11-16-2018, 05:18 PM
Near was not the only one who felt palpable relief. Jude had been transitioning to that interim stage right before someone makes their exit - where a person is looking for the doors, calculating how long it will take to go through one, and where, from there, they must go. If Near was not to be his dark horse patron, then Jude could not dawdle; the family was out there, looking for him, feeling for him. They hunted for him the way people scrounged in the dark when they dropped a key. It must be here somewhere...
Rain was only refreshing when one was in it. After that, it simply settled on the skin, in it, and that dampness reminded Jude of the tomb. He closed the door behind him after he followed Near inside. It shut with a soft creak. He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the house, the depths of its emptiness, its darkness. Yes, he remembered.
"I'm going to change," he said, and now, he did not wait for permission. He turned off down the hall with a familiarity that lent some credence to his claim of familiarity - or else Jude had a knack for the layouts of old houses. Or maybe (and this was the truth, the least believable of all) he simply found the things he was looking for, the maps and locations unfolding in his head as he willed them.
He returned, in a sweater and different pair of jeans, a hand towel appropriated for rubbing his hair dry. "It's so empty," he said. Jude's default tone was a level monotone, with only small peaks and dips. "So different from the parties."
Rain was only refreshing when one was in it. After that, it simply settled on the skin, in it, and that dampness reminded Jude of the tomb. He closed the door behind him after he followed Near inside. It shut with a soft creak. He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the house, the depths of its emptiness, its darkness. Yes, he remembered.
"I'm going to change," he said, and now, he did not wait for permission. He turned off down the hall with a familiarity that lent some credence to his claim of familiarity - or else Jude had a knack for the layouts of old houses. Or maybe (and this was the truth, the least believable of all) he simply found the things he was looking for, the maps and locations unfolding in his head as he willed them.
He returned, in a sweater and different pair of jeans, a hand towel appropriated for rubbing his hair dry. "It's so empty," he said. Jude's default tone was a level monotone, with only small peaks and dips. "So different from the parties."