had to be close to a day. I glanced back toward the door,
waiting. I was not yet sure about the situation at hand, but
I would get my answers soon enough; someone was
walking along the main hall toward my room.
As I lay there on the slender futon covered by the
quilt my grandmother had made long ago, I allowed my
mind to wander back to the events of the previous night,
trying to remember. But only faint indistinct images would
form in my swollen mind; flashes of color, a splash of
blood, the glitter of gold held briefly in my hand. It was
almost as if my mind did not wish to remember the
terrible circumstances which had allowed my night to end
in failure. Straining further, a face began to slowly come
into a watery focus; then with abrupt clarity, it solidified:
black hair, blue eyes and that evil grin. Lazarius! Standing
before me!
I jolted upright and immediately grasped my head
with both hands, like a heavy drinker suffering a hangover,
as the remnants of the pain and humiliation I suffered
rocked through it. Carefully, I laid my weary body back
down, trying to calm the anger that sought to overcome
me; recalling all that had happened. I began to wonder,
‘Why… why had Lazarius chosen that night to show himself? After
staying hidden these past few decades? Keeping out of my line of sight
for so long?’ I wanted answers to these questions badly, but
first and foremost, I wanted to know what had happened
that I should find myself back in my own home – a place I
had not returned to in almost a year – cleaned, cared for,
and resting comfortably.
Quietly, the shōji door slid open along its groves in
the floor; the crisp paper pulled taut over the wood frame.
The black and gold paint of the tiger and dragon design
shimmered faintly in the pale moonlight flowing in
87