A MAN WITH NO HOME
Tell me, sweet stranger, do you know the story of Normant Lumensky, the man from a mystical land universes away from Earth? Making an ark out of his chains, he turns from a prisoner of war into a fugitive.
A WOMAN AGAINST THE WOR...
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COULD YOU BREAK a broken bone in a cast? Could your scars get more scarred over time and through the repetition of the same old struggles? In my experience, yes.
Shortly after Jasmine's phone call, my worst horrors climbed out of their graves and knocked on my door. Well, if I wanted to be completely honest, they had not knocked at all. They had just burst through the door like such great of an earthquake that had shaken Mount Olympus and torn down the gods' palace. And here I was, having no tools in my kit to fight them back. The problem was that I could not follow my most beloved technique and run away from them either. I was just sitting in an armchair in Clairvoyant's office, trying to keep my fears at bay. I was miserably failing.
Jasmine had been right—someone indeed had been watching me.
All amusement that had come from my short conversation with her faded away when I realized that I was being approached by two men in casual clothes and expressionless faces. I knew what was going to come next because I had been in those men's position several times in my work life before. So they gestured me to keep my mouth shut and follow them into a black Range Rover that was parked at the side of the road. I did not even get to tell Jersen what to do or where to go. I just left him there stranded, complying with their orders because I knew that the smallest reaction or act of resistance would cause more damage than good.
Now, in the same clothes since yesterday, I struggled to remain calm. Why are you even afraid? I reprimanded myself. I was just in my boss's office to talk about a mistake I had made yesterday. It was not a big deal, and it certainly was not the worst thing I had experienced in my lifetime. Clairvoyant would toss a few threats at me, I would act like I cared, and it would all be over in less than an hour. Right?
"You did well trying to fish the truth out of Jasmine," Clairvoyant said, tapping her yellow-painted nails on her grey planner. I held my breath as I awaited her next words. "But that wasn't an order of mine. At least not as far as I can remember."
In her office, the temperature was low despite the fact that it was summer. Damn, I had only been here for a few minutes and I already had that chill crawling over my skin, screaming at me to find a way out. I could not. And I would spend plenty of time here, so I should probably get comfortable and silence my instincts of escapism.
"No, ma'am," I agreed, keeping my voice steady. "It wasn't an order of yours."
Satisfaction illuminated her pale face. Yet the emotion did not reach her eyes. It seemed to me that nothing ever did. Even in the cruelest places I had been to, I had not encountered a pair of eyes like hers. So lifeless. So emotionless. So unmoving. When her lips formed a smile, there was not light and happiness filling up her stare. When she raised her voice in anger, her eyes told a completely different story—one of apathy. In some fantasy film, she would have made for a great monster. She would not even need to act. She was a natural.
