Page 40 of From the Darkness

She’d simply been going to get some rest. But she felt a strange sense of urgency as she started back to her quarters. By the time she reached the upstairs hall, she was running. Maybe . . . maybe Troy would be there.

With a feeling of anticipation, she threw open the door. But the room was empty, and she felt her shoulders sag as she stepped through the door.

She leaned back against the wall and took several deep breaths. She had a right to be keyed up—after the events of the day, and relaxing before dinner was an excellent idea.

First, she crossed to the bathroom and used the facilities. Then she turned to the sink and began to wash her hands. She was just drying them when a sound stopped her. At first, she only felt it as a vibration under her feet. The vibration grew, swelled, resolved itself into the strange drumming she’d heard in the grove. It was followed by the unexpected sound of voices in the bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

It was Troy! Troy asking the question. Somehow, she’d expected to find him here. And she was right.

She started to open the door, then was stopped by another speaker. “Where did you come from?” a man asked, his voice made high and thin by fear so that she had no idea who it was.

“That’s not the important point. Answer my question.”

She heard rapid footsteps then, followed by a dull thudding noise like a hard object hitting flesh and bone—followed by broken glass or something similar raining onto the floor.

She’d been frozen in place. Now she realized that Troy was in trouble.

There was no thought for her own safety. She had to help him. Looking wildly around for a weapon, she picked up the plaster statue of a water nymph from the shelf over the toilet tank and burst through the door into her room.

It was empty.

She blinked, trying to take in what she was—or wasn’t—seeing as she stood there, her breath coming in gasps. The room was just as she’d left it. No one was here.

But she’d heard the beating of the drum—then what sounded like a malicious assault.

The vibrations were almost below the limit of human awareness, now. But she still felt them.

Quickly she crossed to the closet and pulled the door open, but no one was there either.

“Troy?” she called as she’d done so many times before. Sometimes he even answered her.

He stayed silent, but the thrumming surged, making the air around her vibrate. It was like the whirlwind in the woods. Only different, more subtle, and there was nothing to see. She could only feel the currents of air pulsing around her.

She’d come tearing in here in an agony of fear, prepared to rescue Troy. Now the stirring of the atmosphere around her turned soft and gentle, soothing the panic away. Calmed her down. Convinced her that everything was all right once again. She closed her eyes, thinking that the sensation was almost like the caress of a hand on her hair, on her cheek, on her lips. Troy’s caress. Because it felt so much like he was really here.

Far, far in the background, she heard music. The Rod Stewart album. Once again, the rock star was singing “Tonight’s The Night.”

“What’s tonight? Are you finally going to make love to me?” she murmured, her voice dreamy, as she swayed to the beat of the ballad.

The words simply tumbled out of her mouth. Her eyes blinked open—and she found herself standing in an empty room. Technically empty. But still it was alive with elements that were real—elements just beyond the threshold of time and space

The currents of air seemed to wrap themselves more tightly around her, holding her in an embrace that was both tender and sensual.

“Stay with me. Let me see you,” she pleaded.

He didn’t show himself. But he stayed for long minutes. And then, all at once, it was over, and she knew she was alone in her room. Really alone.

Troy had been here. He hadn’t let her see him. And he hadn’t spoken. But he’d held her. Touched her. Comforted her. Somehow using the special powers he’d acquired. Now he was gone.

She didn’t realize he’d been holding her up, until she found that her legs wouldn’t support her weight. She swayed on her feet, tottered to the overstuffed chair, and collapsed in a heap, her head thrown back and her legs sprawled out in front of her.

She was still drifting, still muzzy-headed. Troy had done that to her. Clouded her mind, she thought with a little giggle. Or somebody had sprayed a hallucinogen into the bedroom.

She sniffed the air—smelling nothing. Then wondered if she should open a window. Probably it was too late for that.

Gradually, over the space of several minutes, the otherworldly sensations subsided, and she came back to herself. As she did, she began to wonder what had happened. Not the experience, exactly. But what it had meant. It might have been triggered by a hypnotic agent. Or something chemical. But whatever the cause, the pattern of events was significant.

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