Read Online Tangled Ashes by Michèle Phoenix - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michèle Phoenix
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air in victory and did his own little dance. Eva looked like she was about to disapprove of his choice, but she opted to join in the victory dance instead.
Jade placed a hand at the back of each of their necks and steered them toward the kitchen door. “Great. King Rover it is. Wonderful name, really. Now why don’t you find just the perfect place to put him and call it his castle?”
The children looked at each other in anticipation of the task ahead. Apparently communicating without words, they both took off running at the same time, in the same direction, yelling, “To the castle!” at the top of their lungs.
“But come back quickly—dinner’s almost ready!” Jade yelledafter them. When she heard no reply, she closed the door and turned slowly to face Beck. “I suppose I’m going to have to go out and fetch them in a few minutes, aren’t I?”
Beck shrugged. “Probably.” He’d been a kid before—eons ago. He remembered how it worked.
They stood in awkward silence for a while. “I guess I’ll . . .” Jade pointed toward the salad still floating in the sink and got back to work. “Oh, to be a child again, right?” she asked when a few more seconds of silence had passed.
“Actually, it’s been so long that . . .” He found himself tempted to pull up a stool and shoot the breeze—and the notion halted him midsentence. For a brief, uncomfortable instant, he realized that the thought of being alone in his apartment seemed less inviting than sitting in the garishly lit kitchen with a woman he barely knew. Jade looked over her shoulder at him with a puzzled expression. Beck allowed the usual mask to come down over his face.
“I’m going up to my room,” he said, moving toward the door.
“Will you be coming back down for . . . ?”
“No.” It came out more curtly than he’d intended.
Jade bobbed her head, slightly perplexed, and turned back to the sink. “I’ll bring a tray up to you, then,” she said.
Becker nodded and left the kitchen.
Beck didn’t drag his bed up the stairs that night. Though the smell persisted, it was much more bearable thanks to Jade’s intervention, and with his window open despite the February cold, he fell asleep fairly quickly.
And then the dreams came again. Beck’s dreams had alternating plot lines. Some began in a college cafeteria. Others started in the restaurant atop the John Hancock Center. The worst began on aSunday morning in Maine. All of them ended with Beck jerking awake, drenched in acrid sweat, a horror so heavy in his stomach, so constricting in his chest, that he had to lie still for a while and fight nausea with deep breaths. It was in those wrenching moments, with the images and emotions of his dreams receding like pale ghosts into his subconscious, that Becker felt most agonizingly alive.
In the early-morning hours of his second night in the castle, Becker reached for the light by his bed, threw back his covers, and let his sweat-soaked body cool. The breeze from the window was wintery and chilled him until he shivered. He neither closed the window nor covered himself again. He preferred the body-numbing cold of reality to the fevered torment of his dreams. After several minutes of the self-inflicted torture, when he could trust his legs to support his weight again, Beck turned off the light and moved from the bed to the window. He draped a blanket over his shoulders and stood by the old-fashioned radiator, looking out.
A heavy fog covered the castle grounds. He could barely discern the circular patch of grass around which the driveway curved. The two guard towers, standing at attention on either side of the château’s front gate, were eerie sentinels guarding the property with gun-slit eyes. The fence, a collection of wrought-iron spikes, ran along the road outside the castle grounds. It stood at least eight feet tall and was mounted on a low stone wall that curved in a perfect arch. If it meant to intimidate, it did a
Jade placed a hand at the back of each of their necks and steered them toward the kitchen door. “Great. King Rover it is. Wonderful name, really. Now why don’t you find just the perfect place to put him and call it his castle?”
The children looked at each other in anticipation of the task ahead. Apparently communicating without words, they both took off running at the same time, in the same direction, yelling, “To the castle!” at the top of their lungs.
“But come back quickly—dinner’s almost ready!” Jade yelledafter them. When she heard no reply, she closed the door and turned slowly to face Beck. “I suppose I’m going to have to go out and fetch them in a few minutes, aren’t I?”
Beck shrugged. “Probably.” He’d been a kid before—eons ago. He remembered how it worked.
They stood in awkward silence for a while. “I guess I’ll . . .” Jade pointed toward the salad still floating in the sink and got back to work. “Oh, to be a child again, right?” she asked when a few more seconds of silence had passed.
“Actually, it’s been so long that . . .” He found himself tempted to pull up a stool and shoot the breeze—and the notion halted him midsentence. For a brief, uncomfortable instant, he realized that the thought of being alone in his apartment seemed less inviting than sitting in the garishly lit kitchen with a woman he barely knew. Jade looked over her shoulder at him with a puzzled expression. Beck allowed the usual mask to come down over his face.
“I’m going up to my room,” he said, moving toward the door.
“Will you be coming back down for . . . ?”
“No.” It came out more curtly than he’d intended.
Jade bobbed her head, slightly perplexed, and turned back to the sink. “I’ll bring a tray up to you, then,” she said.
Becker nodded and left the kitchen.
Beck didn’t drag his bed up the stairs that night. Though the smell persisted, it was much more bearable thanks to Jade’s intervention, and with his window open despite the February cold, he fell asleep fairly quickly.
And then the dreams came again. Beck’s dreams had alternating plot lines. Some began in a college cafeteria. Others started in the restaurant atop the John Hancock Center. The worst began on aSunday morning in Maine. All of them ended with Beck jerking awake, drenched in acrid sweat, a horror so heavy in his stomach, so constricting in his chest, that he had to lie still for a while and fight nausea with deep breaths. It was in those wrenching moments, with the images and emotions of his dreams receding like pale ghosts into his subconscious, that Becker felt most agonizingly alive.
In the early-morning hours of his second night in the castle, Becker reached for the light by his bed, threw back his covers, and let his sweat-soaked body cool. The breeze from the window was wintery and chilled him until he shivered. He neither closed the window nor covered himself again. He preferred the body-numbing cold of reality to the fevered torment of his dreams. After several minutes of the self-inflicted torture, when he could trust his legs to support his weight again, Beck turned off the light and moved from the bed to the window. He draped a blanket over his shoulders and stood by the old-fashioned radiator, looking out.
A heavy fog covered the castle grounds. He could barely discern the circular patch of grass around which the driveway curved. The two guard towers, standing at attention on either side of the château’s front gate, were eerie sentinels guarding the property with gun-slit eyes. The fence, a collection of wrought-iron spikes, ran along the road outside the castle grounds. It stood at least eight feet tall and was mounted on a low stone wall that curved in a perfect arch. If it meant to intimidate, it did a
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