It’s a shocking conclusion in a shocking scenario, and could I be any shallower?
Come on, Dorothy.
Beside me, Toto growls.
The man chuckles and gives Toto a pat on the head and Toto tries nipping at his hand.
“Toto! Don’t you dare!”
“Feisty little thing, are you?” the man says.
“I’m so sorry. He thinks he’s bigger than he is.”
The man finally looks at me. His eyes are bright green. An alarming shade, like the color of the soft pulp of a lime.
“Are you from around here?” I ask him.
He’s wearing a black shirt with an abstract design embroidered in gold along the collar. Over it, he’s got on a black jacket with broad shoulders and narrow lapels.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess he’s just come from a fancy party.
“Hmm.” The sound hums in the base of his throat. He glances left, then right, but there’s nothing to see. Just rows and rows of corn. He frowns and runs his tongue over his bottom lip, swiping away some of the blood. There is a searching hunger on his face. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?”
“You don’t know if you’re from here?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t remember anything before waking.”
“You have no memory?”
“I guess not.”
There’s a cut along his forehead, another on his cheek,and his hair is wet and mussed like he’s been baking in the sun all day.
“Do you have a name?” I ask.
Toto finally curls into my side.
The man narrows his eyes, thinking. “I’m afraid I don’t remember that either. But you said you thought I was a scarecrow? Perhaps that is my name.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“For lack of a better one…”
I consider him for a second. His hair is black like a crow, and his features are sharp like one too. Em always said the crows on the farm were wise creatures, all-knowing. And even though this man has no memories, there is a depth to his gaze that feels bottomless.
“Rook is another name for crow. How about if we call you Rook for now?”
The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly. “A worthy name.” But then he collapses into a fit of wet, hacking coughs.
“I have water. Hold on. Let me… it’s in my basket. I’ll be right back.”
I race back through the corn, then launch myself over the fence, retrieving my picnic basket where I dropped it on the Yellow Brick Road. When I return to him, the coughing has subsided, but his head is resting against the pole, his eyes closed.
Is he dead?
Encountering two dead bodies in this strange land in just a matter of hours can’t possibly be a good omen.
I inch forward, eyeing the man’s chest. But with his dark clothing, and the dark sky overhead, it’s impossible to tell.
