Family Spirit by Glyn Soitino

Author:Glyn Soitino
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Torquere Press
Published: 2013-10-21T04:00:00+00:00

***

I was wakened by something cold and hard, poking me in the chest.

“Come on, sleeping beauty. Time to rise and shine.”

The man’s voice was unfamiliar. I opened my eyes and found myself once again lying flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Another prod, a little harder this time. I pushed the thing away and struggled to sit up, then froze as I realized I was looking into the business end of a double-barreled shotgun.

“What’s going on?” I said, trying to keep the panic from my voice. “Where’s Thomas?”

“Shut up. I’m asking the questions here.”

“Okay.” Peering past the gun, I tried to make out the face of the man behind it, but without my glasses, it was nothing but a blur. “Please, may I have my glasses?”

“Since you asked so politely.”

They landed in my lap and I fumbled them on. The room swam into focus, but my relief at being able to see properly was short-lived. Everything was different. As Thomas had said it would be, in the morning, I recalled. True, I was still on a leather sofa, but it and the chairs opposite it, in one of which my aggressor was now sitting, were black. Though I was sure this was the same room I’d fallen asleep in -- the fireplace was proof of that -- all the furniture and the décor were decidedly twenty-first century.

“What’s going on?” I said again, totally confused.

“You tell me. Are you a squatter, or a would-be burglar who just happened to fall asleep -- undressed -- on the job?”

Despite the shotgun, his tone wasn’t harsh. In fact, it was almost playful, like Jessica’s could be when she knew she had me under her paw. Not really a comforting thought.

I suddenly realized I was undressed, wearing nothing but my boxers. The black silk dressing gown was gone, as was the blanket.

“I’m waiting.”

Ignoring the gun that was currently pointing at my chest, I looked him in the eye. “Neither. Thomas let me in.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Wrong answer. Though I do believe you’re not a burglar. Or a squatter, come to that.”

“Then what do you think I am?”

“An accomplice in a practical joke,” he said, tossing something toward me that landed, again, in my lap. My wallet, which had been in my jacket pocket. “And I’ll thank you to give me back the key -- though I can’t imagine where you might be hiding it.”

He was staring at my crotch. I felt a moment of déjà vu, the only difference being that whereas Thomas’ attention had been discreet, this guy’s attitude was overtly sexual. If it hadn’t been for the weapon, I would have found it quite a turn-on.

He even looked like Thomas, though he seemed to be a few years older, maybe mid to late thirties. Bigger and broader, too. And instead of a smoking jacket and pajamas, he was wearing jeans and a brown knitted sweater. But he had the same light brown hair, though collar length and slightly curly.

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