I slept throughout the night and woke up quite refreshed, shaded green light streaming in the window. For all Michael vexed me; I had to admit he could certainly choose a mattress, or more likely he could certainly pay someone to choose a mattress. Did people who flew in private planes even worry themselves about such details? Probably they did, because everyone slept, even self proclaimed gods. I shrugged. Hopefully this chooser of mattresses could procure me some other basic amenities.
There was a clock on the wall and it told me lunch was in a couple of hours, if they even ate lunch at noon on this island. Who could guess how a vampire might run the place? Maybe lunch was at midnight, I thought with considerable sarcasm. I decided to go and find some food for myself, whatever the meal might be called.
Leaving the room, I looked at the hallway more closely. The dozen closed doors in this upstairs hall looked identical and were placed at even intervals. My door was third from the stairs on the left side; I counted so that I would hopefully be able to find my way back. This building was not that big and there was no way that even I could get lost in here, but I could already imagine Michael's mocking laughter if he caught me opening all these doors just to figure out which was mine. I walked down the hall, back to the stairs that had lead me up here in the first place.
I walked down to the ground floor. I imagined this was where I would find the kitchen. I had been too lost in what Michael had been talking about to pay much attention to my surroundings yesterday, but now I looked around curiously. To my right, there was a room with several large dark grey couches placed at severe right angles around a simple rectangular coffee table. I glanced inside, but it seemed to be a dead end. To my left was a room empty except for a long dining room table with more than a dozen chairs placed with the same even precision as the living room and a few neutral abstract paintings on the wall. I walked inside. There was a door leading out of the building, but no obvious signs of a kitchen nearby.
I walked down the hall towards the entryway where I had first seen Alicia. I glanced between the two doors. They were both closed, so I picked at random.
The first one I tried was just a very clean, very simple washroom. I pulled the door shut behind me and crossed the entryway.
Pushing open the other door, I found another staircase, presumably leading down into a basement. There were dim lights set in the wall at intervals leading down to the point where the stairs turned. It was surely all in my imagination, but it looked somehow foreboding. I doubted I would find the kitchen down there anyway, I'd more likely find Michael down there sleeping in a coffin. I hoped humor would help push away my unwanted unease.
I shut the door to the basement and wondered if I had missed anything else. Surely the kitchen was not up with the bedrooms. I wished there was someone I could ask, but this building had seemed as deserted as a crypt. I shivered. Way to creep yourself out more, Dylan; I scolded myself.
I turned my attention back to the matter at hand. Maybe there was a common eating area somewhere. I walked out through the entrance and warmth and humidity slapped me in the face.
Glancing around, I discovered I was not quite as alone as I had felt. A brittle looking woman who appeared perhaps in her mid-forties was walking with a no nonsense gait towards one of the other buildings. Her clothing was conservative and she was dressed in neutral colors as if she wanted to camouflage herself against the buildings. She did not look friendly nor did she seem to have noticed me.
I threw caution to the wind. "Excuse me?" I asked tentatively.
She halted, turned with military precision and looked at me. "Yes?" she asked in a clipped tone. I got the distinct feeling that I was wasting her time and her time was very precious indeed. Far too precious for an unimportant creature like myself. Somewhere deep under my insecurity, I felt irritation begin to blossom. I kept it inside.
"I'm Dylan and I'm new here," I explained, although I doubted it was necessary. I suspected she would have already demanded an explanation if she did not already know who I was. "Is there somewhere I can get some food? I'm really hungry." I tried not to sound pathetic, but if I succeeded it was a very near thing indeed.
She pointed to a building at the back, neighboring the one I had just emerged from. She then turned and continuing on her way, her stiff back and mannerisms discouraging any additional pleas for assistance as if I might ever be tempted to talk to her again.
I followed the stiff woman's direction and made my way to the indicated building. I cracked open the door cautiously. An amazing smell wafted out towards me. I had not eaten in so long nearly anything would smell appetizing, but I was fairly certain it was more than mere hunger. I pushed open the door all the way and marched inside.
The only person I could see in this building was a young man sitting on one of several chairs surrounding a small round table. To my right was a long counter with a half dozen bar style stools against it and on the other side of the counter stretched an industrial looking kitchen.
The lone occupant of this building had unruly curly dark hair and a dour expression as if he were at a funeral. I wonder why he looked so miserable. Perhaps Michael had kidnapped him. It seemed entirely within the realm of the possible, I thought with considerable snark.
He looked over at me, his expression barely hinting at his silent enquiry. Perhaps he was related to Terrence.
"Can I have something to eat?" I asked, biting my lip.
He shrugged. I decided to interpret his shrug as a yes. If Michael wanted me to recuperate here I would need to eat. Still unsure of myself, I walked tentatively around the counter went to a huge refrigerator and pulled opened the door, revealing a vast array of food. I heard him sigh heavily. I glanced over, wondering if I had done something wrong. I saw he had changed his position in the chair while watching me.
"Want an omelet?" he asked in a surprisingly pleasant tone, though his face still looked miserable.
"Okay," I agreed. At this point I hardly cared what I would put in my stomach and odds were his cooking would be better than whatever I came up with anyway. I had never been as good of a cook as Arianna.
"Sit down," he said.
He shrugged his shoulders and stood up. He pushed his hair out of his face and then walked to the sink and washed his hands. Then he began moving around the kitchen, grabbing various ingredients and utensils. I went back and sat in one of the chairs around the round table and tried to stay as unobtrusive as physically possible.
While he worked I watched him furtively. I was beginning to notice a pattern to the people Michael kept around himself. It seemed Michael like keeping odd people around him, at least here. This island might be little more the collection of curiosities he maintained for his own amusement. I did not want to consider what that said about me since Michael had brought me here, too.
Comments (0)
See all