Roses on the Moon

A Story by Amanda B

Just read it, please :)

Chapter One
My eyes opened with the sun as I curled up on a queen-sized bed that was not my own, savoring its warmth and dreading the moment I would have to step out of this heaven and enter reality. I stretched and listened to the birds chirping outside my hotel room window. They chirped loud as a great beast’s roar, enticing me to get out of bed and seek quieter solace. I threw the warm duvet off to reveal my long legs in all their sweat pant-covered glory before swinging them over the side of the mattress and popping out of bed. On my way to the dilapidated mini-kitchen, I passed the mirror without so much as a glance, avoiding the inevitably disgusting image of myself at the moment, all rat’s nest hair and morning breath. I yawned with impressive length and stumbled to the kitchen to begin brewing what would now be my savior: coffee. As I waited for the concoction to blacken, I glanced around my room in the old, run- down Motel 6 where I had made lodging for the night. An amateur journalist and photographer, I was well accustomed to undesirable amenities: this wasn’t the worst place I had slept in. I heard the ding of the coffee and hurried to get the pot, nearly slipping on the ratty carpet, unstable without a runner.
After I poured myself a cup of the delicious, obsidian-black brew, I sat down on the run-down sofa in the far corner, next to a large patch of peeling and yellowing wallpaper. As I picked at a loose thread escaping from the confines of that upholstery Hell, I scooped up the old travel journal on the coffee table and flipped to today’s date, the forgotten thread dangling down the side of the sofa. The events listed for today surprised me, for there were none. My employer, Mr. Waters of National Geographic magazine, usually kept me scheduled to the brink of oblivion. Usual tasks included interviews, photo ops, and outlines. I hopped online and opened my email, and, unsure of my freedom, emailed him. After I finished the correspondence, I opened a new tab and typed in “Saugetuck, Michigan”, looking for things to do on what seemed to be my off day. Link after link exploded onto the page, highlighting its art scene and culture, while I searched for something more exciting, and less explored. Then I found it:
26 Local People Missing After Volunteer Trip to Abandoned Mansion
This looked ideal. Unexplored, for the most part, with hints of danger and mystery. I bookmarked the page and looked onward for more coverage of the “tragedy”. The only reporting of it I found was on the town blog, a small domain with only about 400 hits a day. It looked like someone was trying to keep this quiet, but why? I set my face with determination and rose, setting the silver laptop on the coffee table. I made my way to the bathroom and attempted, without any real hope, to run a comb through my chestnut, tangled, unruly locks. I stared at my slight frame in the mirror, my t-shirt and sweatpants hanging off it like drapes, for they were so oversized. My eyes, a celery green in color, seemed too big for my head, with the dark signs of sleep deprivation clinging to the skin under them. My hair simply would not cooperate, which resulted in its being put up into a ponytail. The shower turned on with a pitiful squeak, and I prepared myself for the day.
When I emerged from the bathroom, I was greeted with a mess. Old clothes were strewn all over the floor, my coffee cup was still in the mug on the table, and my bed unmade and dirty. I sighed and resolved myself to clean it all up before I left on my mission. As I wandered around, picking up things here and there and clearing my bed, I thought about the article. 2456 Jupiter Rising was the address, with 17 cars, estimated to take 26 volunteers. The 26, the volunteers who had come to help pick up the old house, the ones who went missing, went in those cars there and never came back. Their ages ranged from 13 to 60, all part of the volunteer organization Habitat for Humanity. Why would anyone do this? It didn’t make any sense, at least, not yet, even though the author claimed there was something supernatural inhabiting the house. I dismissed his claims, most likely the ramblings of a lunatic who had stayed in this small town for far too long. Hopefully I would know what was really happening soon enough.
I looked around, satisfied with my work. I opened the laptop one last time to check for a response from Mr. Waters, but there was none to be found. I grabbed my tan, worn, leather purse from the end of the couch and slipped on my favorite black flats and swung my camera strap over my shoulder. I opened the door with a renewed sense of purpose and determination, looking forward to the revelations the day would bring me.

Chapter 2
I typed in the address into the GPS of my 2006 Hyundai Elantra, which I drove 1,000 miles to get here to cover the growing popularity of the art scene. Not the most exciting story, but the money pays well and, at this point, any story could be my big break into real publication. But this- this was something new. Something unexplored. A story that could change everything. As the GPS beeped, having found a route to the obscure location, I started the engine of the unreliable vehicle. By chance or miracle, it started on my first pump of the gas pedal. With the glee of victory, even a small one like this, I drove out of the parking lot and into the open road.
My hands clutching the worn steering wheel, I drove quickly through the sunny town and into the country. I reached to the radio and flicked it on. The uncoordinated screeching of metal music poured into the car, making me cringe with disgust. Again, I turned the “Find” knob slowly. This time, a slow and sweet country song flowed into the car, gently as the meow of a newborn kitten. I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel with the beat, and nodded my head, some of the rebel curls of my hair escaping from the ponytail I had so lackadaisically created. As I hummed along with the now-familiar tune, I noticed a bit of movement on the road in front of me. I slammed on the brakes as I made out the culprit of the movement: a human body. I pulled over on the abandoned street, and sprinted out of the car and to the still-unclear shape. My heavily-wooded surroundings were blurred out be the tears already forming in my eyes.
I stumbled to the body; a middle-aged businessman dressed in a suit and shrouded in blood, and knelt quickly. I checked for a pulse, both on the wrist and neck, and found none. I turned the gory image of a man onto his back, and got a look at his face for the first time. I gasped in shock and stumbled back, my backside landing hard on the worn blacktop. It was the writer of the blog entry! I recognized him from the “I’m the Author!” section of the article, which had a small biography as well as a picture. I think his name was Harry Lions. I took a moment to remember him before I pulled my phone out of my purse with shaking hands and dialed 911, my whole body trembling with shock and fear. When the operator picked up, I was happier to hear another voice than I thought I would ever be.
“911, what is your emergency?” She said in a cool, controlled voice. I fought for breath as I stared at the body of the man, the one with all those young kids and beautiful wife with him in his bio picture.
“Hi, hi,” I said breathlessly. “I’m on the I-96, somewhere between Saugatuck and Plymouth. I’ve found a body, and I- I-,“ I couldn’t go on. “Please, just send help. I need- he needs the paramedics. I’ll stay here until they arrive.”
“Okay, they are on their way, darling,” The operator said soothingly with a vaguely British accent. “Just stay on the line with me, okay? Do you know this man?” I told her the whole story, from start to finish, leaving out where I was planning on going to. I don’t know why, but I had a feeling something big was coming; something the authorities have and will have no control over. Already, my mind had begun to race with the possible reasons of this poor man’s death. The most prominent in my shocked mind was a warning. To me, and to anyone who wanted to find the truth about those disappearances. I’m thinking more and more they aren’t kidnappings at all; they’re killings.

Chapter 3
        I kept talking; my words and sentences running together without interruption by the operator or other outside disturbances until I finally heard the blessed sirens in the distance. I hung up with her after thanking her for her patience, and ran up to the emergency vehicles; an ambulance and police car screeched to a halt. The policeman, a young, dashing man in his late 20s to early 30s, ran out of his car and to the body.
        “Samantha Holmes?” He asked while checking for a pulse on Harry, a search that I knew would be in vain. He stood up and called to the paramedics.
        “Yes sir, that’s me,” I answered. Tears clouded my eyes as I watched the paramedics now surrounding the scene began to attempt resurrecting the man with CPR. The officer pushed himself up off the gravelly road and stood beside me, grabbing my elbow.
        “Hello, I’m Officer Prior. Would you like to take a walk with me?” I nodded. As we walked over to the patrol vehicle, I noticed a large band of dark clouds climbing across the sky and toward up rapidly. The wind picked up speed, whistling past my ears. “Do you want to get in the car to talk?” Officer Prior shouted over the howling of the wind, opening the passenger side door for me. I nodded and climbed in as he walked in front of it to get to the driver’s side, his pace rapid and sharp. A biting, glacial rain began pouring down, rattling on the windshield and seemingly plunging the whole car ten degrees colder. I shivered and rubbed my hands against my arms, remembering the peaceful weather of the morning.
        He got in to the car, and closed the door behind himself. The wind was much quieter now, but we could hear the giant booms of thunder coming from just outside, and saw violent lightning, seemingly less than a mile away. “ I need you to tell me everything, just for the official police report,” He said with a smile and a wink. I looked at him apprehensively, unsure, for some reason, of my safety with him in the car. I began talking, fabricating a lie. I told him I was going to Plymouth to visit family, for the GPS said- oh. The GPS. They would know where I was going by simply looking at the address on the GPS. I mentally hit myself in regret. Well, hindsight is 20/20. I continued my story, which I assume he believed, for lies are easier to swallow while surrounded with truth. He would continue believing it, unless I changed the GPS before anyone got to it. As I finished the lie, he stopped me.
        “Now, sweetie, there’s no point of me coming here if you don’t tell the truth,” He said with a devilish grin. Abruptly, his face unzipped like a jacket, revealing the horrific beast underneath. Officer Prior- no, I couldn’t call it that- the “thing” was giant, filling its whole side of the car. Its skin was brown-black and leathery like an old man’s laboring hands. It had a trunk that I can only describe as like that of an elephant, giant and terrible, with a single, razor-sharp tusk. The rest of the body was like a black bear’s, its fur replaced with worn leather. The worst part was its eyes- still so very human. I screamed in what I can only describe as terror. Sheer, complete, and total terror. I fumbled for the door handle, never taking my eyes off the monster lumbering toward me.
        Once I found the handle, I opened the door, immediately soaked to the core by the sudden onslaught of rain. I landed hard on my backside when I stumbled backward, screaming bloody murder. It was too much- all of it was just too much. A group of paramedics sprinted over, and one scooped me up, depositing me onto a stretcher. I pointed to the car and bellowed with fear while I watched the driver’s side door ease open. I saw Officer Prior step out, human as ever, his face creased with confusion and worry, and I lost consciousness.

Chapter 4
      I awoke to the humming of medical equipment and steady beating of a heart monitor. As I studied the aggressively bright and sterile room, I could hear the screams of grief and of pain that could only belong in a hospital, as well as the eerie silence that enveloped the terrible noises. Trying to run my hand through my hair, I was stopped by a previously unnoticed IV drip. I pressed the call button on the remote that had been set into my hand. Memories were flooding back; a demon in disguise, a body, a death, a warning. I could hear the heart monitor beating more and more rapidly, panic slowly taking over at the fear of, what was the name? I wracked my already ravaged mind to find a picture of the monster and man, along with his name. Prior! Officer Prior… the devil in disguise.
        A small, pretty nurse walked in around this time, her auburn hair shaped into a bob and her heels clicking on the linoleum floors. I stared at her and asked why I was here, my speech slurred but understandable.
“Sweetie,” She said gently. “You had a nervous breakdown after finding that man on the road. But you’re all right now. You’re safe.” I looked at her, confused. Nervous breakdown? I never had a nervous breakdown. I was simply terrified of the man-eating monster I was confined in a police car with; I didn’t think that constituted medical examination.
        “No. No. You have it all wrong. I didn’t have a nervous breakdown.” I said quickly, fending off her attempts of interruption. “I was in the car with Prior… Officer Prior and all of the sudden, he turned into this monster… with a elephant trunk, and tusks, and- and "“ The monitor was beeping at a mile a minute, and I saw the nurse putting something new in the medicine bag feeding into my IV.
        “Sleep, hon,” she said. “Just calm down. There are no monsters. There never were any monsters. You’re okay now. We will keep you safe…” I didn’t hear the rest of her speech; my consciousness was slipping like butter on a hot pan. Here, then there, then back again. “Sleep.”
        When I awoke, I was still in the same room, lying on my back while staring up at the acoustic-tile ceiling, While just lying there, I thought about the disappearances and the Jupiter Rising address. Someone, or something, was trying to ensure I couldn’t get there. But why? I was now sure that there were supernatural forces in play here, and at that house, and now inside my head. I saw my cell phone ringing on the side table, and was able to reach just far enough to pick it up.
        “Hello?” I asked, wondering who would call me.
        “Have you lost your damn mind? Where in God’s good Earth have you been? You’ve missed 5 interviews, young lady. FIVE!” I could imagine Mr. Water’s chubby, beet red face on the other side of the line. “You haven’t attended any of the photo ops I told you to visit, and your outline of the Bluegrass music scene was due YESTERDAY MORNING!” I tried to speak, but I was soon silenced by Mr. Waters’ rage speech. “I can’t count on you to do the simplest things! You, my dear,” He said with quiet fury, “Are FIRED!” he screamed into the phone and hung up. I was shocked, and was soon filled with an agitation equal to none other. I set the phone down, my face red with embarrassment and anger, as an unemployed, freelance journalist with no job, no life, and no hope of publication for the story I had nearly died for.

Chapter 5
        My stay in the hospital lasted a week after my admittance. It was a week of Hell for me, filled with doctors, nurses, and god-forsaken psychiatrists, always so sure I had merely been in shock from the horrifying events of the hour. Every day at noon for that long, hard week I choked down a disgusting plate of chicken nuggets, or occasionally orange chicken, neither of which really tasted vaguely chicken-like at all. I eventually caved in, telling them that I could have been hallucinating, leading to their allowance of my leaving the psychiatric ward. The drive back home was the most liberating experience of my life thus far. To have power over my body back in my own hands was an undisguised blessing.
        It was on that drive I considered what to do with myself, now that I was unemployed and under threat of death to do what I really wanted; to investigate those deaths. I decided first to return to the hotel, ensure the officers who came by to get my limited possessions hadn’t forgotten anything. The room was no longer checked out to me, so I went up to the woman in the front desk, a matronly, middle-aged lady, her hair in a no-nonsense bun and half-moon glasses covering the half of her eyes not gazing at me critically, and asked if anything had been returned.
        “Why, Samantha Holmes,” She said, rifling through the filing cabinet on her right hand side. “We got an onslaught of letters for you the day you checked out. Very curious business, though. They all have the same return address.” She handed me a pile of white envelopes, about 15 to 20 of them, based on their substance. I nodded, said thank you, and departed.
        In the parking lot of the hotel, I sat in my car and turned on the overhead light. In the hazy yellow-white light they projected, I could just make out the return address, scribbled hastily on the upper left hand corner, identical on every one of the envelopes.
John Smith
2456 Jupiter Rising
Marshall, MI
      The name, John Smith, was clearly a pseudonym directed only to frustrate me further. Even more mysterious, though, was the address; 2456 Jupiter Rising; the site of the disappearances! Hastily, I opened the first letter with shaking fingers. I slid a single piece of paper, folded, out of the envelope with only 7 solitary words encrypted on it.
DON’T GO ANY FARTHER. THEY WILL DIE.
        The paper slipped out of my hands, floating to the floor gently as I stared at it in horror. I reached past the steering wheel, towards the breaks, to get the fallen message. When I did, I stared at it, trying to find further information. By now I was in a truly just state of horror, as I ripped open letter after letter, each one containing the same thing. The same ominous message.
        In the dark of my car, I began quietly sobbing, terrified of the tenebrous note and its grim implications. Just as I had begun to calm myself down, a shadowy figure appeared in the frame of my car window. I screamed in pure, unadulterated fright until his gloved hand reached through the open window and covered my mouth. My eyes opened wide, trying to make out a face in the dark as the gloves’ long, tapered fingers retracted from my now-silent mouth and went to his. He was holding one finger to his lips, the universal sign for quiet. I was too scared to say anything, but it seemed like he wasn’t.
        “Mind if I come in?” He said, his deep voice tainted with a pleasant British lilt. I looked at him incredulously, shocked that he would have the nerve to ask to come into my car, while I don’t even know his name. He took my silence as a yes and strutted to the passenger door as I scrambled to lock it. I had just reached the lock as he opened the door with a smirk; not a mean smirk, but a funny, showy one. Something about my desperate struggle for freedom amused him.
        “Who the HELL are you and why are you in my car?” I asked, rage coloring my face. My hands balled into fists and I searched for a weapon while keeping a steady eye on the stranger. He continued smiling, this time muffling a laugh as he held out a hand to me. I cowered back from it until I realized it was extended in greeting; a handshake. I grasped his hand, surprised by its warmth and softness.
        “Augustus Temple,” he said with an air of finality.
        “Sam Holmes,” I shook his hand tentatively.
        “HOLMES! Why, that’s a fantastic name,” He proclaimed, startling me with his enthusiasm. He grinned wildly as he shook my hand heartily. “ Nice to meet you, Ms. Holmes!” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, frightened yet confused by his upbeat attitude. I took this time to analyze the stranger. He seemed to be about my age, maybe 30? He had a good head of hair, dark and full, with a spare upper lip and a full lower lip, a certain rosebud pink. He was tall and lean, towering over my 5’1 stature, wearing a black trench coat, tailored to perfection, over his khaki slacks and a starched, crisp white button up shirt. To top off the oddities of this man, he wore a bright orange fedora atop his head, paired with a black ribbon to link his coat and hat.
        “And why, Augustus, are you in my car?” I asked, my eyes narrowing into slits of trepidation and anger. Augustus blew a loose strand of hair out of his eyes and looked at me. Just… looked. He raised his eyebrows with interest, and opened his mouth to speak.
        “I’m here because I think I can help you,” He murmured, searching my eyes. His were a beautiful color, twisting and changing, green and blue and gray; the hue of the ocean after a storm. I soon got lost in them, but found my way back out quickly, for I needed to remain cynical of him, of everything. For some reason, though, when I looked into those eyes, I inexplicably trusted them; trusted him.
        “Help me? With what?” I looked him, trying to find how much he already knew. He looked at me pointedly, then at the stack of sinister correspondences.
        “I think you know what. The threat, the disappearances, the monster? You can’t possibly think this is just an unlikely string of coincidences. You’re smarter than that, Sam.” I looked down, knowing if I once again looked into his mesmerizing eyes I wouldn’t be able to answer.
        “That thing- the monster, Officer Prior- was real, right? You weren’t just sent here to tell me it wasn’t by my doctors or anything, right? I know it was real. I just know it was, but nobody else believes me!” I said quietly, steadily. He looked at me, and nodded.
        “Yes, Sam. The thing Officer Prior is real, just not in your world,” I looked at him, struggling to find the meaning of his cryptic words. “Officer Prior is what is known as a Tryfiani. They originate on the planet Hadsky, in the galaxy known to humans as IOK-1,” I closed my eyes for a moment, taking in the true meaning of what Augustus was saying. Had I really met and almost been brutally killed by a creature from another planet?
        “How do you know?” I asked him skeptically. I knew that we had never traveled to any planets outside our solar system, and I knew that humans had never set foot on any place named IOK-1, much less Hadsky. I stared at Augustus, waiting for an answer as he chewed his fingernail in concentration, worried about something. I now assume it was whether he wanted to tell the truth or not.
        “Do you want me to tell you the truth?” He asked, pushing his hands through his hair in his frustration. I nodded, sure that after almost being killed by an “alien”, I could believe anything at all. Augustus sighed and gave me a weak smile, nothing like the brilliant glow he had emitted earlier. That simple movement scared me more than anything in that moment.
        “I’m an alien from a planet 15 Billion light-years away known as Astatine in the 17-B Galaxy. My race is known as the Reyals, and I have come to save the world.”

Chapter 6
    I laughed hysterically. Augustus looked at me with dubious eyes, unsure about my understanding of the seriousness of the information he had just related. I just looked at him and simply could not stop laughing! The man sitting next to me, a most human looking man as I have ever seen, was an alien? Impossible. As my hysteria died, I began to comprehend what he was saying, which led to a barrage of questions.
        “You’re kidding, right?” I said, my eyes wide with fear. He looked at me, worry clouding his clear gaze.
        “I’m afraid not, Sam. You alright?” He said.
        “ALL RIGHT? ALL RIGHT?” I said incredulously. “You do realize that it’s not common practice to reveal that you are an EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL BEING to a person whose CAR you just BROKE INTO?” I began to curl up into a ball, suppressing all of the emotions that began converging on me at once. I pushed in vain on the door of my car, finally opening it with my feet tangled in the car mat. I fell face-first, just being able to maneuver my shoulder to take the blow before hitting the pavement and going unconscious.

Chapter 7
        I opened my eyes, bewildered and feeling distinctly out of place. I need to work on how to get out of cars, I thought in my daze. Suddenly, I realized I was no longer on the hard pavement, but on an overstuffed mattress covered with a stiff taupe blanket. I shot up, replacing my lethargy with a burst of undeniable adrenaline. I was still in my street clothes, but my shoes had been removed and were beside the bed. The room itself was lavishly decorated, the walls a rich plum save for the one directly behind the king-sized bed, which was a pristine white. I jumped out of the bed, immensely curious about the new surroundings. My toes hit the carpet and I surveyed myself in the full-sized mirror beside the bed. Somehow I looked WORSE than usual. I looked past the mirror at the gold-plated clock above the bed. No wonder I looked like a train wreak- I had slept for more than a day! There were several bookshelves on the opposite wall, filled with books of all kinds. As I wandered closer, I saw the shelves lined with Dickens, Bronte, Poe, Austen, Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky. I gazed in wonderment at the pristine hardcovers for several seconds before stepping out of the palace into an equally grand and tasteful hall. The carpet was soft to my cold toes, and I kept walking, determined to find out the truth to what my situation. Every room I passed seemed like it was both furnished by an interior decorator and funded by a young archduke.
I stumbled down the staircase, each step sounding like a roar in the silence. As I neared the bottom, I heard the clattering of pots and pans, eerily familiar. My feet hit the glass tile at the bottom, and I was shocked by the change in décor. The style had suddenly changed from Victorian grandeur to what looked like a modern art museum, liberated and airy. The clanging of the pots and pans mixed with a merry humming from the nearest door. I opened it with a creek, and peeked around the light white stained glass door. The kitchen matched the rest of the downstairs, the color palette including a deep red in contrast to the black and white color scheme of the room. I further advanced into the room, when the pots and pans suddenly halted in their merry dance.
Before I knew it, a pleasantly plump woman drying her hands rounded the corner. She shrieked in horror when she saw me there, disorderly and a mess. She held up her frying pan for self-defense, and I held my hands out over my head before it finally landed.
Only a few seconds later, I was again awoken by footsteps, accompanied by a deep voice.
“I heard something...” the voice stopped mid-sentence with a gasp. I heard someone get to their knees next to my head and a warm set of fingers check for a pulse on my neck. “Mother! What did you do?”
A higher voice joined the commotion. “Gus, she just walked in here! How do you even know her? Did you pick up ANOTHER stray?” The woman sighed and I heard her footsteps retreating. Gus? I thought. Then I realized the only thing that really made sense was that Augustus must have taken me back to his house. My head was pounding and ears ringing, I sat up.
“Oh, thank God.” Augustus said, supporting my head with his knee.
“For God’s sake, more like,” His mother had returned, a wet washcloth in her had. “Gus, go and get her an Aspirin and a pillow. You should have TOLD me that we had a guest!” She sighed and crouched next to me as Augustus let my head down softly. He walked away rapidly, tension in every step. “ What’s your name?” The woman asked pointedly as she dabbed at my forehead with the cloth. .
“Samantha Martina Holmes.” I said. I knew this was the type of woman who expected a full and proper name.
She nodded, her lips pursed in consideration. “You will call me Mary. Now, can you stand? We need to get you over to the couch.” I nodded, and she supported me until we reached the sleek leather armchair in the corner; she was strong for a woman of her age. The couch was surprisingly plush for something so linear. Mary scuttled back to the kitchen and continued her work, pausing for a moment to ask me if I wanted some soup.
“No, no I’m fine.” I said, not wanting to upset this woman. She hushed me and proceeded to insist I have some of her chicken noodle soup. By this time, Augustus was back with the Aspirin and a fluffy white pillow. He seemed, for a moment, concerned that I was talking to his mother, but the concern vanished in seconds. He came over to the couch and slipped the pillow beneath my neck.
“Are you alright, Sam?” He asked, as he handed me an Aspirin and water bottle. The phrase reminded me of the previous night. Am I alright? I asked myself. I was intact bodily, and did not feel particularly threatened by Augustus anymore. Mary, however, was another story. I figured she was an alien too. It was really quite remarkable, this whole situation. I had so many questions, and no real way to ask them. But was I all right?
“Yes, I suppose.” I said as I downed the pill in one swallow. Augustus looked both pleased and surprised, and once Mary came over with a bowl of soup for me, I could read the pride on her face. “Where are we?” I asked. Augustus looked at his mother, who shook her head sadly.
“No matter.” He answered nonchalantly. I knew immediately that the family was hiding something, but I didn’t worry about it in the moment as I spooned the steaming and delicious soup into my mouth. Augustus ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. I glanced at his clothes; he stood in sharp contrast to the luxurious surroundings with only sweatpants and a old “The Mountain Goats” shirt on. I tried to remember to look the band up later.
He seemed distressed as we went over to the kitchen table to talk. I had insisted; he would never be able to take me seriously while I was lying down. I needed to be self-sufficient in this difficult situation above all. I couldn’t become dependant on these people I knew so little of.