Winter's Blade
Copyright© 2007 by Imagineer
Chapter 14: Gleam
Alex jolted awake.
The cat was licking his face again.
Alex shooed it away. "I am not a salt lick," he hissed.
His mouth was dry; the sheets were damp with perspiration.
His hand found the nightstand. The die-cast model Supra was pushed aside to find an empty glass.
Alex shuffled down the hall.
The little Christmas tree on the coffee table was dark, but the plastic Santa in the window still glowed, most of the paint gone from the face, its permanent grin a little creepy.
Last night's scented candle had burned out, leaving a lumpy puddle of cold wax on the counter. He could still smell its syrupy sweetness -- "Berry," the box said. Better than burned garlic bread.
Alex refilled his glass and took a big gulp. His eyes habitually scanned the counter for snack potential. The package of gummi bears failed to entice. The box from Mom's Bakery was open, but there was only one macaroon left. Time for a fridge check.
Leftovers, lunchmeat, lettuce, six-pack of DrPepper, nothing exciting.
"Hey," came a soft voice from the hallway. "Nightmare?"
Alex ran his hand through his hair. "Not exactly."
Rustling in the kitchen. "You left me the last cookie. I've trained you well. --Who's the message from?"
Oh, right... "It's your grandfather. He said he talked to Chester, everything's set with Customs."
"Of course it is; doesn't he trust me?"
"He trusts you; he's just trying to help."
A soft sigh. "I know."