Airel - Aaron Patterson [77]
I forced myself to look away. Though life was getting difficult to assess—which is an understatement—I still wanted to be cautious. If it turned out that being savagely murdered in the dream meant certain death in the real world, I had to keep my guard up. It didn’t matter if I sometimes couldn’t tell what was a dream and what was the real. I was so overwhelmed with my life that it was getting difficult to stay tough.
I took a brief survey of the rest of the room. I found a bathroom, a tub that was more pool than tub, and some odds and ends that I couldn’t really place.
I watched the bed curtains to see if I was safe to explore further. I heard respirations barely louder than a whisper.
I moved to the closet, which was like a private WalMart. It was filled with every kind of clothing imaginable, in every style. 80’s MC Hammer pants, old suits like the mobsters used to wear, and even robes, all of them appearing to suffer from the occasional actual use. It blew me away. It looked like a costume wardrobe from a movie studio. Of course, there wasn’t a stitch out of place; everything was orderly. I think I would have felt more comfortable if there was one thing normal in the place. Like shoes kicked in the corner or even dirty undies in a pile of old t-shirts or something.
I was creeped out, and I’m not sure if it was the thought of killer underwear or not. But I felt the irresistible yanking need to turn around, as if he was standing right there. I grimaced, dreading what was coming—not sure if I was going to die of embarrassment or a knife wound—and raised my hands in surrender, turning slowly around. I almost said, “Okay. You caught me,” but I didn’t, because as soon as I had turned and opened my eyes again, there was no one there. Just another unexplainable item to add to the list.
I was not deterred from my nosiness, and continued on creeping through my captor’s private life. I chalked it up to the fact that I figured he owed me at least a little information—and if he wasn’t going to volunteer any, I would find some, so help me, and he would be at the mercy of my interpretation of it. So there.
It was a bummer that all I found after that was a bare concrete room, it was about the size of a restaurant refrigerator. Killers need storage space too. But that was probably the weirdest part of another weird night strung on the necklace of my existence. Palatial house, in which everything is obscenely overstuffed—then a tiny bunker of a room that’s just…empty. I was seriously wondering how many of these kinds of things were going to continue to happen to me.
I wasn’t leading a life, I decided. My life was leading me. Where, I did not know, and was almost afraid to ask. But whenever I asked the heavens for explanation, they were silent. Typical.
I yawned and decided I was getting sleepy and needed to make my exit sooner rather than later. I retraced my trail to my room, being extremely careful not to leave any crumbs. I fell into the soft bed and this time I didn’t dream of anything. No monsters, no running. Just blank sweet sleep. Was that good or bad?
Chapter XIII
1250 B.C. The City of Ke’elei
“They never intended to give even one man,” Kreios said aloud, primarily to himself, but in the presence of his brother and friend. Yamanu sat smoking his pipe as if readying himself for a very long sleep, and Zedkiel was pacing by the fire. They had all three returned to the inn where they had found lodgings at the great City of Refuge.
“You read their thoughts?” Yamanu asked a tone of surprise in his voice. “A bit risky, if you open your mind up to read you are vulnerable as well.”
“Yes, I know. But I am not afraid of the likes of the council; they have grown weak.