River of Wine

Chapter 1: Greyhounds and 3 star hotels

Chapter 1
Present Day: Mina

   The women form a circle around me, their bare feet beating a tattoo into the dusty earth. They throw back their heads, exposing white throats. Their dresses are ripped and dirty, unkempt hair loosely braided with leaves and twigs. As the dancing becomes increasingly frenzied, the women sway their bruised and scratched arms sinuously, then open purple-stained mouths and scream songs that have neither tune nor meaning. Their ravaging wild eyes flash dangerously. The pounding from their feet shakes the ground. My bones rattle and my teeth click together. In time I will be shaken apart.

   They link arms and circle around me again, moving faster and faster until the bodies blend together, becoming an orange blur. An orange so bright it makes my eyes water.

   Out, I think. I want out of this, let me go....

I wake up slowly, painfully. The orange haze is the sun slanting through the blinds and striking my eyelids. Sitting up gingerly, I wipe tears off my face and wince at the first splinter of a headache.

   That was Dean's dream, not mine, I think. He still misses it.

   When I first moved in with Dean - or, to be precise, when he took me in off the streets - he held my hands and said gently, "Now that we share a bed every night, from time to time you will see fragments of my dreams. Don't be frightened by this." His eyes clouded and he added grimly, "And when it does happen, do not tell me. I don't want to know."

   I rub my eyes. Despite the fingers of sunlight the room is still dark and I squint around the pewter-grey dimness until I see Dean. He is sitting in a chair by the kind of ugly desk every 3 star hotel room seems to have, his impossibly long legs stretched out almost halfway across the room. His gaze over tented fingers is impassive, leveled directly at me. I wonder uneasily how long he's been watching me.

   I pinch the bridge of my nose and groan. "Your head?" he asks.

    I nod, then wish I hadn't. A low pain is beginning to thud in my temples.

   "I must not have added enough elixir," Dean says. "I'm sorry. And I have nothing to give you." I can tell he's still drunk, but it doesn't surprise me. Lately he's always in some state of inebriation. Whether it's morning, noon or night makes no difference to him. But then, why would it? Customs like waiting until the sun is over the yard arm hardly apply to Dean.

   "Aspirin will have to do," I mumble, kicking back the sheets and climbing out of bed. The air conditioning sweeps over my naked body, making me shiver uncontrollably and break out in goosebumps.

   Dean stands. Every movement of his, even the slightest gesture, is fluid and smoothly regal. He's immensely tall and and powerfully built. He has a shock of curly auburn brown hair and an appealing, sweet-natured face that keeps him from being too handsome. His eyes constantly crinkle with mirth and the corners of his mouth curl up. When people look at him they smile in response without realizing it.

   He puts his arms around me. The warmth from his body makes me feel woozy. I want to press against him, sink into him, yearn for his hands to slide over my skin, but now is not the time.