The Reaper's Design

By Wolf Sherman

Freemasons, Monks, Blood Oaths, and Monasteries.

Prologue:

Set in the modern-day - December. Three South African sisters, Monique, an architect at Doric Designs, Siobhan, a commercial pilot with Qantas, and Xara, a music student, had to deal with the dreadful news of their father's involvement in a vehicle collision in Prague. They receive this shattering news in a mysterious manner via an unknown Hotel owner in Prague, who had knowledge of their father's Will. Coerced to travel to Prague, the three sisters are pulled into an ancient forgotten world where people still refer to one another as sisters and brethren, as Freemasons, European Monks and Buddhists try to protect them. For their protection, they are initiated into a world still ruled by moon phases, candles, incense, Latin, sign language and Biblical Angels; a realm at odds with the pharmaceutical industry. The "Ankh", the ancient Egyptian symbol of everlasting life is portrayed against the "Reaper" associated with the finality of death. Banned manuscripts in the Philosophical Hall of the Strahov monastery complex - the Premonstratensian monastery founded in 1140 and contains the church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary - in Prague, play a central role in this. The sisters also finally understand why their father would lock away something as seemingly trivial as incense, in a safe...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wolf Sherman
• Release date: Dec 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370312665

Wolf Sherman

Biography - Wolf Sherman Wolf was born in 1970, grew up in Pretoria and after school joined the South African Police in 1988. During 1993 he was transferred to Johannesburg. During his colourfully interesting police career he was attached to several specialist divisions that include the anti-vehicle theft unit, organised-crime-and-political-investigations unit, and the East-Rand Murder & Robbery unit. After his police career he successfully applied his experience in the corporate financial world as insurance investigator and financial planner. Wolf is 48-years of age, have been blessed with three daughters, and is an avid blood and blood platelet donor. He fills his time by weaving his unusual life experience and keen interest in religion, metaphysics, war and political research and that of his love for food and classical music - into his poetry, fictional short stories, and novels. "A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, said Jojen. The man who never reads lives only one." - George R.R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons. I'm always curious to listen when people talk about which book - ever - they'd first read. For me it was "The Man Called Noon" that was published in 1970. I suppose that it goes without saying the 1973 film directed by Peter Collinson - of the same name - as the 1970 Louis L'Amour novel, was quite a hit in the day. I was always in love with the books in which storytellers extended an invitation right from the word go, and pulled me in into a different world. The next early love for me growing up were bookshops and libraries. But I'd consider libraries had the first place. My love for both novels and short stories grew over the years, but somehow short stories found me more often. In part, I think because one can sponge it up in a single sitting, and move on to the next world, so to speak. On the topic of short stories, the storytellers in this instance tell how they see it - but being forced far quicker to relay that. I have no doubt that any short story can be stretched out and pinned down to become a novel - if one wanted to. Obviously there is no set length that a short story has to subscribe to, but I'd imagine anything from five-thousand to twenty-five-or-so-thousand words is adequate to save someone, murder a few people, get some revenge, use most of the rope in your boot, discard the spade when you're done, and go in hiding till the whole thing blows over. Of c...

Book preview

Chapter 1

THE TRIO

That day millions of unrelated women looked at their watches, wall clocks and mobile phones. Not only were they unrelated, but they dotted different parts of a colourful world, totally oblivious that they shared something unique with each other. As some reached into their dressing table drawers, others searched their handbags and purses. Sitting at the back of limousines, driving cars, waiting for buses, others preferred to walk to work. Time had summoned some through memory and others through man-made reminders. What ruled their clocks ticked evolution from day to day. Most of the women were not sick, not yet...

The large chopping blades of the matte black Sikorsky S-76C helicopter thundered as it sounded away in slow motion. Its ascent wrestled against the strong crosswind and heavy rain as it made its way back to its owner. A medium-sized commercial utility helicopter, powered by a couple of Turbomeca Ariel 1S1t engines with a power of 539 KW. Pilots like Siobhan, as she stared up at it, knew because of its almost $13 million price tag; it was made for fewer and more exclusive owners. Owners with a higher purpose, as she now knew. Owners she would not have met otherwise. Not even as a commercial pilot. The Sikorsky's anxious lights flickered and grew dimmer and dimmer as it disappeared into the heavy low dark clouds. Siobhan mentally mimicked the pilots' motions and controls as if she herself steered the loud beast away from the normally quiet seaside town and aimed it into the storm.

She was an avid lover of aviation since her first attendances to air shows years before as a teenager. The visits to airports were her late father's suggestion she recalled. It was part of the Sunny South African Sunday family outings and his religious obsession to keep the family together. As a teenager, Siobhan's fascination with aviation was instant and remarkable for her age. She knew at the time, her future and career would not be bound to Mother Earth. It took a long few seconds for the reality of the now heavier rain and ocean spray from the crashing, foaming waves just metres below the cliff, to pull the three drenched sisters thoughts back to where they were. As if the power of the elements of air and water ushered them away from the cliff to safety to the wet earth behind them. The three sisters stared at each other in silence. They nodded in agreement as if to say It is done.

A sense of relief and accomplishment blanketed their minds. Their long dark hair had blown carelessly and horizontally in the icy wind. All turned around, away from the cliff and stormy ocean view, each with a cold wet hand clutching identical ancient pendulums around their necks. With their other hand, they blocked the rain that pelted down on their faces. It was more important to protect the pendulums from the elements than themselves. Downhill from the sisters, they spotted the silhouette of a man who merged with the dusk. He seemed to wait patiently for their return next to a dark coloured limousine. He looked uphill at the descending sisters and thought the image of the sisters seemed almost ominous in the greyness of the stormy weather. Like a dramatic scene, if ever the Three Secrets of Fátima was turned into a movie. As a fanatical reader of ancient and modern religious history and prophecies, he thought the image apt for a movie. The three sisters quietly wondered how different their worldview would have been if they had not gone on this trip together as a family. The last family trip to meet the memory of a father they only knew in South Africa. More of a mystic adventure than a holiday trip Monique thought.

Each sister, deep in thought, privately recalled their first step into a strange and secret world.

Xara, the youngest, wondered if they met a different travel agent than Raphael, how differently things might have been. Other than his cologne, there was something that reminded her of her father. Family time was the most important thing for their father. He made every effort to be involved in their lives. He attended every possible school play, eisteddfod, netball and hockey match. Growing up, their Sundays were especially important; everyone knew that no plans were made that excluded a single member of the family. Sundays were treated with sanctity and set aside as together they fed ducks at a nearby lake, enjoyed Sunday breakfasts and shopping. It was as if their father had adapted religious connotations with the Sabbath with his own traditions, following them religiously.

At the time, Xara was a 20-year-old music student and wasn't a huge fan of political or religious history, nor the Old World, and even less interested in an unused Dead language. Siobhan was a tall and athletic 26-year-old commercial pilot with Qantas Air. She closed her eyes and thought back. What if they hadn't listened to Michael, the owner of the hotel The Alchemist where they were now booked in, when he had suggested they visit the Grand cafe Praha coffee shop explaining it was situated directly opposite the Astronomical clock on the Old Town Square? She sighed as recalled the colourful brochure's information Located in a sensational historical mansion in the Malá Strana in Prague. Providing you with the possibility of experiencing something truly unique and exclusive. Yes, Siobhan thought. If the designers of the brochure only knew... Or did they?

As the 30-year old successful Architect and owner of Doric - Designs, Monique thought back to the Grand cafe Praha coffee shop and how the owner, Remiel was unusually tall and handsome. A tanned man in his late forties, he almost seemed out of place in the coffee shop. She wondered how the owner, this superbly fine specimen of male fitness with an almost military look, towering head and shoulders over everyone in the shop; if not in town; ended up there. For someone who apparently did all the baking himself of the vast variety of pastries, the colourful cakes in a range of different sizes; as well as; an immense variety of other delicacies, he was in fantastically good shape. Especially in an industry where people enjoyed food, it normally showed. Smilingly, her thoughts flashed fondly back to both of the cooks at Wits University; and; her friends that studied at Hotel School. She sighed, suddenly jolted back to the present situation. Strange she thought, that although the coffee shop was a hive of activity during their first visit, Remiel almost neglected the other table's customers, to serve the three sisters personally. Monique later found out from a waiter that this happened very seldom; in fact, he only did it for the family. It was also Remiel's idea, Monique recalled, that they ignored the many brochures in the shop window and websites they might have seen about the Feeling of Prague and start their tour with a visit to the Philosophical Hall of the 868-year-old Strahov monastery library in Prague.

Chapter 2

SAFEKEEPING

*** *** ***

Let there be light. is a phrase, familiar to all. It is commonly accepted that this English translation was derived from the Hebrew יְהִי אוֹר‬ that can be traced in Genesis 1:3 of the Torah, the first part of the Hebrew Bible. In Old Testament translations of the phrase, translations include the Greek phrase γενηθήτω φῶς (genēthētō phōs) and the Latin phrase Fiat Lux.

*** *** ***

What felt to David like a lifetime ago as he drowned deeper, he felt the torrent of memories that washed over him - now sure this had come to fetch him and take him through the haze, to the other side...

*** *** ***

Is this a secure line, Sister?

Indeed, it is. How may I assist?

Fiat Lux, Sister.

Fiat Lux, Brother.

Have you a name, Sister?

I have. Have you, Brother?

I have.

May I ask for your name so that we can continue this conversation in a civil manner, Sister?

You may.

What is it, Sister?

No. I shall not let you have it. Not yet.

Am I to share a secret before demanding one, Sister?

Yes.

I am David, but I care not for the worldly record of who I was before I had joined the Order.

I am Uriel, but unlike you, I do not have to care for the worldly record of who I was before I had joined the Order. As I'm old and never had a worldly record. Have you met one like me in person, David?

I have only read of your kind. And sadly, have not had such a privilege. If indeed I have met your kind in person, it was not revealed to me, Uriel.

If you had, would you keep and protect this secret with your blood? Even if it meant that your blood is let? Even if you are forced to watch it flow, David?

My blood had been let. Once, but once was sufficient to seal my obligation to the Order, Uriel.

Pleased to meet you, Brother David.

Likewise, Sister Uriel.

Good. How can the Order be of assistance to your needs, Brother David?

I have in my possession something of interest to me. I had already stored something in the world above, but it had been an irksome experience. I was let down severely. I'd like to arrange for storage after the meeting. Permanent, or until such time as the Order need to dispose of it in a fitting way, Sister Uriel.

Most certainly, Brother. Do you know when we next meet?

I follow the Moon, and had calculated that it must be this evening, Sister.

Is the item heavier than a man, and or larger than a man, Brother David?

The item is not heavier than a man, nor is it larger than a man, Sister Uriel.

Would the item be stored under LIVING or DEAD; if LIVING - would it be in need of nursing, feeding, or any form of medical attention; or DEAD, would it need to be powered up on occasion for when you will collect, Brother David?

The item, with your permission, shall be stored under DEAD. It would not need to be powered up, Sister Uriel.

You do of course not have to answer this, but to correctly store the item, would you divulge what it is and what it does? Also, who had asked this first when our world and the world above were one world, Brother David?

You have left the most important of your three inquiries for last, however, I will attend to this one first. It was Marcus Aurelius. As for the rest, the first is my last Will and Testament, as I fear for my life. The second is a single page that I stole. It implicates a number of companies who work for darkness, Sister. I would want my last Will and Testament be delivered to my family, upon my death or immediately thereafter; and the page that I am referring to, to be either investigated by the Order, and to be acted upon as the Order deems fit, upon my arrest, or death, as a result, or even immediately when I will hand this over for storage, Sister Uriel.

It shall be so. Looking forward to meeting you, Brother.

Likewise, Sister.

Chapter 3

FIVE YEARS BEFORE

Press P2 twice. It shall disable all the other floors. You'll be able to get straight out without any interruptions. Thank you for all you've done. And, I'm sure that I speak on behalf of all members.

It's my pleasure. Who will look after him when I'm away? Someone capable? Obviously? I mean, till he reaches Prague. I'll take over from who had been appointed? If that carries your approval, of course?

Naturally. But at the rate things are progressing, I'd estimate a five-year period. But we'll still see you this evening will we not? We can talk then. Unless, are you in a hurry to the East Coast?

I'll be back tonight. I need to greet him as one of us... He should know. It feels necessary. If... well, let's see.

By the way. Do you realise who he reminds me of...?

I do.

Is, it possible? You know what it is that I am reading into this?

It's a strange world with strange rules. You should know this more than our kind?

Chapter 4

CURRENT DATE

Like birth, his and ones like David had started their secretive lives early after the age of twenty-one. Life had its origin in mind-numbing pain and general discomfort. And what had started with pain, sometimes ends with pain. Only for David, he was much better prepared.

He couldn't tell. And that, was unsettling.

The overwhelming sleepy feeling came suddenly; and although the pain he had experienced just moments before was fast becoming unbearable, the heaviest feeling ever overtook that; forcing his eyelids closed. Whether he was going into shock, or that it actually was his life force draining away - was impossible for him to determine; thanks to the state he was in. He would not know of others, but in 'his' instance, it was an unanticipated change in the course that the Order had set out on. He always wondered about the morbid thing but never thought of them as morbid, and he never was quite sure who was to blame for it. Maybe his grandfather. It wasn't normal for kids to wonder what their last thought would be, nor to carry with them secrets that lay heavy on their hearts, and have been reserved for the dark. These were clothed in a velvety black charcoal, kept below, away from what had passed for everyday reality for the new world. Then again, the new world had already celebrated by blowing out its two-thousand-and thirteenth birthday candle. It was December. Somehow, not certain whether this was his life flashing before him, and unable to push the persistence of it away, he finally submitted to allowing his mind to drown in a the jumble of overlapping childhood memories that strangely came to greet him. He suddenly experienced the lightest feeling; an overwhelming careless feeling that he unfamiliar with, as he seemingly retreated from where he was a moment before staring perplexed over to his body and the other man near his side inside the car. The feeling insisted to pull him back to when he was a child - and he offerer no resistance.

Chapter 5

THE OLD STUDY

Beyond the edge of the world..., David's young eyes climbed up from the book he had held flat down on the kitchen table, up to meet that of his grandfather's as the old man nodded a smile, and he stuck them onto the page where he was reading again. ... there’s a space where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And, hovering about, there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard. He looked up again. Good! Well done! Excellent reading! The old man praised him. And who said that? His grandfather wanted to know, still smiling. ... Haruki Murakami? The boy frowned, knowing it was obvious. Indeed. Do you want to carry on, young man? Knowing that the boy would. Yet..., the boy carried on reading, it was in a sense still a new world. In order for light, to carry on an ancient desire to reach out, to protect what little good still warranted it so, it had become prudent that the light be birthed in the dark. In the occult realms. The boy had read it over and over. It only made less sense every time he tried. The bottom stairs creaked, reminding him it was time. The small book clapped as he slammed it closed, and he darted for the corner near the old black and white photo of a coffee shop, experienced its typical sideways swing on the thin copper wire that attached it to the nail on the wood-clad study wall. The eight-year-old pushed the book back into the darkness and pulled his arm back into the light. Only after sliding the loose wooden panel down; back where it belonged, did he let go of the old photo. It swung down anticlockwise from its 9 o'clock position slightly past its rightful place, that would have been 6 o'clock, causing him to move it two centimetres to the left. After retreating two - what he regarded as grown-ups steps, he inspected his own secret work. I am satisfied. The boy told himself. As out of character as what it was for an eight years old, that should really have been playing outside; throwing a stick towards the barn to see if Lucifer would fetch it. Not that he would. Lucifer didn't play fetch. But that's what young boys should be doing. According to Dad; and not only hang around granddad's library and study where it was old and dusty and smelt like chalk.

Lucifer was always up before sunrise and would sit at the kitchen door, staring at the handle. Granddad said that if you could be calm and patient you could make anything happen. But you need to add time into the mix. Sometimes a day, or a week, or even the long wait between two full moons. That was what granddad said. Like Lucifer. He sits over by the door seven days out of seven. Early. And he's right too. Seven times out of seven. His granddad took a sip from the steamy mug, put it down on the rough wooden table, and turned the mug ninety-degrees clockwise. He waited for David to argue the point. Granddad, if I may attempt to correct you (by now his grandfather was crying with laughter on the inside at the boy's choice of words. Which made him wonder what else he'd been up to in his library and study), if you didn't walk around the house and came from the outside and open it, the door would not open; meaning, and please correct me if I'm wrong, Lucifer would sit there waiting, many hours, or forever, and that door would not open. Young David moved his coffee mug ninety-degrees clockwise, exactly in the position his grandfather had moved his; with the ear of the mug facing the stove; before he too sipped from his mug. You make a good case young David. and he turned his mug another quarter revolution clockwise. Thank you for your kind comment granddad. And the boy again did the same with his mug. Every time one had spoken and finished, the mug was turned, indicating he'd finished, allowing the other the opportunity to speak. But the point is that Lucifer believes in magic. The old man turned the mug. I see. Based on? Young David kept to the rules of politeness, and moved his mug again, clockwise ninety-degrees. He's convinced that he has special powers. So let's not talk too loud and spoil it for him, shall we? The old man smiled and moved his mug ninety-degrees clockwise once more. So your argument of Lucifer, granddad, applying calm and patience, and that he allows for time, to perform what he perceives as magic, it... is it not merely luck? What if one day you sleep late, or forget? David's cup moved. Then my boy, you or someone else will, I hope, open the door for Lucifer. Or, Lucifer will figure out that there is also a front door, standing wide open. It will take time, but if you really want to get to the reward or whatever it is on the other side of this wall, you'll figure it out. And as usual, the old man's mug went a quarter turn in the only direction there had been - according to the rules of coffee, coffee shops and polite company. And what is on the other side of this wall at that early hour for a dog? My apologies, for Lucifer? Apologies for that Lucifer. Didn't mean it like that. David's mug moved, and he winked over at Lucifer who sat upright on a kitchen chair, alternating his gaze between the peculiar moving mugs every time someone had something to say; and licking his lips, just in case he was going to get involved at some stage. Oh Lucifer has figured out a miracle in this life that both science and religion have missed. It's old. Ancient actually. And Lucifer was staring at the old man's mug, waiting. But it didn't. Nothing. David frowned over at his granddad, wondering what the matter was. Then heard a car door close outside. With that the old man's mug shifted fast, and he lifted his bushy old grey brows while making his eyes bigger - than normal - as if to say Hurry with a question, if you have one., And what is that they both miss granddad? And the boy's mug shifted faster than usual. The warm, pure, life-giving miracle, that is a new and wondrous sunrise. Every day. It's indifferent to who we are or how we feel. And we all get one. Isn't that a miracle? Suddenly the old man's mug moved in the opposite direction, ninety-degrees anticlockwise. The end of the conversation as someone not part of the present company was about to join. Outside in the hallway the floorboards creaked before the inner kitchen door swung open. Morning dad, morning David. David's father had arrived to fetch him. Annoyingly announcing the end of the weekend visit, but as always he was overjoyed to see his father's happy smile. Oh, is that how it is. Don't I feel welcome? David's dad pointed over to the two mugs that Lucifer was still staring at. Waiting. The chuckle that three generations of souls shared lasted almost five minutes, with David's dad taking a sip from the old man's coffee without permission and after downing David's mug, turned his' upside down. You see why we have rules David? Did you notice the rudeness hurled at the harmonious we enjoyed? Smiling at both David and his father. Is granddad there already? At the upside down cup son; or must he still teach you that? The laughter only grew louder as David wanted to know, You mean how to finish your loved one's coffee, so they have to struggle their way through a dry ginger biscuit? No, dad, I don't believe he has dad. But, what are you talking about dad? Winning over his granddad as before with a wink to say Your secret is mine to hold, but not to share.

At school on Monday David sat in class early. Like Lucifer, ready before anyone else, waiting. As the classroom filled up and his teacher later joined, he studied the small faces and made mental notes. He put them in groups ranging from the bullies, the reserved and slightly shy ones, and the ones who were always eager to impress his teacher with an apple, or running some or other errant as if there was some sort of fun in doing so. David in later grades could tell exactly who had problems at home and took it out on others, and who had even worse problems and became so withdrawn that it impacted on their ability to focus on learning. He was a friend to all and everyone liked him. Especially the bullies. For them, he had asked at home that extra sandwiches be packed and sweets. I sometimes bring sweets for my friends. Are you a friend? He'd ask. The sweets bought them; distracting them to go on their merry way - keeping them occupied and away from taking other kids' food, and the extra food he'd brought was given to his teacher, with a condition. Whoever hadn't brought food to school, could never know it was from him. There was ever only one bully who ruled the other bullies, so that worked out fine. And ever only two hungry kids in a class, so that too worked out fine. Often he'd be the hungry one as his own sandwich was sacrificed when he didn't remind his mom to pack another. He figured out before the teachers did, that the kids who were either rowdy or lethargic, didn't have enough to eat at home. And in some cases, that those were the bullies. Studying people, and what made them tick - became a hobby that grew into a strategy that made him a top negotiator in his field. After all, life was a game of 'give' and 'take', and how to handle others who 'took' and 'gave'. There was a difference.

Chapter 6

AS AN ADULT

It commenced with the peculiar sound of a long blade drawn from a sheath. It was unmistakable, it instilled a great measure of fear, and it's not easy to forget... Covered in a coldness, he may have voiced it out loud, but in all likelihood, he was wrestling with this as a thought - as he fought the haze. The haze had been the veil into life, as much as the haze was the veil, on the way out - back into the abyss of nothingness, where old souls told new souls of life. Encouraging them too, that they line up at the haze, and wait for the pain that is life, and that they would initially not comprehend - but that they would come to love so dearly, that they would do anything not to return through the haze, back to the always waiting and ready; nothingness. Beyond the haze; as the Order had been instructed for aeons, were souls who would be welcomed again, and again, into eternity, to tell of life, and what life was, on earth, in other realities, and beyond distant long dead stars where no one had reported back from, yet.

He entered the haze, looked back, and looked over at his body and dove back into it. He knew it was going to hurt like nothing he'd experienced, but he was never ready to leave. Not like this, not without a fight. Not before greeting his dear ones. Once more. So he tried again.

*** *** ***

He stopped at the traffic lights and looked into the rear-view mirror, then, eyeing his watch, cast his eyes left and right out through the front windows, and lastly faced the front through the windscreen again. As he did, he followed the larger droplets that formed and grew as dozens of tiny dots accumulated, running long streaks down to the bottom towards where the wipers were patiently waiting. A fine spray had started to form on the windscreen a minute ago; not enough to compromise his view further ahead, but since it was dark, and he was lost, he flipped the wiper switch, as a precaution. The traffic lights sat high on the poles; much higher than what he had grown accustomed to back home. He pushed the engine into first gear and waited. The lights turned green, as if the wipers had swiped the reddish hazy reflection off and away from the car; and the playful water droplets with it - clearing their playground for a next round; where others too would get a turn at a brief existence; and he pulled off as he briefly glanced in the mirror, and adjusted his tie.

Chapter 7

THE TEMPLE

Initiate! Her voice carried with it a sense of command over across the subterranean temple, that he was not used to, not even if she had a deeper voice. Or had it been a base male voice, and he tried focusing on her every syllable. There was something mesmerising about her voice, familiar too. But his nervous state and the forever echo drowned the need to know whether they have met or not. He waited for the echo to arrive back again, together with the second and the third and each one thereafter. If it wasn't for the peculiar echo bouncing off the walls, he thought that her voice would be right at home in a Courtroom; passing a long-deliberated judgement.

Beyond the edge of the world, there’s a space where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And, hovering about, there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard. David thought how profound her words were - especially the manner with which she had conveyed it, pronouncing every word deliberately, separately. The latter few words after she paused for the comma was in a softer tone, almost a whisper, like she had a secret to tell. Like being on-stage at an Eisteddfod, with well-rehearsed emphasis on the correct parts, and pause for effect to round some ideas off, while creating a sense of anticipation on other occasions. Wondering if she read poetry aloud to herself, he wished he could hear some of it. The harmony would be something to behold... He thought to himself, then thought of the irony. It was not 'her' that had taken centre stage. 'I'm' at the centre of things. It was a vain thought, and he got rid of it. She sounded the words like a poem presented to a waiting audience, and while there was a long uncomfortable pause, he repeated her words in his mind, letting it settle slowly - and hoping it would distract his mind away from how he appeared in front of her.

Beyond the edge of the world - (he figured that maybe here is where he would have chosen to insert a comma) - there’s a space where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, - (this comma could remain) - where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And, hovering about, there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard. It all sounded like a poem; more so, since he was kept blind for... He realised how he'd spend the entire time so far in complete darkness - and had lost track of time. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he was waiting for it to brave over his buttocks, down the back of his goose-bumped thighs, and down to his cold bare feet. Slightly vain; again, but he couldn't have chosen a better time to have gone for a pedicure. At least my feet look presentable. As cold as what they are on the floor. I wonder whether it's cement or stone? It's not warming up. At all. So it's not a floor tile, and likely not slate, and it's too smooth to be paved with bricks. And he pulled his toes back over the icy floor; just slightly sliding them back, then relaxing them again. Only after, had it become a slight concern that he didn't want it to seem too elaborate of an attempt to investigate his surroundings. Maybe my feet were all they were looking at. If, I wasn't completely alone,d in the company of a woman. Between wishing for something warmer to wear - to keep the biting cold away (and another cold shiver raced down from between his naked shoulder blades, gravitating, all the way down), and seeing where on earth he'd been led to, he'd choose to SEE - he thought.

The woman's echoing voice returned, and together with all things strange that had come to visit in one single day, he was starting to doubt; highly - that it could become any more unsettling. But he was underestimating fate it would seem.

Do the words sound familiar? The voice demanded. David guessed that the woman was further away before, and had now stepped closer, For one, hopefully, to remove the mask. Finally., and he lifted his brows maybe a short few millimetres, thinking it would allow him to at least discover something about his surroundings - if just a little light could seep in from the bottom or the side of the mask. But it made no difference. They could just as well have hoodwinked me... His eyelashes stroked the inside of the mask again.

It is quite a lot to remember... He replied, .. let me think. He realised he'd just made a full sentence when he answered. Not a mere Yes, or No. Like when he was a small boy. He had not done that in years. And almost never in his working environment as a broker. A Yes or a No said enough. It was normally adequate when negotiating a better rate for his wealthy clients. Was it because I'm spooked? Is this what happens when I'm scared? I've never been scared of a thing in my life... His grandfather, many years before was unnecessarily specific on all things grammar. Particularly David's grammar; growing up. Instead of answering YES, or NO - repeat the question, then think. Be sure of your answer. He recalled how his grandfather used to instruct him.

The woman and the voice - he assumed from the direction of her voice - had been facing him, and maybe a metre, maybe two, ahead of him, pulled him from his childhood, into the present again - where he was barefoot, almost naked, had his eyes covered, and more of immediate concern for him, he was