The Magician: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel: Book One of the Rogue Portal Series by Courtney Herz Page A

auditory taffy. His head began to pound like a tribal drum, his heartbeat registering clearly in his ears. He heard a moan escape his lips as the world began to swirl and blend and stretch.
                  Suddenly he was standing in his own house, only it wasn't the version he remembered. A man walked up the staircase, plodding slowly. Even though his back was to Connor, he could tell that he was young. The sound of stifled sobs, muffled in the noise around him, reached his ears. Finally, he was completely immersed into the vision, and it extinguished the noise coming from those around him. For all intents and purposes, he was standing at the base of his staircase in his home. The vision had become something like reality.
                  The stranger in his home continued his slow trod up the staircase, weeping openly. Harsh, jagged sobs escaped his lips. The man turned when he reached the upper landing. His plaid shirt hung open over a white t-shirt, and his jeans fit too loosely, like work pants. The man's face was moist from what must have been an extended period of crying.
                  Connor watched as the man turned to face the banister that overlooked the lower portion of the house. The same banister located between the entry to the attic and Connor's room. He recognized it, and the stairway, and the rest of the home. Except the decorations were cheerier. The paint hadn't yet started to peel. The house hadn't yet descended into its twilight state of occupied abandonment.
                  The man looked down over the banister with a hollow, solemn expression, as though resigned to a certain fate. It crossed his mind that pirates when forced to walk the plank might have the same expression painted on their faces, like blank masquerade masks hiding the frantic emotions that must have existed below the fragile surface.
                  Connor watched as the stranger reached down to pick something up off the ground. A rope. Pieces of a puzzle began to filter together in his mind. Adjusting. Positioning. Rotating. Familiar, fragmented snapshots of a story from his childhood.
                  The man swallowed hard as he threw the rope over the banister and began to tie a knot first to the banister, and then, with careful motions and a vacant expression, the man continued to use nimble fingers to create a loop.
                  Not a loop...a noose.
                  Not a stranger...
                  Realization hit him like a towering wave, a tsunami of emotion and understanding. His flight response lit like a match, and he understood why the sadistic force holding him against the tree had done such a thorough job of keeping him still. He did want to run.
                  The man slipped the noose over his neck.
                  Connor fought against the force but couldn't move. He wasn't attached to his body anymore. He was in another time, in another place, watching something very real. It wasn't a vision. No, this was the closest thing to teleportation he could ever have imagined. Tears stung his eyes, but the magnetic force that had clamped his eyelids shut trapped them, damming the tears behind his reluctant flesh.
                  He couldn't shut his mind's eye, though, and the vision before him continued. It was a movie he couldn't shut off. A dream from which he could not wake.
                  The man sat on the railing.
                  Connor screamed, but his voice found no ear. Not even his own. It was pointless.
                  The man gripped the banister, closing his eyes, inhaled deeply, holding his last breath. Savoring it.
                  Connor couldn't watch, but couldn't look away. He couldn't just stand there, but was equally unable to move. Because it was already over. It had already happened. The man