Thirteen Crucifixions, 116

He could only remember having a drink of water.  There was no way of knowing the time. He’d left his watch at home.  It was night, very late.  Chris and his young charge stood on the deserted beach, watching as the small boat vanished into the darkness.  A rather hideous creature, carved in stone, had glared down at him as he drank.  Then, together they descended the dark trail through the forest to the boat that waited for them at the bottom, the same boat they could no longer see.  Chris had the feeling of having “lost time.”  This he’d already experienced on a number of occasions.  He wondered if he was allowing too much stress to accumulate.  He had never met the youth who was in his care now.  They had ridden in the boat silently, side by side.  He never saw the face of the boat’s operator, who seemed to be wearing some sort of hood. They began walking towards the community, side by side.

            “My name is Peter”, the youth said.

            “Chris.”

            “I was told you’d have a place for me tonight.”

            “Yes.   We always have extra beds.”

            “It’s just for one night.”

            “I know this.”

 

            His name had once been—Peter couldn’t remember anything. He ran his hand through his hair, which had grown steadily over the summer.  Then, his head used to be shaved?  He vaguely recalled the fountain.  A column rising from the middle, topped by a bat-winged gargoyle from which mouth spouted water.  He had drunk from there?  He couldn’t remember.  There’d been two people there with him, a beautiful girl and a handsome man.  They had been in his care?  He’d had some kind of responsibility.  It was all beginning to blur.  Perhaps tomorrow, after a decent night’s sleep, he might remember more.  Tomorrow he would be driven to the airport and then—where was he going?  He knew nothing, remembered little, then less.  He did know that tomorrow morning, early, there would be a car with a driver, waiting to take him away.