Silas’ head was killing him. He moaned, opened one eye briefly and snapped it shut at the bright glare. He never had bad hangovers like this. Last night must have been a killer.
Then it all came back to him in bits and pieces.
He sat up and forced his eyes open. It was gloomy, but there was still enough light to make him wince as his headache flared. He heard speaking and laughing, but it was detached and distant. He was sitting on the rough wooden floor of a partially burned out room. There was a couch, end tables and a coffee table, all charred. One wall was missing and Silas could see what looked like prairie with an overcast sky beyond. Against another wall stood a table with a TV on it.
The TV was out of place. The decor of the room, what little was left of it, was old we
