By Nick Hayden
June 7, 2013
I still hear that voice, faint but constant. I force the door to the next room open, the hinges protesting. The floor above is visible. Two more dead, and one alive beneath the rubble. Grigor. He likes tea. That’s all I can remember of him at the moment, all that sticks. He stares up at the third-floor ceiling. His legs are pinned beneath a cabinet. He’s cut somehow; I see blood pooled beneath his lower body. His lips are moving, and sometimes they make noise. I come to him.
“Do you know where Calea Lisan is?”
He stares at me, confused. Suddenly, his hand is at my neck, fumbling for my collar.
“I had a dream,” he says. “I knew I would die this way.”
* * *
I read this passage during one of my last edits of The Select’s Bodyguard, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember why I wrote it this way. This throwaway character had a dream about his death? There was a story there, somewhere. (This is how I write, with random details I can come back and unpack later if I want.) (more…)