Page 41 of Death
Chapter 10
The rain picks up as we reach the treeline. Soon, my clothes are completely soaked through and my body shakes from the biting cold in the woods. I think to ask Ari where he’s taking me but I save my effort. I doubt he’d tell me anyway.
And a surprise or two never killed anybody.
I hope.
After a few minutes, I spot a cabin in the distance. Thunder shakes the trees over our heads again. The torrents come harder and Ari picks up our pace a little. I’m nearly out of breath by the time we reach the cabin. It comes out as gentle, white wisps in the air and I begin counting the moments before we get inside.
If we can even get inside.
Does anybody live here?
Ari doesn’t pause. We step up onto the porch and he turns the doorknob, pushing it open as if he owns the place.
Hell, maybe he does.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me in. “It’s warm.”
I step inside and — oh, yes — is it warm. A fire burns in the fireplace across the room. I kick off my soaking wet sandals and bolt toward it, falling to my knees on the plush carpet in front. I take deep breaths, heating myself up from the inside out as I tease my fingertips with the dancing flames.
“Here.”
I look up to find Ari standing over me holding a large bath towel.
“Thank you,” I say, gladly taking it and draping it over my trembling shoulders.
He turns and I watch him as he takes his jacket off and hangs it on a hook by the door. His shirt and pants are as soaked through as mine are but I wonder if he even feels it. Does he feel anything at all? Warmth? Cold?
Does a god feel pain?
I close my mouth, too nervous to even ask.
Ari clinks around the kitchenette and I turn back to the flames, embracing the warmth as much as I can.
“Would you like some tea?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” I answer.
He pulls two mugs from the cupboard and sets them down by the stove.
I scan the cabin again, nodding at the rustic, yet modern, furniture. Interesting decor, but I really like it. It’s homely and comfortable and I find myself settling into the carpet a little more.
“Nice place,” I say. “Is it yours?”
“No.”
I chortle. “Then, whose is it?”
“It’s yours.”
I rub the towel to dry my fingers. “What?”
Ari pours a bit of steaming water into the mugs from a kettle — though I’m certain I never heard it scream. “We needed somewhere to go,” he says. “You thought it up and I made it happen.”
I open my mouth to argue but as I look around again, I realize that he’s telling the truth. This place, right down to the shaggy rug and the paintings on the walls... I’ve imagined it before.
A home fit for a hermit like me.