by Angie West
***
“Claire.” His face swam in front of me for a nauseating instant before becoming solid. And still. Thank God.
“Mike.” I smiled and reached through the darkness to touch his face. “I don’t feel so good.”
“You hit your head.”
“That seems to be happening a lot lately.” I sat up and looked around. We were in the middle of a grassy meadow. Fat green jewels hung from the trees.
“Where are we? How did you find me?”
“Just rest now.”
Suddenly, I remembered. “No, the guards! Come on, we have to get out of here.”
“Quiet. Rest, Claire.”
“I don’t understand.” I reached out and touched his arm, and felt nothing. My hand went through his sleeve as if he were no more substantial than smoke in the wind. “Oh my God, you’re dead!” I cried.
Mike laughed and shook his head. “I’m not dead. And neither are you.”
“Then what is this place?” My headache was getting increasingly worse and I had to focus hard in order to hear him.
He looked up sharply, hearing something that I did not.
“Mike? What is it?”
“You have to wake up now, Claire.”
“Wake up? I’m already awake. We have to go. Help me up. My head…God, what’s wrong with me?” I was on my knees then, clutching the front of my head. Mike was no more than a hazy image through the pain.
“Help me, please,” I groaned in agony.
He leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “Find me…” Then he was gone. I was alone in the meadow. I curled into a ball and began to scream.
