Re: Chapter 3: Descent
She almost collided with William's back, he had stopped so suddenly. He was staring, wild eyed and open mouthed, at the smallish square room they had entered.
It was a well appointed little room, a well worn but clean blue couch against one wall, faint daylight filtering through the white blinds across the rectangular window above it. There was a straight backed piano against the other wall, beside a doorway that lead into a small kitchen with linoleum floors. An oval coffee table rested before the couch, on the pale beige carpet that had been flattened by years of feet, a few creased paperbacks stacked on one side. Two appeared to be romances, and the rest were fantasy or science fiction novels, the titles well known to William's dazzled eyes. There was the faint sound of traffic, the rattling hum of an air conditioning unit somewhere nearby. It even smelled right, like the caramel candles his mother lit to dampen the oily smell of the city. If he were to look back where they had come, he would see only the closed front door, the metal covering on the door handle worn away in a pattern he had memorized, both by eye and by the feel on his palm.
"My... my home," he said in a strangled voice. He moved to the large flat screen television mounted on the wall and gave it a tug. The mount squealed as it moved, and tears sprung to his eyes. He hadn't heard that sound in five years. His father had refused to oil it, claiming that the squeal was a perfect high C.
He hadn't seen this place in five years, had not even allowed himself to daydream of it for almost three. It was such a shock that he forgot where he was. He dashed to the kitchen door, screaming, "Mom! Dad!"