Page 116 of Close Quarter
"What will he choose?"
A brief look of consternation passed over Nathaniel's face. He gazed at Silas for a moment before speaking. "I do not know." There was wonder in his voice.
The angel didn't know. Rhys chewed on the inside of his mouth. Silas hung between two choices.
Shit.
Rhys scrambled over to Silas's side. "Silas," he said. He gripped his shirt and gave the body a shake. "You said you'd do everything you could to stay with me. Well, I'm still here, so you damn well better come back."
Oh God, he hoped Silas could hear him.
Bright red sneakers came into view next to him.
Rhys felt Nathaniel's hand touch his head once again, this time in encouragement.
"He will hear you."
Rhys shook the limp body and called again.
"Silas!"
****
Silas stood on a hillside in Campania. He hadn't been here in hundreds of years, and yet he knew exactly where he was, knew the touch of the earth, the pull of the grass and shrubs. He could name the trees. Just down that path and over that knoll, past the sentry stone pine lay home. His home.
Only they were all dead, and this...this...
Silas took a better look around.
This was very odd. The sky was blue and clear--too clear. No contrails.
He closed his eyes and listened. No sounds of cars. No hum of anything electrical. The air smelled of wood smoke--not diesel or petroleum.
A strange tingle ran down Silas's spine when he looked around again. This was Campania exactly as he remembered from his youth. A land that did not exist anymore.
He still wore slacks and a button-down shirt.
Very, very strange. Something sounded on the wind, and he turned toward it, but the noise was indistinct and muffled. Silas paused, shook his head, then headed down the path that would take him home. He cleared the knoll, smelled the sweet scent of pine, and stopped.
Pine. There was something familiar about the scent, like the tickle of a memory. Something was missing, though. What was he forgetting?
He brushed his hand against the bark. He'd first kissed Isatis here, all those years ago. Yes, that must be it.
Still, that didn't seem quite right. Silas traced the lines in the bark. Why was he here?
A dream. It must be a dream. He let out a breath and continued down into the valley. There was a break in the hills just past that stream that led to the court. The scent of bread and honey wafted to him, and he quickened his pace. Baking bread. Smoke. They were here.
He'd never dreamed them here before. Never.
The court was always empty and cold.
He ran. All he had to do was cross the water --Water?
Silas stopped and stared at the thin stream that trickled across his path.
There had not been a stream. Ever. Not in life, not in his dreams. Yet here was one. More so, though it was only a hand span in width and full of clear water, he could not see the bottom.
The odd tingling returned. He looked up.
