Grunting, he turned back to his food, but kept a vigilant eye on me and pointed to my plate every time I set my fork down.
When he poked my arm for the third time, I said, “I can’t eat any more. Usually I just have tea for breakfast.”
“Tea is not food.”
“It’s all I need.”
“No. A woman needs more than tea,” Amon stated, looking into my eyes. I suddenly felt very exposed, as if we were talking about much more than just breakfast. I got the distinct impression that he was studying me from the inside out and could see all my insecurities. Hunger and sustenance seemed to take on a different meaning in that moment.
“Yes, I suppose she does,” I answered, turning my eyes away.
Finally finishing his food, he pushed back from the table and declared he was ready to begin the search for his brothers. He struggled with the T-shirt, so I helped him twist it around. As I did, my hands brushed against his rather nice chest. I blushed and turned to pick up the jacket. After I thrust it into his arms, I noticed that the sweatpants were once again threatening to slide off his hips.
I cleared my throat. He’d been examining the jacket’s hood with a curious expression but looked up. “It’s, um, your pants. There’s a string, see? At the waistband? Just pull it tight and tie it.”
Casting aside the jacket, Amon found the drawstring and pulled it on one side, then the other. I left him to finish dressing and returned to my room to grab my bag and fill it with all the things we might need.
I put in my laptop, my cell and charger, my notebook, and my wallet. Then I returned to the kitchen and added some bottled water. Amon tossed in a few apples and oranges and I threw in a bag of crackers. After looping the strap across my body, I knelt at his feet, helping him tie his sneakers, and thought about where we should go.
Logically, the first step would be to take him to the hospital nearest the museum and see if anyone recognized him, but I bit my lip as I considered that he might not get a chance to find his brothers if we did. Odds were they’d lock him up after this escape. Taking him back just seemed wrong.
“Are you ready, Young Lily?”
Amon offered his hand to help me stand. “Thanks. Yes, I’m ready if you are.”
“Very well.”
He kept hold of my hand and closed the distance between us. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he said, “Hold on to me very tightly.”
“Amon…what are you—” My question turned into a scream as wind swept around our bodies, gritty sand stinging my skin like thousands of needles. I watched in horror as my body unraveled, piece by piece, to join the tumult, and my cry was cut off because I no longer had a throat, let alone a voice.
Panicked, I reached out to grab on to something and became aware of another presence nearby. Amon responded to my fear. He soothed me, holding me together, though I knew it wasn’t his arms that I felt. The storm swirled around us as we descended into a place that grew darker with each passing second.
Then I drowned in the quicksand.
Light penetrated the darkness, and where I once felt nothing, I could now sense the pressure of Amon’s arm around me, his hand clutching mine. The swirling sand became sluggish and started sticking together, and in the process, the grains re-formed my arms, legs, and torso. Risking the possibility that I might be horrified at the sight of my own flesh, I opened my eyes and was greatly relieved to find my skin still attached to my body. Not only were there no gaping wounds or scratches, but my skin gleamed with health. I realized then that the sand blast must have exfoliated my entire body, a thought that left me feeling slightly queasy.