The Prey by Andrew Fukuda

Author:Andrew Fukuda [Fukuda, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

24

BY THE TIME we reach my cottage, we’re soaked through. Sissy grabs my satchel bag off the sofa and upheaves its contents onto the bed. Scraps of food, Epap’s sketchbook, the Scientist’s journal, and small trinkets fall onto the duvet.

“See anything that might be the Origin?” she asks.

“I’m sure they’ve been through the bag already,” I say. “And besides, aren’t they under the notion that the Origin is something engraved on our skin? That it has to do with lettering or something?”

She picks up the Scientist’s journal, leafs through it, then tosses it onto the bed in frustration. She’s beginning to shiver. We’re both freezing. I walk over to the fireplace; my trembling fingers try to get a fire going.

“L-l-look,” Sissy says, chattering. She’s pointing at the coffee table. A tray of food has been laid atop it and, judging from the steam still rising from the earthenware bowls of soup, it was delivered very recently. “You get your own room with a fireplace and hot shower, and room service as well?”

I touch the loaf of bread on the tray. Still warm. “Look, why don’t you have some? It might take a while to get this fire going. The soup will help warm you up.”

She agrees, sitting on the sofa and slurping the soup down. Her nose pinches up.

“Something the matter?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Just really salty. But good. And hot.”

I busy myself at the hearth, picking out a few branches stacked on the side. But the kindling is slightly damp and I’m having a hard go at it. Sissy slurps down the last of the soup but she’s still shivering.

“Sissy, go take a hot shower. It’ll help warm you up.”

She’s too cold to disagree. She gets up and I give her a set of clothes from the dresser. “They’re too big for you, but better dry and big than wet and cold.”

She closes the bathroom door. I take the opportunity to change into dry clothes myself, casting off my cold sodden clothes. A few minutes later, I have a hearty fire blazing away. I sit back on the sofa, easing my cold bones into the soft give of the cushions. The flames lick and dance their light across the room, transforming the walls into a firestorm of red and orange. From the bathroom, I hear the far-off sound of water splashing.

Despite the fire and set of dry clothes, I’m still cold. I gather the duvet from the bed, place it over my legs. I stare into the fire. The meandering flames are like my own disoriented, shifting thoughts. I have some soup, but it’s lukewarm now, and too salty. I set it down after finishing half of it and stare out the window.

A darkness has ripened in the village, dissolving the trails of smoke rising from the chimneys, swallowing whole the thatched roofs. A few minutes later and night has absorbed the winding paths outside our front door. An occasional whistle of wind peals into the village, muffled by thickening clouds that float hidden in the dark skies.

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