Fear and Longing in Los Angeles by Mark Leslie

Author:Mark Leslie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Hollywood, werewolf, superhero, super powers, Los Angeles California, neo-nazi, wolf
Publisher: Stark Publishing
Published: 2021-02-23T00:00:00+00:00

Saturday, June 17, 2017

Chapter Fourteen: An Extended Rest in the Arms of Morpheus

“So, you’re finally awake.” Buddy’s voice was the first thing I heard as consciousness returned to me. It was accompanied by a low pulse throbbing of pain like the super-boosted bass of an annoying jerk’s car stereo parked outside.

“Looks like you needed quite the extended rest in the arms of Morpheus, my friend.” The sound of his voice ramped up the throbbing pulse of the bass.

I tried opening my eyes, but the brightness of the room was too intense; inviting what felt like a cacophony of Buddy Rich, Neil Peart, and John Bonham going to town with their drumsticks slapping at every possible surface on the inside of my skull.

“Oh,” I said in a low moan, and the effort and sound from inside my head was like that first trio had invited Keith Moon, Dave Grohl, and Phil Collins to accompany them.

I didn’t dare sit up, for fear that these half-dozen percussionists might invite Ringo Starr, Stewart Copeland, and maybe even Animal from The Muppet Show to join in.

“Here,” Buddy said, suddenly right beside me and pressing a chalky round pill tablet between my lips. “This’ll help.” His hand came behind my head to prop it up a bit as the cool edge of a glass came to my lips; it was water to wash the pill down. The cold liquid was good, refreshing. I raised my right hand to the bottom of the glass, tilting it further, releasing more water into my mouth and down my throat.

“More,” I said. And then the darkness returned.

When consciousness came calling again, I was able to open my eyes without inviting a cast of legendary drummers to do consecutive drum solos on my skull. That was a good sign.

I was in a hotel room, but not the one I had checked into. The layout was completely different. And it didn’t smell like the same hotel. Buddy was sitting in a chair beside my bed and looking at me over the pages of a magazine.

“You feeling any better now?” Buddy asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “A lot better, actually.” It was good to say something without the sound of my own words attacking my pain receptors. Though there was a numbness in my head, likely the effect of the painkillers Buddy fed me, my enhanced senses had returned. I could detect the lemon scent of the detergent from the sheets of the bed I was in, the slight lavender of the fabric softener. It was definitely not Loews Hollywood Hotel. Their laundry had more of a honeysuckle fragrance to it. I also easily picked up Buddy’s musky aftershave mingled with his distinct smell of sweat, and the fact he hadn’t showered in at least a day. Also coming through was the familiar sound of his heartbeat, the murmur of voices from other rooms in the hotel, the movement of people and traffic on the street outside. All of those underlying background sounds and smells I’d become used to were there.

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