Light At The End CHAPTER 9: LIGHT AT THE END This latest disaster had Conor huddled at the back of the cell, sobbing like a baby. He was alone now. Friendship could have brightened time spent even here. But now there was no one. He crawled as far back as he could into the room, and was dully surprised to find the room extended deeper into the rock than he had believed. Behind Wynter’s cot was a deep alcove with roughly the dimensions of four stacked coffins. This he could tell by touch alone, as not a glimmer of light extended to the black hole. He lay there for hours, feeling his determination sliding away like water sluiced from a slipway. The new identity he had created for himself dissolved, bringing poor, desperate Conor Broekhart to the surface. So he stayed, wrapped in nothing but self-pity, all night long wallowing in dreams of family. Useless, futile, dreams. Conor could well have perished in the next few days, dead from a broken heart, if not for one little ray of light. In the early hours, Conor woke to see a red line flickering on the opposite wall.
