Nexus Point (Meridian Series) by John Schettler Page B

long, brown leg over his
body. A floral fragrance surrounded him. Her arms pulled him into a silky
embrace, a hand whispering softly over his chest to his throat and then up to
smooth through his hair. She nuzzled at his neck, and he felt a warm, moist
kiss there. What in God’s name was happening here?
           The light in the room seemed to
diminish, and his vision faded. Now there was only scent, and smell, and touch;
warmth, and the soft trailing caress of the woman’s hand. He heard something
whispered in his ear, but he did not understand the words. The voice at his ear
became a soft kiss, laden with affection and the barest hint of a tease. A
tingling heat seemed to effuse his body, as he passed into a state of
semi-consciousness.
           He had to be dreaming, he thought—a
dream so real that it was totally convincing; totally absorbing. One moment he
had been falling to a certain death, and then the water. Tattered memories
intruded on the dream as his mind struggled to create some sense of his
situation. But the dream became ever more engrossing, suffusing his body with
an ardent heat. As his consciousness faded, a fleeting thought suggested that
he may have died after all! He must have fallen on the rocks, but how could
this be happening?
           It was as if he had landed in
Paradise.
     
    9
     
    He awoke to find he was
alone, the room dark and masked with purple shadow. Off in the distance he
could hear the faint sound of water running over stones. The smell of sweet
incense was still on the air, and now it was mingled with another aroma that
seemed to summon his senses to clarity—coffee! He moved with languid motion,
his limbs still numbed and sluggish. Images of the soft skinned beauty still
floated in his mind, bound up with the rising notion of incredulity, but she
was nowhere to be seen, and he was inclined to think the whole episode a dream.
Yet… the room he was in was the same. Where was he? Could this be a hidden
sanctuary in the heart of Wadi Rumm? He knew the place had long been a hideaway
for the Bedouin tribes, but this was more than he could have imagined.
           There was a sound, and shadowed
movement. He heard a sharp scrape and then the darkness was scored with a
bright flash. Someone was there, sitting quietly in the shadows. He strained
against the darkness, hoping to see the lovely woman he had awoken to earlier.
An oil lamp sputtered to life and the warm glow pressed back the shadows to
reveal the figure of a robed man seated on a billowy cushion. Paul squinted,
trying to focus on the man, but his vision was blurred and indistinct. The
figure leaned closer, and Paul saw that he had a thin, hungry face, with
delicate bone structure, long hollow cheeks and a scraggly gray beard falling
just a few inches from the point of his chin. The eyes were dark and deeply set
over a narrow nose. On his head the man wore a headpiece of thatched palm
fronds woven to an onion dome point. The eyes seemed to penetrate him with an
unblinking gaze. They were full of knowledge; full of silent conclusions, and
they stared at him with just the hint of curiosity in their welcome.
           “Bismi llaahi r-hrahmaani
r-rahiim. As Salam 'alaykom ”
The words whispered out in Arabic, and then, to Paul’s surprise, in English.
            “In the name of Allah, the
compassionate, the merciful. Peace be with you.” The man’s  voice was quiet,
yet firm. He waited as Paul struggled to sit upright.
           Paul cleared his throat to
speak, yet his mouth was very dry. The man extended a small porcelain cup, eyes
bright with invitation. Paul looked at it with some suspicion at first, but the
aroma of pungent coffee pulled at him. He reached out and took the cup, raising
it to his lips with a shaky hand. The nutty earthiness of the brew seemed to
enliven him, and he drank, grateful for the taste of dark, roasted coffee after
missing it for—how long had he been here this