Dexter Darker had been in one of his fogs for two days now. He was borderline unresponsive to the two caseworkers who were transporting him. He made no effort to get to know them, and if he had gotten separated from them he would have had no way to recognize them again.
How long had he been in this car? Was this the same as the other car from yesterday? They were taking him somewhere, yes. For now he wanted to think. To be still as ice and think. They say people grieve in different ways, so people who cared or just people who were professionally bound to observe him chalked up his behavior to grief. Young Darker had not been indifferent to his parents, nor did he suffer from sociopathy, psychopathy or borderline personality disorder. However, 'grieving' was not a function he had developed yet. Right now he wanted to think and he was concerned about what his parents death would mean for his future. He wanted his life to change for the better. A better education more prospects for the future and a girlfriend for starters.
He was just coming to a stopping point in his thinking because he did not have enough external data to analyze. It had all been introspection, then. Another functionary of social services, this one a local, was exchanging paperwork with the chauffeur and chaperone. They told him he could go up the walkway and on into the house, one of them might have said 'good luck' in a lame sort of way.
It was a wooden door with a bronze knob. The knob was in the middle, not on the left or right. Most knobs had grease and sweat and other deposits from too many filthy hands, this one did not, Darker could tell at a glance that it did not. The boys mouth opened in anticipation. Bronze, cracked bronze green from the rains, set in, what sort of wood? A bamboo? Very modern. Darker pressed a palm against the door and held the bronze in his other hand. The Bamboo had been treated thickly with oils but they had been natural oils and the boy could still feel the virtue of Asian forests. This place was pristine.
Darker closed the door and barred it, sealing off the outside world. The intoxicating scent of a woman down the hall wearing silk; A rich, pure oxygen supply; baked goods; more bamboo, heated.
The hallway rug, too, Persian. Woven in a place where incense was burning. It felt very plushy under his shoes, like a thick blanket. 232 symmetrical knots per square inch, 6th century. The minty condition of the rug did not make sense considering its age.
Darker strode down the hall to an entryway. There was a large flat-screen monitor on the wall with a fireplace fire going on. The floor was bamboo,and it was being heated from underneath. Most importantly a tall, leggy woman stood in the middle of the room.
*Please, god let this be my Aunt* thought the boy. |