I found the first half of this in my e-mail. To be honest, I have no idea where I’d been intending to go with this, but this is where it ended up.
Whistler was not sure what he’d expected, but that was probably not it. The short girl was perched on the footboard of the bed, wearing an indigo silk bathrobe and, as far as he could tell, nothing else. And she was staring at him.
In terms of ‘ways to wake up,’ it was definitely his weirdest yet, even here in Addergoole. And yesterday he’d woken up to screams and a power outage.
“I’m…” Whistler moved to sit up and realized that he was pinned down. No… strapped. He looked to either side of him slowly – dresser, open door to the bathroom, large posters of landscapes. It was anything but institutional. He looked down at his chest. Straps. He moved a wrist. More straps. “I’m strapped down,” he finished. Just because it was a familiar feeling didn’t mean he liked it.
“Well…” She rubbed her neck, where, Whistler noticed, there were bruises in the shape of fingers. “I figured I ought to make sure you were calm before we started talking.”
Whistler swallowed. Oh, no. “Oh, god,” he whispered. “Did I…”
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