Pathways - Jeri Taylor [151]
The hoarse whisper escaped the man’s lips once more, lips that were caked with dried blood. Neelix watched in horrible fascination as flakes of the brown crust fell from his tumid lips and onto the floor, where they settled softly onto the dust that had accumulated there. The sound was more urgent still, and Neelix realized he would have to move closer to this monstrosity if he were to hear.
He forced himself to take a few steps forward, then leaned down and looked away from the man’s face, placing his ear close to the bloated brown mouth. This time the words took a crude shape. “They . . . will . . . find . . . you . . .”
The horror this struck in Neelix was unimaginable. What did this mean? Who? Would they do to him what they’d done to this wretched man? He fought panic, and turned to face the hideous face once more. “I can’t get you out alone. I’m going for help. I promise I’ll get back as soon as I can.”
There was no response. The man’s chin had fallen once more onto his chest, as though uttering those few words had drained every vestige of energy he had left.
Neelix backed away, toward the door, and then sprinted across the clearing toward the hovercraft. Later, as he sped through the forest, he wondered if he should have taken steps to erase evidence of his visit. He hadn’t even closed the door. Then he realized there could have been someone in the woods, watching him, someone who saw him enter the hut and then come dashing out.
Someone who could identify him.
Shaking off these terrifying feelings, Neelix raced into his house calling for his father. And not an hour later they were both with a kindly civil defender named Tixil, and several of his men, plunging in an official vehicle through the forest. It didn’t matter that the hut’s existence would no longer be a secret. His sanctuary had been violated in an unspeakable manner already.
He led the group to the clearing, and emerged from the hovercraft in dread. He didn’t want to see the man again. He’d already described him to the authorities, and he wanted them to take over now, so he could go about the business of trying to erase the awful sight from his memory.
But the first thing he noticed was that the door to the hut was closed.
He’d left it open, he was sure of that. He had worried about it during his headlong flight through the woods. That meant someone had been here after he left, and closed it.
He stopped short. Tixil looked at him. “What is it, Neelix?” he asked.
“The door was open when I left. Someone’s been here.”
Tixil nodded and drew his weapon. The sight of it comforted Neelix. Here was a person in authority, a powerful person with a powerful weapon. He would restore stability to Neelix’s world, would somehow right this distorted, careening reality.
Tixil paused at the door, then flung it open and stepped in, weapon trained before him. After he’d scanned the room, he turned and beckoned to the others.
Neelix and his father walked into the hut, Neelix just behind his father, hoping his tall presence would shield him from the sight of the tortured man.
He wasn’t there.
The chair he’d sat in was back in its usual place near the small table. The room looked as though no one had been there in years. Dust covered the floor, and there were no footprints, no markings in the dust, no indication that a chair had been dragged across the room.
No flakes of crusted blood on the floor.
Neelix realized that several pairs of eyes were fastened on him, including his father’s and Tixil’s. They were silent.
“I . . . I . . .” Neelix heard his voice crack, and took a breath. “He was here. Right here. Tied into that chair, only the chair was here, in the middle of the floor.” His voice sounded hollow in his own ears.
Tixil inspected the room carefully, looking at windows and cupboards, scrutinizing the dust-laden floor. Neelix realized miserably that their own presence had made indelible prints