Prologue
It was Spring, and apple blossom was falling from the trees. He concentrated
on this as the taxi cab took him from the hospital. He watched the little
pale petals fall and coat the ground beneath in white and tried pretend that
the last few hours hadn't happened. But there was the sympathetic pamphlet
in his pocket, and the smell of hospital on him, that smell that he had become
so used to and never failed to turn his stomach. And there was the memory
of it in is mind. Oh yes. The memories. Terrible, sickening moments which
flashed past his eyes over and over and over again. Moments not just from
that day, but from his whole life. Things he'd wished he'd done, and not
done, said and not said. There was one way of drowning them out. But that
was stupid. There was another way to get through this.
"
Um," he said.
The taxi driver glanced at him in the rear view mirror.
"
Are we near Summer Street?"
"
It's just the next left," replied the driver. "You wanna go there
instead?"
He looked at the apple blossom again, remembering a friendly face. It was
synonimous with care, and understanding. And pain. It was a face that had
gazed into is eyes in horror as he'd burned.
No. Forget it.
"
No," he said, "forget it. Take me home."
In a darkly painted bedroom in Summer Street, the owner of a friendly face
left tarot cards half laid out and a candle burning on his small desk. He
terminated the phone call and stood for a moment, shaking his head in shock
and sadness. He wondered briefly what he should do next. Go to the hospital,
of course. Maybe he'd need to stay overnight. He grabbed a change of clothes
and his toothbrush, and scooped his cards up from the desk. They went everywhere
with him recently. The dreams had made him nervous, and he had yet to rule
out the Worst. He stalled at his door. He really should tell the others.
They'd want to be there. He picked up his phone, and wasn't sure why he
felt he had to dial one particular number first. Things had changed in the
last few years, after all, and...
The phone at the other end was picked up. A male voice said "Hello?"
"
Hank. Have you heard?"
Of course not. The voice at the other end grew worried.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses.
"
You... you gotta come home. "