Page 79 of A Stop in Time
35
HIM
“He’s still hanging around.”
Though I’m infuriated at the interruption, I don’t dare take my eyes from my current observation. “I know this.”
“But, sir. He’s heading back to The Pelican Inn.”
My fingers grip my ballpoint pen so hard I expect it to snap in half. “As I just said, I know this.”
“Do you…have any instructions for us?”
“None at this time.” I grind out the next words, certain my irritation is evident. “Aside from not interrupting me for something that isn’t an emergency.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Like I said previously, leave it alone. I’m letting it play out exactly as I anticipated.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once he leaves, the air is much less tense and not polluted by my annoyance, and I return my sole attention to the beauty before me.
A menacing smile plays at my lips while excitement courses through my veins and I murmur to myself, “We’ll see if you exceed my expectations.”
36
MAC
Sunday morning
Motherfucker.
Birds chirp loudly nearby, the sound threatening to split open my skull. I spit out a mouthful of leaves before finally managing to lift my head to focus on my surroundings. My loose hair spills past my face, and I peer out from between the strands.
“The hell am I doing here?” My voice is hoarse, the inside of my throat feeling rough like sandpaper.
I glance down to find myself dressed in my usual sleepwear, but with my boots on, and I’m sprawled on the far part of the lawn off to the side of my building.
Bracing my palms on the ground, one of my hands encounters a large rock before I manage to push myself up. I’m instantly rendered breathless by a sharp lance of pain along my right side. I collapse back upon the leaf-littered grass and gently roll to my opposite side.
It’s happened again. I don’t remember anything past getting into bed last night, nor do I have a single clue when I ventured out here. Damn sleepwalking. I need this shit to end.
With one hand pressed against my right side, I grit my teeth and ease to a sitting position. Wooziness hits me like a freight train, and I force myself to take shallow breaths. It finally subsides, and I peer up at the sky where the sun has already risen.
I should be able to get back inside and have time to clean myself up before Daniel gets here. Now, I just need to find the strength to get to my feet.
It takes more than a few attempts, and by the time I finally plant my feet and hold myself upright, I’m a sweaty mess. My tank top sticks to me like a second skin and my long hair hangs free, but with pieces of leaves and grass clinging to it. It’s only when I look down at my legs that I nearly lose my balance.
What the fuck happened to my legs? Horror renders me frozen as I take in the sight of the bloody scrapes covering my legs that are now scabbed over. I reach instinctively to touch the border of a particularly nasty one only to stop dead in my tracks.
My hands… Holy shit, my hands. What the hell? My knuckles and length of my fingers are decorated with scabs and cuts. I scour my memory, desperate to draw any remnants of last night, but come up with absolutely nothing.
“When is this going to end?” Defeat drenches my whispered words, because I’ve asked myself this countless times.
With a fortifying but shallow breath, I gingerly take a few steps toward home. Pain radiates through my side, but I push through, determined to get inside and clean myself up.
“A warm shower will help.” I tell myself this, hoping to encourage my body to move more swiftly. By the time I finally drag myself up the stairs and get safely inside, I lean most of my weight against the locked door, regaining my breath.