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Andrasta.
The word popped into Nick's head the moment before he realized he was awake, followed by a flurry of images. He opened his eyes, blinking at the sunlight filling his room. The pounding in his head had gone, replaced by a dull pain. He gingerly fingered the bump on his head. Tender. His tailbone ached where he'd fallen on it. Better take it easy today. Lay low. Cops might be looking for me. At least they don't know who I am, otherwise they'd have been here by now. If Joey got busted he won't snitch. Nick shook his head. That's the last time I get in any car with him, no matter what he says. How could I have been so stupid? He sat up, rubbing his eyes when he saw the clock on his nightstand. Twelve-thirty. Damn! Slept fourteen hours.
After the voices and the nightmare he laid awake half the night staring at the ceiling, finally sinking into a deep dreamless slumber. This morning, in spite of his hung-over feeling, his head felt quiet, as if the voices themselves had been a nightmare. He thought of the word again. Andrasta. It wasn’t even a word.
Easing himself out of bed, he took more Excedrin and a hot bath, then made himself a sandwich and a cup of coffee before settling down on the living room couch. After channel surfing he shut the T.V. off in disgust. Idiot box.
Even though he slept a long time, he still felt tired. Lying back on the couch, he closed his eyes. His nightmare of the preceding night replayed itself through his mind. When it came to the part where the robed man swooped down on him his eyes snapped open. A tingle skittered across his shoulder where the man had touched him.
Why am I having such weird dreams? And what's this Andrasta shit? And that guy in the robe. Was he some kind of magician? Was he the guy with the sickle? Andrasta?
He caught himself. What the hell am I thinking about? This is nuts. Had a bad dream, that's all. Got a good crack on the noggin. Rattled my brains a little.
Not wanting to dwell on his nightmare, Nick switched on the T.V. again and flipped through the channels, stopping at channel four, his attention drawn by the news commentator's words.
"...the second murder of its kind. Sources close to the investigation suspect cult activity or the work of a lone killer."
Nick went cold. Images from his nightmare flickered in his mind. Goosebumps danced over his body. A picture of the pretty girl he saw in yesterday's paper flashed on the screen.
"The head of Lynn Ford, a twenty-three year old Boston College student murdered in her Cambridge apartment, has still not been found."
The commentator, an attractive brunette, came back. "The second victim, identified only as a Charlestown resident, has been withheld pending notification of family members."
Nick hit the power button on the remote and took a deep breath. No way, Jose. Now I know I'm losing it. First I hear voices. Then I'm having sick dreams and tripping out over the five o'clock news. What the hell's going on? Why am I even thinking these things?
Keys rattling in the front door made him jump. Jesus Christ, Powers. Get a grip, will ya?
He heard his mother and Mike coming down the hall. A moment later she stuck her head into the living room. "Hi, honey, how's your head?"
Spinning off into the Twilight Zone. How's yours? "It's all right, ma. Just a little sore."
"You startled me with that nightmare."
"Yeah. I scared myself."
"You looked it. You going to have dinner with us?"
"Sure. I can eat."
Dinner passed uneventfully. For the most part his mom talked about work while he listened. Mike's nose stayed buried in the sports page which suited Nick. Talking to Mike about anything other than the Bruins, Celtics, Red Sox or Patriots was like discussing quantum physics with a chimp.
While Mike read the paper and belched, Nick helped his mother with the dishes, then retreated to his room and went to bed early. As soon as his head hit the pillow he thought about the newscast, sparking another ripple of goose bumps.
Don't know why that newscast made me feel so weird, he thought. It doesn't mean anything. I need a good night's sleep that's all. At least I'm not hearing any more voices. I was starting to wonder if I was going to end up in the Bozo barn. Shit, enough is enough. Tomorrow, I'll get up early, get my ass out the door and start pounding the pavement to see if I can find a job.
Closing his eyes, he drifted down into a restless sleep followed by a chorus of hushed whispers.