[RiddleRose]: 298.Gold Dust - NaNoWriMo '07.Chapter sixteen

Chapter sixteen.

The paper vanished, and suddenly Wren could remember the whole thing. It HAD been amazing. In fact, it had maybe been the best sex he had ever had. Lisa was grinning widely next to him, so he assumed she had also enjoyed herself. Wren grinned, patted her on the bum, gave her a high five, and took her out to breakfast. Which turned out to be lunch. They had slept late.

His headache got steadily worse and worse, so after a while he said he had to go, and saw her back to her place before going home. He showered, shaved, and ate another lunch. Getting up from the table, his knees popped, and he suddenly collapsed in a bout of nausea. His head throbbed, and his stomach seemed to be trying to climb out of his mouth in a desperate bid for freedom.

He lay on the floor trying not to vomit, curled in a tiny ball, and gradually, the nausea passed away, and he was able to sit up tentatively. He was dizzy, and his headache was actually impeding his vision somewhat. It was a similar headache to the one he had had when he went to Neil's the night before he met Livia. He had an idea. 

He went to his bed, fished around under it with his good hand, and pulled out a metal box. It was locked, but the key was also under the bed, hanging from a spring. He unlocked the box. In it were five small bottles of Gold Dust. He uncorked one of the bottles, and breathed in the tiny golden cloud that puffed from the mouth of the bottle.

Within minutes his headache got less painful. He opened another bottle, and took another breath. His headache faded even more. He did this with all five bottles, and by the time he had recorked that last one, his headache was down to a slight ache behind his eyes, which was more likely to be because he had gotten very little sleep last night.

He called Neil up. He thought Neil would be interested to know that the symptoms of withdrawal were completely awful, and that he didn't have to worry about people stopping themselves from being addicted. The phone rang and rang though, and finally the phone machine said in his ear, “Hello male, female or neuter. If you are not human, please leave a call back number so that I can get in touch with you. If you are Wren, I want my pants back. If you are none of the aforementioned, please leave a message, and I'll try to get back to you.”

Wren was amused. He and Neil had clandestine phone machine battles, in which they each tried to have a more interesting or funny message than the other. Since neither of them got many calls, no one had been offended yet, although Wren's mother had sounded a little worried the time she got the message that said in falsetto tones, “Neiiiiil, your sex kitten is waiting for you! Go to 69 Missionary street, and look under the loose brick at the corner. If you're not Neil, by no means should you do the same thing. If you are not Neil, you should probably leave a message and a number, and I'll get back to you.”

As Wren had intended, Neil's curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had gone to 69 Missionary, and looked under the brick. Wren had spent a good deal of time rigging a small squirt gun to go off when the brick was moved, and Neil had gotten a faceful of icy water. Behind the squirt gun was a picture of a naked woman being sexy on a bed. Wren had been particularly proud of that one. Once Neil had dried off and recovered, he had laughed about it too. Wren's mother had been a little worried though.

Now, Wren said into the phone, “Neil you bastard, no way can you have your pants back. They look better on me anyway. Incidentally, I discovered that one of the symptoms of withdrawal is splitting headaches and sudden bouts of nausea. Also, call me back and tell me if Livia is still there. Ciao you figlio de una puttana!”

After this all important message had been recorded, Wren crawled into bed and went to sleep. His dreams were fragmented. A flash of one scenario, then a flash of another. The stupid monkey with the fish. A mermaid with long curly black hair. A harem dancer with the same. Lisa, who morphed into Livia, who threw a handful of Gold Dust at him. Neil, dressed in a cute Little Red Riding Hood costume. A house on fire. A very very small monk, complete with habit and tonsure. Ginny Weasley, kissing Draco Malfoy.

His brain revolted at that one. It was just too strange. His dreams were less weird after that, though he couldn't remember a lot of them. He did remember dreaming of Lessa though. She was trying on a new dress, and looking at herself in the mirror. She was holding a little china doll, with blue eyes, and blonde hair, and little red lips. 

Wren could tell that whoever had gotten her the doll had been thinking of her resemblance to it, but he could also tell that while the doll just sat there and waited to be played with, little Lessa went and played with you. 

There was a man in the room with her, who was playing a piano. Wren could see him only faintly, as if he were made of stained glass, but Lessa could clearly see and hear him very well. She was swaying along with the music as she looked in the mirror, and sometimes she turned to him and pretended to direct him. The man was grinning like a clown, and whenever she turned, he made faces at her so that she shrieked and clapped her hands.

Wren thought that this must be her beloved dancing and piano instructor, the one that her governess didn't like. When she had finished looking at herself in the mirror, she ran over to him and clambered up onto his lap. “Let's dance now Nash! Can we dance now? Oh, do let's!” She tugged on his ears until he consented to pick her up and swing her around, laughing.

Wren found himself grinning too, and wishing that he could join them, they looked so happy. Nash looked like he was only Wren's age, maybe a year older, and he looked more like her older brother than her teacher. They were obviously very close.

When Lessa was done dancing, Nash went back to playing piano for her, slower this time, and more gentle, and she went back to playing with her dolls. Her dress was red today, with white trim, and she looked like a valentine child. In his dream, Wren felt a sudden sense of dread. He thought, something bad is going to happen, and he tried to warn her, but he couldn't speak. But suddenly, Nash's head snapped up. Something was wrong. Something wasn't good.

Nash stopped playing the piano, and went to a closet. He took out a little white cloak with red lining, to match her dress, and he said playfully, “Let's go on an adventure!”

Lessa jumped up, clapping her hands, and put on her cloak. She grabbed a white parasol from a little table, and put the dolls hastily in a box. Nash was nervous, but trying not to let her see. He was looking over his shoulder. He could hear something that Wren, in his dream state, could not. Nash led the little girl to the closet, and showed her a secret panel in the back. She clapped her hands again, and they stepped in. The panel closed behind them, and Wren was left to await whatever it was that was coming up the stairs.

He could hear it now. It sounded like a great many men, all rushing and banging about. He could hear the clash of swords, and shouts from the staircase. Wren suddenly thought, where is Jamie? But he must be outside, playing with his friends in the streets. It's Lessa they're after. 

He drifted a little, towards the panel. He wanted to follow her and Nash, see where they were going. He thought that Nash would look after her, but he wanted to know if she was all right. And Nash, Nash had known of this. He had been ready. Somehow, he knew that he would have to get her safely away, and he had kept her cloak in the closet, and his own there too. Wren remembered him grabbing it right before the secret panel closed.

Maybe he hadn't known the day, or the time, but he had known. Wren wondered again about Jamie, but before he could articulate his thoughts to himself, the door to the playroom burst open, and a group of filthy, bloody men, in tattered coats, carrying swords rushed in. They too were faint, as Nash had been, but he could hear them well enough. One, the biggest and bloodiest, snarled, “Where's the girl? I was told she'd be here! Look, here's her dollhouse, where's she?”

“I dunno boss,” said one of the men, “but 'ere, this' got you name on it!”

“Gimme that,” growled the boss. He swiped the piece of paper from the other man's hand. On it, in elegant handwriting, was written:

Wolf,
Don't bother trying to find her. She is safe with me. You know what will happen if you try to fight me. Save your own skin, and leave her alone.
Hunter

The big man, Wolf, howled his rage, “That damn Hunter! Every time I get close to her, he spirits her away! I nearly had her that time in the alley, and then him and his bloody pack of urchins came and ruined everything! I nearly had her today. I distracted the kid, what's his name, her brother. I got him out of the way. I get here, on a day I knew her father want home, and now look. Somehow, somehow that thrice cursed Hunter got her away before I got here!” He kicked the dollhouse over in his frustration. 

Wren felt himself beginning to wake up, and fought it. He had to know if Lessa was safe! But try as he might, the dream people faded, and real world sounds began to invade. As he was about to climb completely into consciousness, he saw a brief flash of Lessa holding Nash's hand. They were walking somewhere, and the light was dim, but Lessa didn't look overly frightened, and Nash was only alert, not wary, so Wren woke up understanding that Lessa was all right.