***
My urge to groan was circumvented by my uncooperative tongue having glued itself to the roof of my mouth. Cleaving, my thoughts wandered, somewhere it once was called cleaving. The pounding in my temples, in perfect synch with my heartbeat, provided proof I was still alive though barely able to move my head in either direction. Adding to my discomfort was the realization my arms and legs were severely constricted beneath what felt like a contemporary form of mummification. Try as I might to move my limbs, I had neither the energy to budge the wrapping nor the strength to break its bond. Blinking my eyes made no difference to the opacity of the engulfing darkness, as my surroundings were void of light altogether.
I renewed my attempt to generate saliva in my mouth by envisioning the dining room table at Tumultuous Manor in full Thanksgiving Day spread, courtesy of Mrs. Potsdam's culinary artistry. It was her homemade gravy drizzled atop the hand-mashed garlic potatoes that proved the most effective water bearer.
"Nee-yug," I uttered, slowly peeling my tongue -- adhered to my palate with the consistency of a strip of duct tape -- back to its rightful position.
"Shhh!" a soft voice whispered, close enough to my right ear so I felt the heat from the utterance. "Remain calm, Baron. The bastard poisoned you. Tried to kill you."
"Newg!"
"Shhh, now. We're safe here together. I'll get you a bit of water."
"Nenna." I felt a cup touch my lips and welcomed the fluid as it came forth, spreading into the arid crevices of my mouth.
"Drink slowly. A little at a time, okay?"
"Yes," I managed to croak, "every five seconds or so."
"If it's the mixture I think he used --"
"Who --"
"The headache you're suffering will begin to fade with the ingestion of the water --"
"Are --"
"Followed soon after by recovery from the temporary paralysis."
"You?"
"Angel. It's me, Angelica Formica de Corcoran Bridgework."
"Yes," I said as she tipped the cup once again. I did not care that some of the liquid dribbled down my chin and onto the bedding. "You are an angel."
"Slowly. Move it around in your mouth before swallowing."
"Where --"
"Shumway had plans to bury you alive in this state."
"Are --"
"Wanting you to go mad before dying. His idea of the ultimate practical joke."
"We?"
"In my private bungalow on the edge of the compound. Don't worry, we're entirely safe here. The doors and windows are secured. My bodyguard Antoine and his men are hiding outside and have the house covered."
"How --"
"You've put the hex on them, Baron. I'm told they're moving out at dawn and I'm going with them."
"Did --"
"You'll completely mend within hours after we've left."
"I --"
"You should consider packing your bag and heading back to the safety of your home."
"Get --"
"Understand that it might be a one way trip for some of us."
"Here?"
"I brought you back. Shumway spiked your drink at the table. I saw the effects right away. The zombie like appearance growing on your face, your glassy eyes and rigid movement. The uncontrollable drool. Stephane and I grabbed you off the dance floor when mother and Shumway left to bring his car to the doorway."
"I --"
"We walked you down the road to and tied you to a tree until I could bring a vehicle to get you."
"Owe --"
"You were quite a scary sight until you passed out."
"You --"
"Anyway, if you choose to follow us, I will be grateful."
"My --"
"I can't explain everything now, but I'm going to need a lot of help before this is over."
"Life."
"Just don't feel obligated, alright?"
"Repeat --"
"It's going to be dangerous, but this time it will come to a head."
"I --"
"A finality, I'm sure of it. I pray I'll survive whatever fate is in store for me."
"Owe --"
"Should you care to follow, we're traveling to Machu Picchu."
"You --"
"Wayland has a flash drive hidden in the ruins there. Planted on a previous trip."
"My --"
"If you follow, come as quickly as you can. I'll be looking for you."
"Life."
"I know I can count on you, Baron." She allowed a bit more water to enter through my lips then reached across me and placed the glass on the nightstand. There was nothing else for me to do but remain immobile as she nestled onto my shoulder and draped an arm across my chest. "Rest now. No matter your decision, you'll need all the energy you can rally." Angel drifted off to sleep.
As still as an archeological museum piece laid out on public display, I strove to calibrate my mind and order my thoughts on all that had happened. Foremost, the arrogant and cavalier Chip/Silly was placed in my Jerk Category. He had one owed from me, which I planned to deliver in a fireworks display of spades.
Indeed, Chip/Silly despised both Bridgework and Angel, yet had a peculiar alliance with Ethelene. Here was a case. Ethelene loathed Bridgework as well, then warned me of Chip/Silly's anathematization toward me in spite of the yet-undefined concord they shared. She acted indifferent toward Angel, while at the same time inclined to ask me for help in sorting out and settling the dysfunction so thoroughly infecting her family. Was this a cry for normalcy or an effort to assign me to futility?
Bridgework himself had no qualms about his dislike for everyone, omitting Miss Après, of course. His zealous obsession for a successful conception between Chip/Silly and Angel was, in my estimation, both unnatural and distasteful. Equally as bizarre and troubling, from my temporary inert perspective, was his fixation with and dogged pursuit of Eternus Spiritus. Who determined the price tag of such an indulgence? More to the point, who would foot the bill?
For certain, I did not care for the man and my disinterest toward him doubled my intention to bring him in line. Yes, Sondheim knew I would accept the most squalid of exploits, aware I was capable of being mean, quick and nasty when circumstances necessitated such traits. Yet for this show, that consideration would be taken to new heights for, indeed, I had defined my endgame: I would personally deliver Bridgework to Sondheim and allow the former to sort out the latter. What better solution to this task's goal? Offender meet corrector, eliminating the middle man.
Finally, there was Angel, presently a-snooze and snoring softly upon my clavicle. She presented herself as honest and decent, proof of which was offered when rescuing me from what could only be imagined as a horrible death. Adding to her credibility, she was biologically incapable of carrying her parents' hereditary nuttiness. Aloof from her family, she had in my presence minimized her interaction with them -- except for her trip to the washroom at Badana Pagana Cabana with Ethelene, which had clearly been a ruse. Didn't the old lady suggest they go together? There could be no other explanation: Ethelene removed Angel in order to create the opportunity for Chip/Silly to doctor my drink.
Further, had not Angel salvaged me from the dance floor and tethered me to a tree for my own safety? I had no recollection of such, but here I was alive and stolid, dutifully informed of the quartet's impending departure to the ancient Incan site in the Andes with a request by Angel to follow. Yet Angel traveled in the penumbra enveloping the entire Bridgework clan. She could choose to leave at any time, yet she elected to stay while they chased down a hidden flash drive, herself more as a flickering shadow than a member of the family.
Both repelled by and drawn to them.
The thought repeatedly rumbled through my mind with the authority of a summer thunderstorm, driving me into a sleep without fathom.
Baril de Singes [Barrel of Monkeys] Page 9
