Chapter Twenty-Four

THEN

 

After their dinner at Teatro Pereyra, Lyric was on top of the world. Their conversation had been so easy, so pleasant. He was finally starting to feel like himself again.

He decided to bring Lenox back to the apartment in the D’Alt Villa. Once inside, the sexual vibe between them seemed to crank itself up a notch. Lyric stared at Lenox as he explored the apartment, taking in the view from the floor-to-ceiling Mediterranean-style windows. He admired his beautiful, muscular frame; the way his chest rose with each breath he took, the muscles in his legs flexed as he casually shifted the weight from one to the other.

As Lyric stood on the spot, the onset was quick this time. So quick he barely had time to react, let alone to put up a fight. Within seconds he was floating up above his body, looking down at himself, the sounds in the apartment replaced by a piercing ringing in his ears. He could still feel his limbs but it was as if he was no longer in control of them. His mouth tasted differently too and there was a new smell to his skin that was so subtle only he could detect it. He heard his voice excuse himself as his body made its way into the bedroom.

He watched from above as his hand dipped into his shorts and pulled out his mobile and dialled a number.

Who am I calling? And why?

Still floating up above, he believed if he tried hard enough he could strain to see who he was calling.

It was Lenox’s number appearing on the display screen.

The surreal nature of what was happening made his head throb. It was as if he was a passenger in his own body, and someone else was in the driver’s seat. He was helpless to stop it, and could only sit back and watch the story unfold. He felt so far away from his body and the feeling only intensified as the seconds ticked by. Before long the images he was watching began to blur and fade around the edges as if he was floating further and further away from the scene. The clouds in his head went from white to grey to black.

He recognised the smell his skin had taken on. It was both familiar and strange, like something from his past but also linked somehow to his present.

Vanilla.

It was Cedar’s smell. The scent of his aftershave. The scent of his skin. So poignant and so present. Right here in his nostrils. Filling the room with its sweet musk. Back from the grave.

Then he was gone.