Nocturne in Black and Gold

Chapter 17: Safe House

While the women were out gathering art supplies, Neal made a list of the scenes he wanted to capture—his bedroom, the living room, the Whistler painting on the wall, the kitchen, and most importantly, Klaus. He also wanted to draw the bearded image of himself in Klaus's mirror. Now when he looked at his face, he sometimes saw the same expression ... the eyes of a prisoner.

Once they returned, Keiko curled up on the sectional to sketch, and Neal converted the chair in front of the window into his art niche.

El had brought along a book to read. Neal was surprised to see it was a C.S. Lewis novel, Out of the Silent Planet. "I didn't know you liked science fiction," he said.

"I've never read much in the genre," she confessed, "but I thought C.S. Lewis might be relevant to Diana's stories. His hero in the Space Trilogy is a philologist. That's close to Arkham Neal's specialty."

"Will Diana send Neal and Peter on off-world adventures?" he asked. "Those visits to Leng were so brief they shouldn't count."

"If she plans to, she hasn't told me about it."

Neal could sympathize with how Arkham Neal felt about the bizarre events he faced in Diana's stories. Saturday was passing in an odd space warp. He'd been surrounded by friends the entire time, but he often felt like an invisible force was creating waves of distortion between them.

When he immersed himself in drawing, his world could shrink to his art. The disorientation was less unsettling. El and Keiko were immersed in their own projects. The silence was comforting.

When his cell phone dinged, he ignored the unwelcome intrusion. Then he realized it might be Noelle. Henry could have relapsed and they were unable to leave. Grabbing the phone from his pocket, he discovered a text message from Sara, asking him to call her.

Should he? There wouldn't be any need to discuss any of Friday's events. This would be a good test to see if his con artist skills were still intact.

He made the call from his bedroom. Sara was as bubbly as ever. All Neal had to do was toss in the occasional murmur of agreement, surprise, or chuckle. He gradually relaxed as she chatted about her assignment in New York. She expected to be there for three months while an agent was out on maternity leave.

"I've been doing all the talking," Sara said, "but that's not why I called. I'm dying to know what happened in Fantasyland."

"What?" Neal blurted, shocked into reacting before taking the time to think. "How did you know?"

"Comic-Con?" she asked, the bewilderment reading loud and clear in her voice. "Have you been partying so much you forgot you told me about it?"

Taking a couple of slow breaths, he kicked himself for overreacting. "When I hear fantasyland, I think of wizards and fairy princesses. I must have missed that section."

"You have to admit Comic-Con is one huge escapist fantasy. I wish I could be there."

Neal began to fill her in on what had happened Wednesday evening, but she stopped him before he'd said more than a few words.

"What's wrong, Neal?" Her voice had become sharp with concern. He knew it was because she was worried, but it set him even more on edge.

He told her in as few words as possible about the kidnapping. "I'm okay. I was held prisoner for a day and was put through the grinder, but I'm coming out of it."

He was grateful she didn't press him for answers to the thousand questions she must have. When the call ended, Neal waited a while before rejoining the others. He'd flunked the test. Those walls he used to erect so easily had disappeared. Was he even the same person?