A MAN WITH NO HOME
Tell me, sweet stranger, do you know the story of Normant Lumensky, the man from a mystical land universes away from Earth? Making an ark out of his chains, he turns from a prisoner of war into a fugitive.
A WOMAN AGAINST THE WOR...
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AFTER THE RUSE came the trepidation.
Abel got out of the car in a stupor, slamming the door behind him. Jersen jumped, but I did not. For it was not rage that had Abel on the verge of losing it. To me, it looked more like frailty, as if he was not fully aware of what he was doing, of his surroundings, or of anything. He walked past the car, lighting a cigarette, the flame matching his hair color and making his face look sharper than usual. I wanted to get out of the car and accompany him, but he disappeared into the dark before I could figure out what I was going to say. What could have I said anyway? So lost in his own world he seemed that no word of mine would have reached him.
In the car, tension drifted in the air. I leaned my head against the window, watching Abel stride across a tree-lined path to the dilapidated building that loomed overhead. If it had not been for the big sign at the beginning of the path, reading MOTEL, I would not have guessed what this place had once been.
I let out a deep breath. It was a hot night for early July, and I found myself gathering my hair up in a high ponytail.
"What's the matter with him?" I asked Jersen.
"I have no idea."
My eyes went back and forth between the two men, the one in the car and the other meandering around the ruins.
"So . . . we just wait?" I asked and turned around, finding Jersen having lay down on the seat with his arms crossed and his eyes closed.
"Yes," he whispered. "We wait."
"Don't you think you should go ask Abel what's wrong?"
"You were the one in the storage room with him," he replied, a mischievous smile tangling at his thin lips.
"And you're his friend."
Footsteps sounded. A dark figure appeared in my peripheral view and the conversation was over.
Abel was back.
He walked with his head down, but when he lifted his stare to meet mine, his eyes sparkled. Under the lamplight, they were the shade of blue that reminded me of neon signs and pools of diamonds. As he made his way to the driver's seat, he kept looking at me. I smiled at him, thinking he might smile back, but he was deadly serious. A thousand questions crept in. Was he mad at me for something I did not know about? Was he all right? And if he was all right, why had he almost passed out in the corridor earlier? But if he was not all right, why had he insisted to drive?
"Why is he not coming in?" asked Jersen from behind.
I shrugged and with little hesitation, I burst out of the car. Crisp air caressed my face, gentle and sweet, and for a moment it felt like I was finally able to breathe. So I did exactly that and walked to where Abel was standing, a few feet in front of the car.
"Hey," I said and made to grip his wrist.
The look he gave me, lugubrious and alarming, reminded me that he did not like that kind of touch. So I draped my arm over his back instead. His skin burned beneath my fingers even through his shirt.
