Lost Soul - Immortality by Adam Alexander

Author:Adam Alexander
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2018-05-26T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

S unrise the next morning was masked by a veil of grey cloud that spread across most of Northern Italy. Brett awoke as the dull grey illuminated the back of the cheap curtains in Geronimo’s only guest room. Disoriented for a moment, he looked at the garish floral patterns on the curtains, trying to remember where he was. He looked to his right, and found Heather, deep in sleep, her breath making rhythmic, barely audible puffs. He remembered the bus accident, their ride to Geronimo’s, a lot of beer, and something he said to Heather that only he had heard. She really was beautiful. If he had his phone, he would be wrestling with the moral dilemma of posting her picture on his Facebook page like a trophy. He raised himself half-up on his elbows. A numbing pain spread across the back of his head, and he slowly lowered it back onto the soft pillow mouthing the word, ouch.

Beside him, Heather groaned. Her hand went to her forehead, she swore, and her eyes flickered open slowly. The mists began to clear in her pounding head. She remembered where she was. Turning her head slowly, she saw Brett in the bed next to her, and immediately looked under the covers. Registering that she was still in her underwear, she breathed a huge sigh of relief, but the sudden rush of adrenaline made her head pound even more.

“I need drugs,” she groaned. “Lots and lots of drugs.” Brett knew she meant painkillers. Heather wasn’t one for narcotics.

“Morning,” Brett croaked. His mouth was parched. They both lay there for some time before Brett finally stood up. “I think we need water. And food. A nice greasy breakfast,” he suggested.

“You need pants,” Heather said. Brett looked down at his boxers.

“Yeah, pants,” he conceded, scanning the floor for his crumpled jeans. Heather watched him hungrily through blurred eyes as he slipped them on, and fumbled his way into his shirt.

“And drugs,” Heather complained, raising herself slowly to a sitting position.

Brett stared out the window at the deserted parking lot. After a while, the two of them surfaced, and made their way slowly down the creaking staircase, through the doorway and into the bar.

“What time is it?” asked Heather sleepily as they entered the pub. The place was dark. Shafts of light fought their way through dusty windows illuminating patches of the room. The smell of stale cigarettes and beer hung in the air.

“Eeu,” said Heather. She stopped at the doorway, refusing to go in for a moment. “It didn’t smell like this last night.”

“Last night we weren’t sober,” groaned Brett.

“Buongiorno!” called Geronimo from somewhere they couldn’t see. He emerged through the doorway that led from the kitchen drying a glass with a dish towel and took up a position behind the bar counter. “You slept ok?” He nodded a quick wink in Brett’s direction.

“We slept,” Brett said with a barely perceptible shake of his head, hoping Geronimo would get the cryptic signal. “It was waking up that was the problem.

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