The Everborn by Nicholas Grabowsky Read Free Book Online Page A

age. With that in mind, I should expect myself to be as anxious and as giddy as a child.
    I should be any of these things, any and all, but I wasn’t.
    Re-examining the letter, welcoming now its contents and working my mental disarray into a serene compliance, I sat within the brown leather of Melony’s desk chair and found myself slowly relaxing, giving in. It occurred to me that I should be grateful, for I could have been further disadvantaged by awakening elsewhere, in an environment totally alien to me. I could’ve found myself soiled and ragged and staring up euphorically at a family of spotted llamas in some grassy Peruvian valley, for all I knew. Or worse.
    Whatever I had been through, the very fact that I ended up here, inside my own home, perhaps even placed here purposely and thoughtfully, eased my mind. It comforted me in a way so intensely relieving that I was not at first aware of my own tears.
    And the letter....
    What if I had opened my eyes to the letter’s author, without there ever having been a letter to prepare me for what I would see?
    Rising from the office chair, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of nervousness, I gazed about the room. I realized I was nearly freezing, and moved to shut the side window. I paused to take in a few breaths of the outside ocean air.
    After this, I turned to the red digits of the clock radio roosted atop a corner file cabinet. It read 8:16 p.m. It couldn’t have been more than half an hour earlier when I was first embraced by this chaos; looking at the ordeal then as I did, my recent actions felt almost primal, racing about the house as though my ass was ablaze.
    The letter stated I had been murdered. Although I could not bring myself to fully face the memories of my fateful attic visit, I knew that what happened to me there was why I was here now. Despite this, and despite its accompanying dread, I felt suddenly very much alive.
    I was home .
    And I knew what I needed to do.
     
    ***
     
    Back to the master magician again, if only but for another moment. Is it such a crime to ask how he does it, to allow him to make you think for awhile? I found I needed only a little while to collect my thoughts, to be a bit more rational, to get a grip. If I was to truly encounter something extraordinary tonight, I needed to prepare, to become focused.
    Whoever awaited my arrival wasn’t going anywhere. Or was he?
    ( I only work here, as they say. And you will, too.)
    I didn’t need to know right then how this master magician accomplished anything , for this I knew would be answered in due time. What I wanted to know was how I would go about following the letter’s instructions; it wouldn’t be as simple as taking the Mustang for a drive.
    Was I really dead ? Where had my body been for the past four months? How did I end up home?
    The clothes I wore were newly washed and pressed. My black leather shoes glistened as though new, and the knitted brown and beige sweater rolled up to my elbows had that lemon-fresh scent I always pretended to fancy. The pockets of my beige cotton trousers held loose change in their right front, and from the left I retrieved my handmade “ Communion ” alien key chain baring its proper assortment of keys. There was also a half-empty packet of plain M&Ms, a favorite inside joke Melony and I shared from our initials and our favorite munchies as well. I slid my wallet from my rear for likewise inspection. My license, business and credit cards were untouched, and I disclosed four twenty-dollar bills and a few ones within the main pouch.
    Curious, I optioned to explore the house only to confirm my inklings. During my previous stampede I failed to notice how remarkably tidy everything was. Naturally, one does not pause to appreciate the spotless linoleum when he suddenly fears his wife has been abducted. But free of immediate alarm, I was beginning to take oddly delightful notice of my surroundings, and was able to finally evaluate my