If anyone’s wondering what I’m reading at the moment, it’s Howliday Inn. Just getting reacquainted with the classics.
He woke with a start, from a dream of torn skin in his mouth. The room was bright with sunlight. Harper was slouched in the chair, asleep. She stirred when he woke thrashing, but didn’t wake. Hussein was at his desk, head in his arms. He didn’t stir at all.
Bryan tiptoed out the door and to the bathroom, where he pissed a river. He didn’t meet anyone on the way there and back. The building was like a tomb in the day. There were daytime workers – analysts and payroll and damage control – but they hardly equaled the buzz of nighttime, and they worked on the lower floors.
The two were still asleep when he got back. He closed the door silently, without even a click of the latch, and looked them over. Harper’s hair was in her face, swaying gently with each breath. She snored if he listened hard enough. Hussein was hunched over his desk, arms for a pillow, back rising and falling. Bryan felt bad for him; he had taken his couch.
His eyes roamed to the other side of the room, to the bookcases. And his bag. His bag filled with waterlogged cards he had scooped up in the midst of his gibbering horror, filled only with self-preservation, as if the cards were pieces of his body he had to gather together before running away from the thing that was gathering its own body.
And the gamma. The gamma was in there too.
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