2023

Other than that, the ride was silent.

Twenty minutes later, they sat in Bob’s room, quietly drinking sodas. Bob was dressed much the same as he was the night Brian died. Xeana was dressed in her long-sleeved black dress. She wore her bright red hair down, hanging about her face.

Bob had classical music playing but as background music. Something quirky, something Brian would have liked.

Xeana had stopped crying, but her sapphire eyes held a dazed look about them. She and Bob were sitting next to each other on his bed. Xeana held one of his pillows close to her breast.

"We - we need to move on. I mean, Brian wouldn’t have wanted us- he would want us -"

Xeana nodded. "But not so soon."

Bob put his arm around her and held her close. Her shuddering shoulders told him she’d begun crying again. He ran his fingers softly through her long hair.

Realizing how clichéd he’d sound, he offered the only words of comfort he knew. "It’ll be all right."

Viciously, she replied, "You wait until your best friend dies, then tell me that." She sighed, sobbing, quiet once more. "Sorry. Sorry."

"It’s okay." Something had to be said, to break the terrible silence. "Ever listen to Dello Joio?"

She moved away from him, wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand. Her look made him explain further. "He’s a composer. He wrote all sorts of strange music. Whenever I listen to him, I think about Brian, when’s he strumming his guitar, singing a song that makes no sense whatsoever."

Xeana lightly fingered the stitching on the pillow. "Yeah, Brian wrote the strangest songs. But he was a good guy."

Brian nodded his agreement. Suddenly, he said, "You hungry?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

"Oh." Bob’s shoulder slumped. "Neither am I."

Xeana gave a small smile. "Then why did you ask?"

Bob shrugged. "We need something to do. We can’t mourn for the rest of our lives."

"The rest of our lives? Bob," Xeana said, beginning to get angry, "Brian died two days ago. I don’t call two days the rest of our lives." She was quiet for a couple of minutes, then said, "We should make something, you know, so people can remember him."

"Like what?"

"I don’t know." She sighed. "Drawings, pictures, something. It will give us something to do." She looked down at the pillow.

"Xeana?" Bob asked gently.

She glanced up at him and his lips met hers. She closed her eyes and pulled away. "Bob, I can’t. Not now." She put her soda on the ground and stood. "I guess I should be going. Just think about my idea, all right?"

Bob nodded, slightly red, and she turned and left, placing the pillow on his desk.

The hotel room was comfortable enough, though small. Ryan lay on his back on the hard narrow bed with his hands behind his head, merely staring at the ceiling. He’d been traveling for three days and was now in a hotel in Andorville, a town not 100 miles from where Terçk purportedly lived. It was late at night and the quiet town was sleeping peacefully.

Ryan smiled as he recalled that night’s events…

…He’d been bored, in search of something to do. He wandered down the street to a small tavern. As small as it was, though, there were several pretty girls. And men who looked as if they’d had too much two drink and were looking for a fight. They were too busy trying to pinch the serving girls to notice when Ryan entered and took a seat in the far corner. He watched the other patrons with interest. Underneath the table, he lightly fingered the dagger in its sheath.