Somnia

Chapter Four

When I open my eyes there isn't enough light to see by, or any sounds to help me learn where I am. The surface I'm lying on is cold and hard. A concrete floor?

The stiffness in my muscles takes second place to throbbing at the side of my head. How long have I been out? Not that it matters. I don't have any use for that information anyway.

I force myself to sit up—whether or not that was a good decision in my condition I don't know.

Still sitting, I feel around blindly until my hand hits a wall. The surface is just like the floor, cold, but rougher to the touch. I lean up against it and let out a deep breath.

The room feels like it is tilting and spinning all at once. Closing my eyes doesn't help much. When I open my eyes again I can vaguely make out a figure crouched in front of me. I cry and jerk back, only accomplishing in slamming myself against the wall already at my back.

"Ow..." I wince, the pain in my head fresh and new.

"Are you okay?"

It's a girl, but that's all I can tell from her voice.

"Yeah. I say 'ow' when I'm feeling fantastic," I grunt. Blinking doesn't help my eyes adjust faster.

"What happened?" I ask and then realize that she probably doesn't know anything about what went down at the pub. Instead I change my question. "Where am I?"

"A basement," she says, keeping her voice low.

"Shep's?"

"How'd you know?" She sounds more curious than surprised.

I just shrug at her question. "Lucky guess."

I move to get up and bang my head on the low ceiling. No, it wasn't a ceiling.

I reach up and put my fingers through the holes, gripping the top of my cage. It's plenty big enough to hold me as far as I can tell.

I search again for the girl in the dark. Is she in the cage, too?

Light floods my vision and I have to keep my eyes closed for a moment. When I open them again the girl is standing near a single lightbulb in the middle of the room. The first thing I notice about her is the reddish shade of her hair.

"Shep says you're dangerous," she says.

I don't see how I could possibly be considered dangerous. Physically, I'm not that threatening. Even if I were, I have no intention of doing anything violent.

"Was there anyone else with me?" I ask, thinking of Jesse. Is he in his own dog crate somewhere?

"Other than Shep? No." She walks up and crouches in front of my cage, watching me.

"So you're the one Shep has locked in his basement," I say, remembering what Jesse said. She laughs.

"You're the one who's locked up."

Oh right. I'm in a cage. She's not.

What she said about me being dangerous is still nagging at me. Am I dangerous because I can wield a pen? As a character myself, am I not allowed to create my own? Is it a bad thing? Jesse called it impossible.

The girl speaks unexpectedly, interrupting my train of thought.

"He's just protecting me," she says. It sounds very much like an afterthought.

"Protecting you from what? Me?"

She shakes her head. "No. From Authors."

I raise an eyebrow at this. "What, you expect an Author to just come waltzing through the village?" Authors are real people—not figments of someone's imagination. But she's nodding her head at me.