Michael grabbed the pew in front of him for support and stared at the savage Indian warrior standing in the aisle, bare chested, bow and arrow in hand, hunting knife strapped to his thigh. Where had he come from? Moments ago, women in white dresses had danced to the beat of the drums. Now they were gone, and this Indian warrior was here.
Michael tensed, ready for fight or flight, then sagged. If the warrior wanted to slit his throat or shoot him with an arrow, all Michael could do about it was die. At least it would be quicker than whatever was killing him now.
He took a breath and straightened as best he could to meet the threat.
The warrior had a broad and angry face, accentuated by a mask of red war paint around the eyes and a wide black line across his nose and mouth. He wore a peaked headdress of tall blue feathers and a string of crude wooden beads that dangled over his intricately tattooed chest. Although not a large man, he had a commanding stature with deeply cut muscles, a testament to lean years and a hard life. He wore no clothing other than a belt of thick woven cloth tied around his hips and knotted to hang in front of his genitals. He had wrapped strips of the same cloth around his knees.
The warrior probably came from an Amazon Indian tribe although Michael could not imagine how or why the man was here, standing way too close to Adriana.
“Get away from her,” Michael said, then coughed from the effort.
Adriana shook her head. “Tranquilo, meu amor. She is here to help.”
She? What was Adriana talking about? The warrior was clearly a man and a dangerous one at that. Michael didn’t want him anywhere near her. He looked around the room for support, and found insanity instead.
On the dance floor where the women in white had been, a white stallion adorned with full medieval regalia reared up on its hind legs to strike at a fire-breathing dragon. When its hooves smashed to the ground, an armored knight lowered his lance, raised his shield, kicked the steed, and charged.
Michael screamed. He couldn’t help it. The dragon was huge, terrifying, and utterly impossible. When the lance pierced its throat, the dragon disintegrated into colored dust.
“Michael? Are you all right?”
He glanced at Adriana who clung to the Indian warrior’s arm as if seeking his support or protection. Her pretty face was marred by worry.
This isn’t happening.
He dug his fingers into his temples to stop the throbbing. The pain hurt so bad he could hardly breathe. No wonder she looked worried: she was watching him die, and all these hallucinations—the warrior, the knight, the dragon—were part of the process. He took a breath and struggled for calm.
The dragon and stallion were gone, but other strange beings had taken their places. Beside the knight, stooped an old black man with snow-white whiskers dressed in the tattered clothes of a slave. He sucked on a wooden pipe and blew the smoke at a pair of twin boys who wrestled on the white-tiled floor. They stopped, jumped to their feet, and smoothed their matching Spanish-styled tunics.
Michael blinked hard to dispel the vision, but it remained.
A goddess in a sea-blue dress, scaled like a mermaid’s tale, stepped onto the stage with a fierce-looking woman in rawhide riding clothes who held a machete in one hand and a horse-tail whip in the other. Her chestnut hair blew around her shoulders even though there was no wind.
Michael grabbed the pew in front of him and rose onto wobbling legs. He’d be damned if he’d allow these delusions to steal his dignity. He looked each of the six beings squarely in the eyes and gave them all a curt nod. It boosted his confidence to acknowledge their presence. At least it did until they parted and revealed the most astounding hallucination of all.
Jesus walked forward to greet Michael, arms extended in welcome. “You are among friends.”
The sea goddess stepped to his side. “We will help you.”
The horse woman nodded. “We can protect you.”
The ancient slave stepped forward. “Tell us, den, who put this hex on you.” His sing-song cadence added to Michael’s confusion.
The knight pointed his lance. “He does not want to hear.”
The twins piped in, “Or see. Or speak.”
The Amazon Indian sneered. “He is afraid.”
Michael stumbled out of the aisle and fell.