Chapter 6
Karen stretched, eyes still closed, relishing in the warmth of sunlight falling on her face. She felt well rested. The tart smell of grass filling her nose, a breeze catching her hair and blowing it across her face.
Her eyes flew open.
She lay curled in a comfortable patch of green beside a dusty dirt road. Tall shafts of wheat swaying back and forth in the field behind her made swishing noises, the only sound cutting through the air.
Dusting herself off, she got up, looking at her surroundings curiously. The sky was bright, big billowy white clouds piling up on top of each other like swirls of cotton candy, a deep purple expanse off in the distance ominously rumbling now and then. The motion of the air increased, whipping her hair back and forth.
Feet bare, blouse untucked from her skirt, hair sleep-tangled and falling over her shoulders, she was dressed exactly the way she had been when she’d fallen asleep, but she had no idea how she came to be on the side of a mysterious road. She waited for hysteria to settle over her, but with all the crazy things that had happened in the past week, she could barely process the insanity. In the absence of fear came a strange calm.
She turned. There were only two options really, go left and follow the road toward the rumbling storm, perhaps get soaked along the way, or go right and follow the path between the fields indefinitely into the sunshine. It was tempting, but there was something about the softly falling sunshine that didn’t look right, a hazy quality to the air.
Taking a couple steps to investigate, she came up short, a buzzing sensation filling her limbs and pushing her back in the direction of the storm. Throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation, she muttered, “Fine, I’ll go left.”
She didn’t know who she was talking to, only that none of this could possibly be real, and someone had to be behind it all. She spun on her heel, marching in the direction of the developing storm.
She’d been walking for half an hour when the sky grew dark over her head and the first fat drops of rain began to splash on the ground. Little puffs of dust billowed up where they crashed into the dirt road, but it quickly turned into a squishy muddy mess, coating the soles of her feet. She pushed her wet hair out of her face. The water was warm, coming down in whipping sheets until she could barely see ten feet up the road.
Lightening lit up the sky, bright white and electric hot, a deafening crash of thunder coming milliseconds after. Her heart jumped in her throat and she started running, the blurry dark shape of what looked like a small mud-brick home. She dashed toward it.
Sliding through the mud she skidded to a stop at the little building’s entrance, pushing against the heavy wooden door until it swung open. What should have been a dank and musty hut turned out to be a softly glowing and warm home, twin oil lamps flickering on either side of the little dwelling, shutters battened against the storm.
There was a table in the center of the room, set for a meal with no diners, ornately decorated glazed clay dishes on all four sides. In spite of the flames flickering in their lamps, the entire place had an abandoned feel to it. The thinnest layer of dust imaginable collected on all the surfaces, a shrunken apple sitting in a bowl in the middle of the table. There was a single painting hung on the back wall, a bright and extremely simplistic rendering of a little girl, her hair a sunny yellow, twirling as she danced along the road beside a field. Karen wanted to explore, to run her fingers along the edges of the beautiful pottery, to step into the dwelling and inhale the softly sweet aroma of the burning oil and unnamed spices floating in the air, to take a closer look at the painting. But she didn’t dare step across the threshold with her muddy feet.
She felt the tingling again, this time pushing her from behind until she stumbled into the home, belatedly realizing the floor itself was packed dirt. She felt silly, dusting her knees off. She gave in to her natural urge to snoop, ever so carefully picking up different objects and inspecting them. Everything seemed to be handmade. She picked up a little wooden horse with wheels for feet, lovingly crafted from soft wood by patient hands. It was warm in her hands, but it made her unspeakably sad, the urge to break down and cry crashing over her unexpectedly.
“How the hell are you here?” Frank stood in the doorway, glaring across the small dwelling.
“Huh?” The toy tumbled from Karen’s hands, the foreign feelings of grief disappearing as soon as the thing hit the floor. The sound of it cracking against the stone hearth drew Frank’s angry gaze.
“How did you get here?” he repeated, coming to stand before her.
His toe nudged the broken toy, and for the first time Karen took in his rather strange appearance. Sandals… the god of the underworld was wearing leather strapped sandals, muscular legs bare up to the hem of a short tunic, gold designs looping around the edge of the simple linen garment. She felt incredibly out of place in her pencil skirt and silk blouse. She tore her eyes away from him, looking up guiltily. “How, uh, did I get here?”
He frowned. “It’s a dream.”
“I’m dreaming?”
Shaking his head, Frank took her by the hand and led her out of the small structure. The storm had advanced, bruised sky darkening even more. The wind whipped at the both of them as they proceeded down the trail.