Black Bird: Summoning
Aug. 31st, 2005 08:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mistersmith_tm(Continued from here)
Mister Smith awoke with a start. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
The last warm vestiges of sleep dropped from him and left behind a cold fear in the pit of his stomach. Sitting upright, he anxiously looked around the twilight darkness. The twins slept peacefully in their cribs near the foot of the bed. Safe and undisturbed. Beside him, Aille murmured something in her sleep but did not waken.
Go. Go now!
The Voice in his head was strong and insistent. Urgent. Demanding.
Mister Smith answered. Slipping out of the bed, he dressed quickly but quietly in the dark bedroom. Trousers, black t-shirt, plaid overshirt, and his sturdy traveling shoes. He opened the darkroom door, intent on finding his battered old knapsack, but stopped abruptly as the Voice insisted there was no time.
Hurry!
He abandoned all thought of the backpack and turned once more to his family. There was no time to leave a note. No time to wake Aille up and explain. And if he did – she would insist on coming, and that he would not risk.
Somewhere a terrible wrong would come to pass if he didn't try to stop it.
He bent down to kiss his sleeping babies. "Daddy loves you," he whispered to each, trying to believe in his heart of hearts that he would be back.
Aille murmured again, as if sensing something was wrong. He couldn't afford to wait any longer. Couldn't risk her waking. And yet he bent to kiss her as well, barely brushing her cheek. "I love you," he said, so softly it was barely audible.
There was no time to stop by Rose's room to kiss her goodbye. No time to peek in on Joan or Bliss or their little one.
Time was running out . . .
Mister Smith awoke with a start. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
The last warm vestiges of sleep dropped from him and left behind a cold fear in the pit of his stomach. Sitting upright, he anxiously looked around the twilight darkness. The twins slept peacefully in their cribs near the foot of the bed. Safe and undisturbed. Beside him, Aille murmured something in her sleep but did not waken.
Go. Go now!
The Voice in his head was strong and insistent. Urgent. Demanding.
Mister Smith answered. Slipping out of the bed, he dressed quickly but quietly in the dark bedroom. Trousers, black t-shirt, plaid overshirt, and his sturdy traveling shoes. He opened the darkroom door, intent on finding his battered old knapsack, but stopped abruptly as the Voice insisted there was no time.
Hurry!
He abandoned all thought of the backpack and turned once more to his family. There was no time to leave a note. No time to wake Aille up and explain. And if he did – she would insist on coming, and that he would not risk.
Somewhere a terrible wrong would come to pass if he didn't try to stop it.
He bent down to kiss his sleeping babies. "Daddy loves you," he whispered to each, trying to believe in his heart of hearts that he would be back.
Aille murmured again, as if sensing something was wrong. He couldn't afford to wait any longer. Couldn't risk her waking. And yet he bent to kiss her as well, barely brushing her cheek. "I love you," he said, so softly it was barely audible.
There was no time to stop by Rose's room to kiss her goodbye. No time to peek in on Joan or Bliss or their little one.
Time was running out . . .
