details.
The overhead light in the kitchen, once she found it, flicked on to reveal another empty room. Empty of Larry at least. What appeared to be a year's supply of soft drinks was stacked along one wall, and there were dishes in the sink. The old-fashioned linoleum floor needed sweeping but wasn't nearly as far gone as Cal's kitchen floor.
The sense of emptiness was closing in on her, Guinevere discovered. It was becoming difficult to keep the fear from overwhelming the knowledge that she had to stick this out until she'd gone through the whole house.
It wasn't easy to push open the bathroom door on her way down the hall, but she made herself do it. By now her fingers were trembling. It was a vast relief to find the bathroom quite empty. That left only the bedroom. Grimly she made her way to the door, called Larry's name once more, and, when there was no answer, stepped into the room.
The sight of Larry's body flopped across the middle of the bed brought a scream to Guinevere's throat. In her sudden fear and panic the scream got locked behind her teeth and never emerged. Hand shaking in earnest now, she found the wall switch and held her breath as she turned on the light.
"Larry! Oh, my God, Larry!"
Part of her wanted only to turn and run. She never knew where she found the courage to go forward and touch Larry Hixon's shoulder. Guinevere only knew in that moment that one couldn't just run out the door in a situation such as this. One was obliged to assess the matter, determine whether or not any immediate help could be given. Then one called an ambulance and the police. One did what had to be done.
"Oh, dear God, Larry," she whispered. His head was turned away from her. Beneath the fabric of the blue work shirt he was wearing his skin still felt warm. Perhaps he was alive.
Frantically trying to remember her first-aid lessons, Guinevere slid her fingers up to the pulse under his jaw. It beat strong beneath her touch. He was alive. And perhaps not so badly hurt either. Gently Guinevere began running her hands over him. Good pulse and he was breathing. She didn't see any signs of blood soaking the bedding.
"What the hell?" Larry slapped halfheartedly at her hands and opened his eyes sleepily. "Jeez, Gwen. It's you. Sorry about that. I just wanted to grab a quick nap before you got here. Guess I really conked out." Stretching hugely, Larry sat up, yawned, and finally focused on her stricken face. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" she echoed, her tone almost a squeak, "What's wrong! Good Lord, Larry, you just gave me the fright of my life. I thought something terrible had happened to you. The house was dark, there was no sign of anyone alive here, and that damned terminal screen is just sitting out there glowing like a ghost out of a horror movie. What's wrong? I nearly collapsed into hysterics, that's what's wrong!"
"Jesus, Gwen, calm down," he said soothingly, getting to his feet. He yawned again and tucked his shirt into the waistband of his jeans. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you like that."
"Don't ever do that to me again!"
He smiled wryly. "Yes, ma'am."
The degree of her overreaction finally struck Guinevere, and she managed a weak smile of her own. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'm just not used to this sort of thing yet."
"Yet?"
"Never mind," she said quickly. "Tell me what was bothering you so much that you had to call me up and traumatize me like this."
Larry nodded, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "Oh, yeah. This way. I've got the game set up out in the living room. I was trying to play it before you got here. So damned frustrating, I finally gave up and tried for a nap instead."
"Why is it frustrating? I thought you invented the thing. You of all people should be able to play it." She followed him back down the hall to the living room and watched him insert disks into the two computer drives.
"I can get only so far and then the strategy goes screwy. Cal redid some of the crucial steps.
The overhead light in the kitchen, once she found it, flicked on to reveal another empty room. Empty of Larry at least. What appeared to be a year's supply of soft drinks was stacked along one wall, and there were dishes in the sink. The old-fashioned linoleum floor needed sweeping but wasn't nearly as far gone as Cal's kitchen floor.
The sense of emptiness was closing in on her, Guinevere discovered. It was becoming difficult to keep the fear from overwhelming the knowledge that she had to stick this out until she'd gone through the whole house.
It wasn't easy to push open the bathroom door on her way down the hall, but she made herself do it. By now her fingers were trembling. It was a vast relief to find the bathroom quite empty. That left only the bedroom. Grimly she made her way to the door, called Larry's name once more, and, when there was no answer, stepped into the room.
The sight of Larry's body flopped across the middle of the bed brought a scream to Guinevere's throat. In her sudden fear and panic the scream got locked behind her teeth and never emerged. Hand shaking in earnest now, she found the wall switch and held her breath as she turned on the light.
"Larry! Oh, my God, Larry!"
Part of her wanted only to turn and run. She never knew where she found the courage to go forward and touch Larry Hixon's shoulder. Guinevere only knew in that moment that one couldn't just run out the door in a situation such as this. One was obliged to assess the matter, determine whether or not any immediate help could be given. Then one called an ambulance and the police. One did what had to be done.
"Oh, dear God, Larry," she whispered. His head was turned away from her. Beneath the fabric of the blue work shirt he was wearing his skin still felt warm. Perhaps he was alive.
Frantically trying to remember her first-aid lessons, Guinevere slid her fingers up to the pulse under his jaw. It beat strong beneath her touch. He was alive. And perhaps not so badly hurt either. Gently Guinevere began running her hands over him. Good pulse and he was breathing. She didn't see any signs of blood soaking the bedding.
"What the hell?" Larry slapped halfheartedly at her hands and opened his eyes sleepily. "Jeez, Gwen. It's you. Sorry about that. I just wanted to grab a quick nap before you got here. Guess I really conked out." Stretching hugely, Larry sat up, yawned, and finally focused on her stricken face. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" she echoed, her tone almost a squeak, "What's wrong! Good Lord, Larry, you just gave me the fright of my life. I thought something terrible had happened to you. The house was dark, there was no sign of anyone alive here, and that damned terminal screen is just sitting out there glowing like a ghost out of a horror movie. What's wrong? I nearly collapsed into hysterics, that's what's wrong!"
"Jesus, Gwen, calm down," he said soothingly, getting to his feet. He yawned again and tucked his shirt into the waistband of his jeans. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you like that."
"Don't ever do that to me again!"
He smiled wryly. "Yes, ma'am."
The degree of her overreaction finally struck Guinevere, and she managed a weak smile of her own. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'm just not used to this sort of thing yet."
"Yet?"
"Never mind," she said quickly. "Tell me what was bothering you so much that you had to call me up and traumatize me like this."
Larry nodded, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "Oh, yeah. This way. I've got the game set up out in the living room. I was trying to play it before you got here. So damned frustrating, I finally gave up and tried for a nap instead."
"Why is it frustrating? I thought you invented the thing. You of all people should be able to play it." She followed him back down the hall to the living room and watched him insert disks into the two computer drives.
"I can get only so far and then the strategy goes screwy. Cal redid some of the crucial steps.
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