Chapter Three
984 คำ
Chapter Three
THEIR ROOM WAS BEAUTIFUL. Quaint, but that’s not to say small. Pretty as a postcard.
So why did Steven feel massively uncomfortable the second he walked through the door?
“Well?” Omar asked. “What do you think?”
“Nice,” Steven said, forcing a smile. “Good. Nice.”
Omar gave him that look that said, “I know you’re lying,” but didn’t call him on it. Which was just as well. Steven couldn’t have explained what made him feel so ill-at-ease in this place. And even if he knew, he definitely didn’t have the energy to explain.
The main thing was, Steven didn’t want Omar feeling bad. About picking this place, bringing him here. About anything. After all, this getaway was Omar’s idea. On paper, it seemed like a great one.
Steven sat on the bed, but he didn’t remain upright for long. His head felt heavy as a bowling ball. The pillow was a magnet, drawing him down. At least the bed was comfortable. He got the sense he’d be spending a good deal of time in it.
Omar seemed excessively concerned when he came over to ask, “Are you okay? Be real with me. What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” Steven assured his husband. “Combination of carsickness and not enough sleep. What time’s the murder mystery thing?”
“Starts at six.”
Steven glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Oh, plenty of time for a nap. Hope you don’t mind.”
Omar smiled generously. “What am I going to do, drag you around the grounds in this state?”
“You’d have to drag me,” Steven replied. “Put me on a toboggan and pull me through the woods.”
Omar laughed heartily. “I’ll take the opportunity to give the place a good once-over, then I’ll bring in the luggage. Is that okay by you?”
“Yes, fine. I’m just sorry I can’t walk around with you, but...” Steven yawned. His stomach clenched, but he tried not to let on. “Could you do me a favour and close the curtains before you go?”
“Of course,” Omar said, and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll leave your key card on the bedside table, here, in case you want to leave the room. See you in a bit.”
“Don’t let me sleep through dinner,” Steven said.
If Omar made any reply, he was too zonked to hear it. As soon as the curtains were closed, he was out like a light. He dreamed right away, which he didn’t think was even possible, but what did he know? It wasn’t exactly his area of expertise.
He couldn’t remember what his dreams were about, only that they frightened him in the extreme. This was highly unusual. Steven wasn’t normally affected by his dreams, and he almost never had nightmares.
Not just that, but these dreams felt so real. Not like dreams at all. Like terror. Like absolute life-or-death level terror.
He woke up all at once, not because of the nightmares, but because his body was pouring out sweat. He’d never experienced anything like it, not even during his most gruelling workouts. There was so much sweat between his legs he thought, for a moment, that he’d peed the bed. Expect that his armpits felt the same way. And his back. Christ, even his hair was sweating. How was it possible to feel this hot?
Must have been the duvet. Too thick.
Peeling off the linens, Steven rolled his dizzy body out of bed. He’d never needed a shower so badly in all his life. His shirt was actually stuck to his chest. That’s how much he’d sweated in his sleep.
By the time he’d reached the bathroom, he was entirely naked and, somehow, his nudity made him feel uncomfortable even though he was completely alone. He didn’t even feel this self-conscious at the gym, walking around the locker room with a bunch of other men. He didn’t feel self-conscious in that situation, so why should he feel so now? In a bathroom by himself?
He closed the door, hoping he’d feel better about his surroundings if the space were more enclosed. But that almost made things worse. Steven wasn’t prone to claustrophobia, but there was something about this situation, about this place, that made him so nervous he started shaking. Sweating and shivering simultaneously. Was there a hospital nearby? He must be ill, very ill.
The idea of ruining Omar’s Valentine’s Day plans made Steven’s stomach clench. He couldn’t do that to his husband. Maybe he’d feel better after a shower.
He turned on the water, and the pressure was good. So was the temperature. He wasn’t entirely sure whether he wanted cold water or hot, seeing as he was both sweaty and freezing, but he settled on tepid and stepped under the flow.
Water really was a wonder, a healing force. His legs had been so weak when he rolled out of bed that he’d felt sure he’d have to sit at the bottom of the tub. But as soon as that force of nature struck him in the face, in the chest, he felt revived. Thank God for water.
He raised his arms and allowed the shower to wash the sweat away.
There was nothing like a brand new bar of hotel soap. He popped it out of its little cardboard box and sudsed up his skin, cleaning away the salt and oils that had been brought out by all that sweat.
What had he been dreaming about? What could have caused his body to panic like that? Flying? Falling? Monsters? Demons? He wasn’t exactly prone to anxiety dreams, but he must have been having one, to have broken out in such a sweat.
If only he could remember his dream...
And then it came back to him, the voice he’d heard in his sleep. He couldn’t remember the context. Only the voice. The voice, so deep and dark and husky, like something dead, or almost dead.
As he remembered the voice, he heard it again, replaying in his mind—replaying in his ear, as a matter of fact.
“Get out,” the voice told him. “Get out... or die!”
- ผู้เขียน
