Take Me to Church

- three

When I woke up, the back of my head didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. I knew that I had fainted—must have been all that exposure—but I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was that had made me faint to begin with. I had thought, only for a hot minute, that it was all a dream, but I knew it weren't.

I was quite sure the room I was in wasn't my own either. Mama would have never stood for me having those kind of lazy looking drapes over the window. The tassels were all frayed, like something had been chewing at it, and the color itself was fading away. I wondered how long they'd been up there. Which made me realize that had been lying on my side, and that my face was sopping wet against the black satin pillow.

And that there was something warm up against my back.

Craning my neck to see what it was, it took a minute to register that oh, this was the man from earlier. The man who'd flashed me with his business. And there he was, propped up by an elbow resting on the pillow, staring at me with the least amount of enthusiasm I'd ever seen. He blinked once, twice, and I did the same right back before throwing myself out of the bed.

"You good," he asked, unfazed.

"I am not good!" If Mama were here, she'd have been telling me to hush up with how shrill my voice got. I could hear that little crackle in it that only showed up when I was upset.

I will happily note that he had the good sense to wear clothes this time. His nearly symmetrical features reflected his boredom in the half-lidding of those brilliant eyes. Sniffing, I smoothed my hands over the yellow fabric of the skirt suit Mama had sent me off in, picking off the stray red hairs that clung to it. I didn't look up at him again, just huffed some more and looked around. The whole room was old and worn, things coming undone. The furniture in the room didn't seem as willing to move about, and for this I was mighty grateful.

The springs of the mattress groaned as the man turned over, sprawling himself out over the space I had left behind. He let out a great sigh, eyes closed. Then he opened his mouth to speak.

"Y' can call me Xerxes," he stated, looking all types of comfortable on the bed.

"I'm Alma."

He did nothing to let me know if he heard or not, but I didn't think too hard about it. I wasn't quite sure I wanted to get mixed up in whatever it was he was up to, and decided maybe I ought to just leave the room. When I crossed over to the door, it opened up before I could put my hand on the knob and I was jumping back again.

"It's Rivka," Xerxes stated, burrowing his face further in the pillows.

Maybe he was a cat. It didn't look like he was moving from his spot, and I coulda sworn I heard him snoring already. Didn't they say cats slept often? That, or he was just real tired from having watched me sleep.

I stepped out of the room, peering into the hallway. I thought about going back and asking the Xerxes for help, but the door was shut right behind me. Maybe he wasn't asleep after all. I muttered few words at the door, unsure of which way to go next.

A table rushed past me, nearly toppling me over. Pressed flush against the wall, I placed a hand over my chest to feel if my heart would consider slowin' down anytime soon. When it had returned to a regular pace, I stepped away from the wall. I glanced to either side and saw a maze of hallways. I reckon Rivka might have conjured up something to keep people out of the house. Or maybe it was just built that way.

I flipped a coin in my head and decided to go left, down a winding hallway that didn't get me nowhere. When I reached the end, all I saw was window after window after window. Just outside them were big crows, spreading their wings. Their feathers glistened in the light that managed to get through the collective blanket as the murder took to flight.