Remember my boys?
“– gel! A — gel!”
Was he underwater?
The sound of — his name? People calling–? It was so odd. It echoed through his heartbeat. Why could he hear his heartbeat? What had happened? Was he underwater?
He lurched as he realized someone was shaking him, screaming his name.
“F-ine.” Was that his voice? It seemed so distant.
“Hmm?” He tried to lift his head but it felt stuffed with cotton. His whole body was wrapped in the stuff. And it wasn’t the warm, safe feeling he had come to expect with his lover. No, this was sinister, insidious, a mummy-wrapped sensation, a feeling of being restrained that made his hair stand on end. He had to get out.
“Angel! Open your eyes! Please, open your eyes!”
Yeah, if he opened his eyes, it would be all better. He had to open —
“Gnnn,” he groaned, his eyes slamming shut when lasers tried to blind him.
“Come on, baby,” someone was demanding. “Open those beautiful green eyes for me. You can do it, Angel. Open your eyes.”
It was a voice he knew — trusted —
“Aaamber?” His mouth was dry and tasted sharply of panic, if panic could be assigned a taste.
“Yes, baby. Now open those eyes for me, Angel. Come on, baby. Open up those big beautiful eyes.”
He tried again and, through the blinding white, he could make out a dark shadow. It leaned closer and then colors began to show.
“Yes, baby. Come on, Angel. You need to wake up. We have to get you out –”
Out? Have to — Klintic!
He didn’t know he’d shouted the name until Amber spoke again. He lurched to his feet only to fall back down, hard. His knee was on fire, and it felt like a thousand needles were stabbing him all at once.
“He’s not here, Angel.” She reached for him, trying to keep him steady. “We have to think about you now.”
His vision cleared enough for him to notice the blinding lights were from the emergency vehicles surrounding his house. Amber was standing by him in a ratty bathrobe, her hair tied in a scarf, while two men with a gurney raced in.
“Amber…” His head felt like it was going to slide off his neck. Something thick and warm ran into his eyes, stinging them, making them water as he tried to focus on her. “They took him.”
“Who?” she demanded as the paramedics pushed her aside.
“I don’t know –”
“Sir? Sir, can you understand my voice?”
The paramedics were talking to him, but he had to find out what had happened to his lover. He had to let someone know.
“Men in black, Amber. They looked like fucking paramilitary!”
He would have said more, but a paramedic rolled his naked body over, trying to straighten him out, and he let out a shout of pain. Then there was an oxygen mask being strapped to his face, a blood pressure cuff on his arm, and it seemed like even more people joined the crowd to lift him onto a gurney after a backboard was secured to his frame.
“Careful,” someone called out. “He’s covered in glass. Some of it’s embedded in his skin.”
“Sir? Can you tell me your name?”
“Angel Falls,” he answered through the gas mask, trying to look around through what seemed like hundreds of people in his living room for Amber.
“He’ll have to be debriefed at the hospital –”
And then a blanket was tossed over him. He began to shiver, his thoughts swirling, fear for his lover taking precedence over everything else. Who had taken Klintic? Why?