A Fine Cast of Characters - J. Dane Tyler [41]
“It is so good to see you again,” he said, voice soft and deep, warm and clear. I felt the wine spread through my tired form, coursing to every extremity and tingling at my fingertips and the end of my nose. I closed my eyes and felt his firm gentle grip guide me to an opulent and lush chair, thick upholstery engulfing my body as I sank into its embrace. I tipped my head back, eyes still closed, and felt the wear of the road flooding out of me, replaced by weariness and the precipice of sleep. I heard a chair adjacent slide across the wood floor and when I lowered my head and opened my eyes my friend sat beside me and beamed.
And there again, just the least hint, the barest trace, of something underneath, something slithery and shifting, as if beneath a set of clothes upon another form, and in an instant it fled, such as to leave me uncertain I saw it at all. I blinked back sleep and when I snapped open my heavy lids, I saw the sweeping entry of the spectral-white servants, laden with gleaming silver platters lidded with shiny domes, carts gliding silent as ghosts over the flooring, loaded down with servings and helpings of food, the odor of which wafted to me and stirred the harsh rumbling within my abdomen. I found my mouth lathering with anticipation of the warm, sweet meats steaming on plates while the wraith-servers filed about their tasks and set the table ready.
“Where is your guest?” I said, and struggled not to slur the words through heavy lips and stiff, uncooperative tongue. He nodded and a wistful smile traced his elegant lips, his stare deep in the flickering candle before him.
“Oh … I imagine he shall join us directly,” he said, his voice again full of mischief and play. He cast his eyes on me without moving his head, and the smile widened. In my beleaguered state I could scarcely focus on his features, my eyes drooped and my muscles flagged. I let the weight of the snifter pull my wrist to the table top and my hand slid useless away from the bulb down the stem of the fine glass, shimmering with oily streaks of pink, blue and aqua, betraying the fine leaded quality. My hand continued unhindered to drag from the edge of the table and swung lifeless and numb beside my chair.
“I … I …” I stammered and stuttered, unable to force my jaw to work, to form words. My clouded head swam, and a damp wetness pearled over my brow when at last it dawned on me I could not move. My entire system, paralyzed and helpless, I could feel nothing – legs, face, fingers, hands, arms … all numb, all thick and puffy, as if stuffed with feathers as a pillow on a fine satin bed. Like a drug coursed through me and reduced me to senselessness.
“Yes … yes, it’s quite true, dear friend. You indeed imbibed a narcotic. You cannot resist. And, it is so much better if you don’t endeavor. Simply enjoy the gift I bestow on you now. As it was offered to me, so I offer it to you.” He smiled, and reached out to pat my shoulder again. I felt pressure from his touch but not the touch itself. Panic seized me, but I only watched as the world shrank down, a tunnel before me, the edges of my vision blurred, murky, a charcoal cloud at the periphery of my view. My head lolled on my neck and rolled aside.
My friend rose, to hunker beside me, and with tender grasp took my chin and turned my face to stare into the dark at the other end of the room. The phantasm servants drifted from the murk, ethereal and eerie in the dimness, and moved to surround my chair. I wanted to scream, to flail, to cast myself about, but I sat stationary, a mannequin of flesh. They bound wrists and ankles