Twenty-One
When I woke the next time, the sky outside of my only window was still bright, if a bit dimmed. Damn, I wished I had a clock to keep track of how much time I was losing from sleeping. I didn’t remember any dreams this time, but I did feel a little better. No one came to check on me right away and I enjoyed the solitude, taking the time to assess my body. I reached up with one hand and gingerly pressed the back of my head. The memory of getting clocked came back to me, along with the smell of recently dead human remains and the gag-inducing smell of my attacker’s magic: garlic. It had been Kevin’s accomplice. There was a small comfort in that. Given what we’d seen of the other bodies, I probably wouldn’t have been alive if Kevin had taken a swing at the back of my head. But why
