I open my eyes, my head pounding as if I had two synchronized drills at my temples. I blink several times, it feels like I've woken from an endless sleep and, as a result, I find myself in one of those moments where – after sleeping deeply – upon waking, you don't know where you are.
The problem, however, was that I truly didn't know where I was or rather, my foggy mind couldn't focus on the details.
It was dark, I seemed to be immersed in darkness, only the flame of a candle illuminated the room which, apparently, had an entirely black decor: bed, sofa, tables and side tables...
Wait, I think I know this place?
Or at least that's what my brain believed, because shivers of excitement immediately snapped me out of the post-sleep confusion.
How long had I been sleeping? And why did my head hurt so much?
Touching it, I noticed a bandage on my forehead, another on my knee and one on my left forearm.
"But what the hell?"
I wasn't realizing anything and I didn't remember anything.
A deep darkness filled my mind, as if to erase everything.
"Did I fight but don't remember it?"
I look around, confused.
My pistols were on a side table not far from the bed, but my clothes had disappeared.
I sit on the edge of the bed, slowly, trying to avoid movements that could further contribute to the pounding in my temples.
I turn, on the nightstand next to the bed, a note:
"Drink me"
Behind the note, a glass of water and a greenish liquid, the smell vaguely reminded me of mint.
"I don't drink things I don't know the name of,"
I think, setting the glass down, while the note falls to the floor, flipping to the other side.
"It's medicine for your wounds and head, you don't need to know the name!"
My eyes go wide in shock!
How the hell did that handwritten note read my mind?
Was it written by someone I know, but if I know this person, how is it possible I don't recognize the place I'm in?
After all, all of my friends had invited me to their homes at some point.
I couldn't figure it out and kept flipping the note over in disbelief.
I decide to drink the greenish concoction in the glass. A shiver of disgust runs down my back.
The door in front of me, while I was still sitting on the bed's edge, might provide some answers. After all, someone in this house must be able to explain.
I decide to get up, in one hand I take the candle, my only source of light, and with the other I take one of the pistols... I realize that as I go to put it into the holster, out of sheer habit, I stop and notice the pajamas I was wearing.
They were black too, but what makes me stop and freeze is that whoever brought me here, if – as I was thinking – I had really escaped a battle, had undressed and redressed me.
I blush, I tremble,
"Who the hell did something like that while I was unconscious?"
I hold the pistol in my hand and slowly open the door.
I step out and notice that darkness envelops that wing of the house as well.
Paintings decorate the hallway, I can't make out the subjects;
a fine rug covers the wooden floor, allowing me to move in total silence;
there are other closed doors on both sides of the hallway, but no sounds come from them.
At the end of the hallway, I glimpse a staircase on the right.
The candle lights up some old creaking wooden stairs, and a small foyer that opens to a door and two other hallways, respectively one to its right and one to its left.
The windows along the right side of the staircase overlook a dense, equally dark forest, where the only barely noticeable movement came from the wind swaying the treetops.
A clearing I hadn't passed through on the way here...
Like a lightning bolt, my head starts pounding again and, from the pain, I almost lose my balance on the stairs.
A thought had returned to me, but I couldn't place it in time or space.
Before my eyes, closed from the pain, I saw vegetation and trees in the distance, the pale moon.
Wobbling on the steps, I then sat down for a moment, almost falling, but I had made a noise: no one heard me.
I finally go down the stairs, I look right and left, this house wasn't a residence, but a maze.
From the central door located in the left hallway, a sound comes—barely audible—and floating lights spill from under it.
"So someone is in this house!"
I think as I point the pistol and advance toward the hallway.
My steps are swift and sure, inside me the fire of curiosity mixed with anger—anger for having been undressed and dressed by who knows who—rises in my chest.
Whoever it was may have saved my life, but they had no right to touch me; they could have simply left my clothes on.
Once I reach the door, I take a breath and suddenly a light murmur rises from the room: I distinguish two voices, quite similar in speed and tone, talking over one another.
«The Wanderer's been eliminated, laundry done, medicine and note ready. Boss, do you think what the doctor said is true?»
says the slightly hoarser voice.
«It'd be a real problem again... this time we're worried about her mental health, boss»
says the sharper one.
«Tell the chef to prepare her favorite dish and, for all the gods, quit it with your paranoia»
a third voice breaks the silence left by the previous two.
A deep voice, hoarse, sensual, with emphasis on every syllable.
A shiver runs from my neck, down over my chest and stops under my stomach, I hold my breath.
"Boss? Could he be the one responsible for everything that happened to me?"
I keep listening at the door but only hear footsteps walking away and suddenly a terrible sound shatters the peace.
CRAW!
What kind of horrible sound could that be?
It might have seemed like a crow's call, but it was more like a cry from the afterlife.
I was genuinely scared, still standing at the door, eavesdropping, occasionally glancing around.
«I think you can come in now, kitten, no one will disturb us for a while»
That voice, the third one, with a higher tone, seemed to be calling directly for me.
"It's not possible he knows I'm here, I haven't made a sound, not even the slightest noise"
I think while my heart starts racing.
I stay still, not breathing, heart in my throat, pistol aimed at the door, but suddenly something incredible happens:
in the span of a nanosecond, a gust of reddish energy brushes against my cheek, runs down my arm—the one holding the candle—extinguishing it; then it flows around the doorknob, opening it slightly and allowing light to spill into the hallway.
"What the he—"
«Sweetheart, do you want me to carry in my arms again? I'll gladly do it, you know»
The voice is clearer this time.
«Don't worry, kitten. I'm here for you»
A new flash clouds my mind and my head pounds even harder, I lean against the wall, both hands against it for support, a scent of sandalwood and spices spreads in the air; I open my eyes and just before another flash of light, I see a figure approaching, leaning down toward me now that I'm sitting on the floor.
«You!»
I exclaim as with a trembling arm I point the pistol into the void.
My finger slips on the trigger and I fall back into the deepest darkness.