“Iamhappy,” Jem said.He rolled out of bed and padded toward the bathroom.“I’m going to get ready for bed.”
7
The dream was one of the old ones, one that he hadn’t dreamed in a long time.He was lost.And it was dark.A long way off, high above him, was a rectangle of light.And he knew, because he’d had this dream before, there were stairs that led up.
The sound of a phone ripped Jem out of the dream.He sat up.One leg stuck out from under the covers, and that foot felt frozen.The fireplace.The leather sofa.Watery gray light smearing along brass trim.A clock next to the bed blinked 12:00 over and over again.Then it came back to him: the lodge.
The phone was still ringing.
Next to him, Tean was starting to sit up, already reaching for his glasses on the nightstand.
“I got it,” Jem mumbled and slipped-staggered-stumbled across the room.
A light was flashing on the phone in time with the ringing.Jem snatched it up.He scratched out, “’lo?”
“Jeremiah.”Brigitte’s voice was wrong.Raspy.Hoarse.“It’s Gerald.Gerald’s dead.”
“What?”
“They’re saying he’s dead,” Brigitte said and started to cry.
“Where are you?”Upright now, Tean watched him, his face serious behind the heavy black frames.Jem shook his head at the unasked question.“What room?”
“Twenty-seven,” she said, and then it came back to him—the bar, the room charge.
“I’ll be right there.”
He dropped the phone in the cradle and grabbed his chinos.
“What’s wrong?”Tean said.“What happened?”
Jem told him.
Tean scrambled out of bed, grabbed his pants, and stepped into them.
Five minutes later, they were in the elevator.The car had a parquet floor and mirrored walls, and Jem saw himself: rumpled clothes, hair a mess, raccoon eyes.He started tucking in his shirt.Tean fixed his collar for him.The doc’s shirt, somehow, was unwrinkled, the trousers neat.His hair was wild, but not any wilder than usual.His eyebrowsdidlook—well,electrocutedwas probably the closest word for it.
Light, reflected in the mirrored walls, made him think of the dream.It had been one of the first homes.Maybethefirst.And he’d been in a new place, sleeping among strangers.In the basement.They’d been nice enough about it when he’d stumbled up the stairs, sobbing.The first time.
You were sleeping in a new place, he thought.It’s that kind of dream.
He tried to focus.Be present.But it was like his thoughts kept turning and bending, and every time he came around a corner, there was the dream again: lost, dark, that high up patch of light.
It turned out thattwenty-sevenwasn’t a room.
It was a chalet.Which was apparently what they called it when you rented your own house at the lodge.
“Just follow the walkway,” a bag-eyed bellboy said.“There are signs for the chalets.”
“Got it,” Jem said and started for the doors.
“You’ll want your coat, sir.”
“I’ll grab them—” Tean began.
“Great,” Jem said and pushed out into the shock of the storm.
It wasstillsnowing—swirling gusts of snow, and cold like the first shock after he’d bitten the inside of his cheek.The wind made the snow ripple, spin, turn.Five strides from the door, it was wrapping itself around Jem, stinging his eyes, tangling his legs.The covered walkways didn’t help at all.Maybe, in theory, the concrete was supposed to be cleared, but with the snow coming from every direction, it already lay in drifts that were inches thick.Jem’s ROOS had zero traction and almost sent him ass-over-ankles more than once.The howl of the wind was so loud that he could barely hear the crunch of the snow underfoot.It sounded—a part of him distantly thought—like wolves.
