continued to ring in my ears. I walked a little further under the misty color of the light and checked the walls. The only sound was that peculiar tone produced by the rubbing of my hand. I kept walking until my legs ached. But I couldn't find a place where the food was buried.
When no strength remained in my feet, I stopped at a certain point.
Where I stood looked exactly like the small alcove where the lamplighter had stayed.
The sound of water dripping—drip, drip—was left behind me. But there was another sound heard from nearby. It sounded like intermittent gasps of breath.
My heartbeat quickened.
I continued to listen, holding my breath. The dusty atmosphere of the environment felt as if it were entering my lungs.
My inner voice was telling me that searching for food around here was irrational. Someone must have been giving me incomplete information about this.
The lights suddenly went out.
I froze where I was, trembling.
The darkness that replaced the light began to assert dominance over my being.
"Is anyone there?" I asked, my voice echoing. It was a darkness so thick you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.
When I tried to take a step, I lost my balance for a moment.
I found myself on the ground.
My body weight spread across the floor.
"Is anyone there?"
The sound of breathing was getting even closer.
It was as if there were a shadow coming toward me.
When I pressed my hands against the ground, something long and thin touched the tips of my fingers.
What was this?
When I tried to squeeze it in my hand, it didn't take long to realize it was a thread. Or an elastic band. Which one?
Another sound was heard.
The lights flashed on all of a sudden.
I looked directly at my fingers.
It really was a red-colored thread.
Its surface was clean.
It was a thick thread, too.
Why had I found this here?
I took a deep breath, relieved that the light had returned.
"Four hundred," I heard a voice say at that exact moment.
I almost fainted.
I shook violently with fear.
That entity talking to me was standing right in front of me.
I was tongue-tied, my teeth clenched.
He was covered in black clothes, and his face was wrapped in a black-and-white checkered scarf. From his height and body structure, it was clear he was a man.
I tightened the thread wrapped around my finger even more.
"Who are you?" The words poured from my lips like boiling water.
"Get up out of the tunnel!" The tone of voice telling me this was so emotionless that I felt as if I had hit a stone wall.
Is this an order?
Who was this man? Why was he calling me four hundred?
"Four hundred," I said, swallowing hard. "What does it mean?"
I was stunned, like someone seeing the end of the world.
When he took a step to close the distance between us, I crumpled the thread in my palm.
My heart was beating as if it were about to burst out of my chest. "Why did you call me four hundred?" I repeated, but he just took another step in silence.
"Get up out of the tunnel and leave the letter at the designated place!"
My eyebrows furrowed with anger when he gave another order.
"How do you know about that letter?" I asked.
His pitch-black eyes, visible through his veil, were shining.
"Do you want to know?"
His hand slowly moved toward his pocket.
I stood frozen before him, thinking he was going to pull out a gun.
But he slowly took a piece of paper out of his pocket.
It was a photograph.
He held the card out to me with his leather-gloved long fingers.
He left me helpless as long as he didn't take his eyes off me.
"Take this," he murmured, leaving me alone with the uncertainty that was my own executioner.
I reached for the photos with fear.
For a moment, my eyes closed.
If I saw something I couldn't handle again... what would happen then?
In a moment, a picture sat between my trembling fingers.
My heart shuddered; I took a deep breath.
Feeling his gaze upon me, I opened my eyes.
This... was a photo showing a black car crashing into a semi-truck. The vehicle was buried inside the massive transport truck. Its front was completely turned into scrap metal.
Swallowing hard, I looked at the second photo.
This one was taken from the back; the license plate of the scrapped car was visible.
At that moment, my throat burned. My fever rose.
"T-this..." I could only say; "What is this?"
When he added another photo on top of the cards in my hand, like adding a card to a deck, a single tear escaped from my left eye.
"Tarık," I murmured.
This photo now carried the scent of death.
Like soot.
Like a mist.
"He..." I whispered. "My husband..."
The void on my ring finger slammed into my face like a heavy door.
A tear was sliding down my cheek.
"H-how can it be? I..." My lips were parched.
I couldn't look into the reticent eyes of the person before me.
My husband, what had happened to him?
"Is he not alive?" I asked; "He..."
My breath hitched.
"He didn't die, did he?"
The smell of dampness burned my lungs like mold.
"He's okay, isn't he?"
He continued to look as if the words overflowing from my lips meant nothing.
"You are the one who killed him," he spoke with a voice like stone.
My perception of time had stopped. My nails were digging into my palms.
Death.
The way this word was said so simply.
It was as if my soul had been ripped out from its deepest part.
My breath got caught in my throat.
I quickly covered my mouth with my hand. My sob was a knot in my throat.
Slowly collapsing where I stood, I pressed my hand harder against my mouth. But my sobs wouldn't stop. The strength in my legs had cut out. I began to cry out loud. My cheeks were burning like fire, and the strength in my entire body was slowly draining away. "Tarık," I moaned. I remembered that moment I left him behind.
He had looked at me one last time with disappointment in his eyes.
I hadn't even met with him once before coming to the mechanism to sign.
"I should never have come to this hell," I cried; "I should never have come..."
A pair of combat boots continued to stand before me.
He stood without moving at all, as if taking pleasure from the pain.
For a moment, my crying almost stopped.
I lifted my head.
I tried to slowly get up from the ground.
Gözlerim karardı ama devam ettim.
"My husband," I said; now there was not just sadness in my eyes, but a monster.
"I didn't kill him!"
When I wanted to rush toward him, he grabbed me firmly by my wrist. His gaze grew even darker. "You did!"
I pulled my arm with all my might to free my wrist, and then I lunged for the veil to see his face.
But he had already neutralized me, seizing both of my arms. "This is not a game you can win, Four hundred. Obey the mechanism! Or else..."
"Or else," I said with a ruthless voice, having lost my mind. "Or else what happens?"
My teeth were chattering; my jaw was clenched.
As if choosing not to finish his sentence, "Get out of the tunnel!" he said, and shifting his gaze to the left, he punched the protruding part of the wall. When I looked there in confusion, a bag—with things inside that looked like tin cans—hit the floor. I looked at the red thread. "Get the hell out of the tunnel."