Panic

John opened his eyes after blowing on the candles. I don't like being the center of attention like this, he thought to himself. He looked around and saw his sister and father clapping as Carol proceeded to cut the cake. He sat there silently eating his piece of cake as everyone chatted away. He couldn't make out what they were saying no matter how hard he tried to pay attention. Ursula turned to him said something but he looked at her and couldn't hear what she said. He panicked. Grabbing his head like he was in deep pain he stood up suddenly knocking his cake to the floor. He walked over to the sink and splashed some water on his face since he was feeling hot and then turned back to look at his family.

"Thanks for the invite ..." he trailed of as he couldn't hear his own voice. What was happening? A fear gripped him like a dark slithering hand from the ground was making its way up to his chest. He felt constricted and couldn't breathe. He tried taking in a deep breath while clutching at his neck and as he fell he woke up.

"Mom?" he said and confirmed he could hear and let out a sigh of relief before he started to worry again. He remembered he had fallen at the gallery. He was in a dark enclosed space and thought for a second he was surrounded but other attendees. It was quiet and he tried to look around but his eyes took some time to adjust to the dim light. He tried to sit up but a sharp pain shot through his abdomen. He panicked and moved his hand but felt something rough like a bandage. His eyes finally adjusted and he took in his environment as he forced himself to stand. He was in a small wooden room that was pentagon in shape. The bed was against one wall with a knee level table at the foot of it. On the table were rolls of clean bandages a metal basin and some towels. The smell of blood was everywhere making him feel nauseous.

On the wall to the right there was a bookshelf. Half of the shelves had books while the others had scrolls. On the wall to the right there was a huge wardrobe. the final two walls both had doors one of which was locked. The room was lit by candles which were placed on the corners of each wall. He limped through the door and into a long narrow hallway. He could hear hushed voices coming from the farthest room where a warm gentle light seemed to emanate. He limped painfully towards the room and stopped when he entered. There was a fireplace on the wall opposite the door he had just got through and above it was the mounted head of a creature he had seen before. It looked like the head of a T-rex only it had horns.

Was this a collector's house, a guest from the gallery maybe he thought to himself. There were three cushioned chairs and a table in between then. An old man and a young lady were sitting whispering before they noticed and turned around. The young lady quickly stood up and walked to where he was leaning on the wall and said something in a language he didn't understand as she walked him over to the chair she had vacated and helped him sit down. She said something else and walked off to a room behind him. He turned his gaze towards the old man who was now staring at the fire. The old man had long flowing white hair with a few black strands from the top to his right temple. He wore dark colored pants that stopped below the knees, White knee high socks, heeled boots that made his feet look small and a loose white shirt with a plunging neckline revealing a lot of chest hair. His whole outfit made him look like he was cosplaying the 18th century. His face was wrinkled and he had a mole next to his right eye. John smiled a little.

The old man then turned and looked at him and he felt as if he had been caught and looked quickly into the fire. The old man said something and he turned and looked at him as if asking him to repeat but it was more like a look of bewilderment. The old man repeated what he had said but John was now sure he didn't understand.

"I don't understand your language," John said as he winced from pain. It was now the old mans turn to be shocked. The old man looked at the fire again and made a nostalgic smile. John sat there silently, glad that the conversation had ended, he had many questions to ask he wasn't sure how to approach the subject. The young lady from before came back carrying a blanket which she placed on John and the walked off again. Why thank you stranger, he thought to himself. After a few minutes she came back carrying a tray with a tea pot and three cups.

She spoke to him again and the old man interjected and her eyes widened for a second.

"Tis a surprise," she said in a heavy accent, "Hardly anyone speaks the language." So that's what he said, John watched her as she poured three cups of tea and gently placed one in his hand. After giving the old man his she walked to the farthest chair sat down and looked at him.

"Tis very good that you woke up, but you should rest more. You were in a very bad way when I found you." She said as she sipped her tea. John sipped his tea and looked into the fire. "Do you remember how you ended up there?" she inquired.

"Where? At the gallery? I had an invite." John replied. The girl looked at him confused

"Whats a gallery?" She asked and John stared blankly at her. He no longer understood what was going on. He looked at the girl again. She had brown hair that was made up into a bun. She was wearing a blue knee length dress. She seemed younger than him. In the dim light he thought she looked handsome. She sipped her tea again as she waited for him to answer.

"A place where you look at paintings and drawings." He said as he looked at the mounted head. He turned his head more to avoid her gaze than to look around the room. The room had a huge window behind where the girl sat. Behind the old man were two paintings that were too hard to make out in the light.

"The last thing I remember was looking at a huge painting..." he paused for a moment "... the painting are connected," he muttered. The old man suddenly turned his gaze towards him frightening John and then looked back at the fire again.

"That's all i remember," John hesitantly finished saying. The room became eerily quiet. He was half expecting the girl to explain how he came to be there but no one said anything after that. The old man looked like he was deep in thought. John was growing tired and he felt the urge to sleep. He placed his cup on the table and made to walk back towards the room where he had woken up. The girl didn't stop him. As he was near the door to the hall way he heard a whisper. He turned back thinking the old man had said something but from this angle he looked as if he was asleep. As he was turning back he heard it again only it was a little louder this time. He could tell it came from the wall where the paintings hung and walked towards them. He limped there expecting to hear it again but nothing.

"Did you hear that?" he asked the room and the girl just stared at him making him think he was imagining it after-all he was badly injured and tired. But the voice echoed again only this time he knew exactly where to look. He made to crouch but he groaned in pain instead. The girl walked over to help him stand. He waved his hand to say he was fine and forced himself to bend. He was sure the voice was coming from the wall beneath the paintings. He was holding the right side of his stomach with one hand and leaning on the wall with the other.

The voice continued to chant, as he bent slowly touching the wall. Ghosts? he thought to himself though he liked to say he didn't believe in such nonsense, there had to be an explanation. The voice was getting louder and louder. When he was finally on his knees he heard the old man shout, "Don't!!" but it was already too late. He heard a zap and felt a tingle as a burst of electricity shot from the wall into his left hand throwing him toward the back of the old man's chair, who was now standing. The pain returned two fold and he begun to bleed again. He fell to his side as a sword running with electricity stabbed the floor next to him and he passed out.

URSULA.

The phone was ringing as she woke up that Wednesday. She looked at the caller ID, it was Carol.

"Hey mom, thanks for waking me." She said grumpily.

"Sula, have you talked to John?" a panicked Carol asked over the phone.

"I haven't spoken to him since Monday when I left. Whats the matter?" she asked as she waved to here roommate who was in the kitchen.

"He hasn't been home since he left, he isn't picking his phone or replying to my messages, something might have happened to him." Carol said

"Call the police, I'll be right over." she said as she hurried to the shower.

John never left his phone, unless he was at work. he texted people in the house sitting next to him. That was how attached to his phone he was. To not pick up the phone for two days, something must have happened. Ursula knew it was dangerous to use the phone while driving but at this moment she didn't care. As soon as she exited the parking lot she tried to call John. "The number you have dialed is currently switched of or out of the service ..." she hung up after hearing the generic message. She called Carol again and asked her if the police had arrived. She was hoping to arrive before they did but that didn't matter. Traffic out of the city was not so bad early in the morning so she got home in 30 minutes. A black and white police car was parked in the driveway so she parked on the street.

She walked in, sat next to Carol and held her hand.

"And who are you, miss?" The police officer asked

"This is Sula.. Ursula, my daughter." Carol replied.

"How did your son behave the last time you saw him?" the officer had been in the middle of asking as Ursula walked in.

"He was in a good mood that day, he woke up hours earlier than he usually would. He was going to visit a gallery that day."

"Gallery?" the officer said.

"The paintings that were in the news a few months ago were being shown, John, is an art student and he had been looking forward to it." Ursula said.

"Porticus," the other officer said, "The chief was attending with his wife. Maybe your son was meeting with friends after."

Carol looked at Ursula and shook her head.

"Ma'am, is there anything else you can tell us?" the first officer asked.

Carol shook her head again and said they can look in his room. Ursula offered to show them the way as Carol walked to the kitchen to make some juice.

John's room was well arranged, he had many things but the arrangement made it look as if you could see everything from the center of the room.

"Officer?" Ursula asked.

"Marcus." the African-American said, "and this is my partner Officer Bradley."

"You should probably look above the wardrobe he keeps his manuscripts there." she informed as she stood in the center of the room looking for anything amiss. It still bothered her that his room was always neater than hers.

She walked down stairs to look for Carol who was in the dining room staring blankly out the window. Picking the phone from her pocket she called her father to tell him of what was going on but he was busy at work and would try to stop by at lunch time.

"Meet me at Porticus around that time," she interjected. Her father knew the owner of the gallery, "Someone must have seen him leave."

The police officers came down empty handed and said the would pay a visit to the gallery. After the officers left, Ursula went over to her mothers side to talk to her.

"Thank you for handling that, I've been pretty out of it since the car wash manager called asking if John was going to work yesterday."

"Don't worry we'll find him," Ursula comforted picking the already empty glass from her mother's hands and placing it on the sink. "I am meeting dad at the gallery around lunch time, I'll call you as soon as i know anything."

She was now at the door about to leave when she looked back at Carol. She forced a smile and waved her hand. Ursula left and drove back to the city. Traffic had eased up a bit and she realized she was going to be late and had not informed her supervisor.

"F**k," she cussed as she honked pointlessly.