Arthur did not doubt Malachi's sense of direction, but he did have some doubt about the path he was lead down.  Already, the amount of turns they went through in the house was completely unreasonable for the doctor, and he had trouble knowing which way they faced even with the sun bleeding in through extravagant windows.  Outside should have been some reprieve for that, but it was not.  No, in fact, it was the opposite.  It was worse.

Going in and out of the mansion gave Arthur a good idea of the ludicrous amount of property the Brennan's had to their name, or so he thought.  Behind the massive house was somehow more garden, enough so that Arthur felt like Theseus in a labyrinth.  Lucky that he had Malachi to lead him through it; if he didn't, the doctor would surely perish here.

Finally, they made it to a clearing - what Arthur guessed was the middle - but his horror continued to grow.  Malachi lead him to cellar doors, with locks on them.  The space beyond was bathed in pure shadow blackness.  Malachi, obviously unfazed, jumped in.

Arthur felt to be sick.

With no small amount of hesitation, he began descending the ladder Malachi set up for him.  Once he was on the floor within the cellar, his hand reached out for Malachi's own.

What could he even say to this?  There was nothing that could make this better, especially not now, but silence felt cruel.

Using their linked hands, Arthur pulled Malachi closer to his side.  They touched from shoulder down to their fingers.  The look in his eyes was not pity, but pain.

"My love," he whispered, glancing through the dark to what surrounded him.  "Is there more?"