IN THIS TWILIGHT
The Mask Collector
Chapter Two
Sunday June 1st 2003
Instinctively Darren grasped at his chest when he awoke.
Disoriented and shaking he fumbled for the lamp on his nightstand, knocking the clock radio from its perch. It blared to life, filling the darkness with rasping static and shreds of classic rock. Darren cursed under his breath, trying to make himself be calm but the nightmare was still rattling around in his head. The half-remembered half -imagined vision of himself with chest pains that would soon blossom into a full blown cardiac arrest. Except this time he wasn't safe in the old apartment with Marnie somewhere nearby to save him. This time he was alone out in the middle of nowhere and he couldn't even draw breath to scream because it felt like his chest was in a vise.
Darren found the lamp; pale yellow light flooded the room. He sat on the edge and moved his line of sight up from the toppled clock along the wall of unpacked boxes to settle on the phone. The need to call Marnie was almost impossible to ignore, just to talk to her for a moment. His fingers twitched in anticipation of dialing her number.
No. Oh No. He reached down and made sure the alarm settings hadn't been changed in the fall. No looking back.
Darren switched off the lamp and lay back down, drawing the blankets up around his chin. He tried to think of something pleasant to lull himself to sleep. His thoughts drifted to the Japanese nursing student he always spied reading at the Starbucks near his work. One of these days he was going to chat her up.
Maybe even on Monday. Why not? I'm a free man now.
Darren closed his eyes, and heard voices.
Or maybe it was just one voice.
He sat up in bed, his pulse starting to race all over again. The Hell... What is that?
The voices were muffled and indistinct, full of grunting syllables and monotone half chants, every few moments the voices would be drowned out by a flurry of scuffling. Darren got out of bed and pressed his ear to the bedroom wall, the voice or voices became more distinct yet he still couldn't make out what was being said.
This is the wall I share with Chad in 1668. He thought, What is he doing at two in the morning?
Sounds like a party. Or maybe he's talking to himself.
Work was tomorrow, Darren couldn't afford to be up all night. He pulled the bed away from the wall and slept on it facing in the other direction. He promised himself that tomorrow he would speak to Sir Chad of English Nobility about keeping it down.
Chad Lunt... What kind of a name is that anyway? Sounds like a character in a bad action movie.
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