The Morgue is a cold and unforgiving place. Tombstone lays down on his back, confined by steel.
“In a tight and confined space, some people find themselves afraid.”
He tries to move, but his body is confined and blocked.
“They call it claustrophobia.”
Tombstone’s smile become sinister.
“An irrational fear of tight and or enclosed spaces. It’s not just a fear though, is it Felix? It’s a phobia.
And when one is locked inside a space they cannot move in, or escape from, or in which they feel is too difficult to get out, they become filled with dread and terror. The walls close in. Everything feels tighter and more cramped. Their heart races and their head pounds.
They feel feint and nauseous.”
The smile fades from his face.
“Isn’t that how you feel, Foley?
Claustrophobic?”
Tombstone closes his eyes.
“The moment I killed your brother, I didn’t just put him inside a box, I put you inside one. An extremely tight fitting locale for every miserable moment of your existence. It wasn’t tight at first. If anything, you had room to maneuver.
You had room to attempt an escape.
But then I uncovered the truth and with it, the powerful knowledge that I had not yet destroyed everything your father created.”
His eyes open with a flash.
“I sent Six Feet Under to do my bidding and tighten that box. Gravedigger put you in the ground and buried you alive, but I couldn’t leave it there. I couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, Felix.
And I gave you a warning. I told you that the box around you was tight, but had you walked away from your crusade, I need not make it tighter.
You clearly haven’t listened.”
A scowl now adorns his wretched face.
“The difference between a phobia and a fear is that a phobia doesn’t just make us uncomfortable. It’s irrational. Most often than not, the level of fear you have from a phobia doesn’t match the danger presented by it.
But in your case, that doesn’t apply.
You should be afraid.
Because the walls have closed in on you now, Felix. There’s no way, out and no-where to go. You had your chance and spurned it. The danger you face now isn’t irrational – it’s real.”
Suddenly Tombstone is dragged out from inside the box, revealing him on a slab in a morgue draw. Igor stands at his head, watching as he gets off the table and looks back at it.
“I put your father in one of these for what he did to me.
I put your brother in one of these for daring to avenge his father’s death.
And now you dare to stand across from me at Ring of Dreams, a claustrophobic mess and believe you can do what neither of those did…”
Tombstone aggressively pushes the morgue tray back in.
A name tag on the front reads Felix Foley, but crossed out above it reads Fernicus Lamplight, and crossed out below that reads Albert Lamplight.
Tombstone smiles.
“Your metaphorical box opens at Ring of Dreams, Felix. But never you mind that, because this one awaits…
And I will send you on your way.”