He thought about sitting up and found himself jacking to a sitting position quickly and smoothly without feeling any muscle strain at all, which was a little weird because, on his best day, a sit up could still be felt.
From a sitting position he could see idyllic pastoral scenes in every direction. Flora and fauna abiding in a state of otherworldly perfection, Spring-time harmony on steroids. Grassy hills, flowered paths, trees with silver-dollar-shaped leaves danced in the little breeze and birds sang in a way that would probably be pleasing to most people.
Sol had already been losing his battle with flute irritation. The birds just ratcheted his annoyance up several notches. He was trying to remember how one gets birds to shut it or move on, when his attention was pulled toward the sheep. They were fat and fluffy, snowy white, with pretty black faces and shiny dainty hooves. And one of them was staring straight at him instead of being down with the phony-looking grass like his brethren. Sol tried staring the sheep down and eventually concluded that the animal was too stupid to realize that Sol had just alpha’d the crap out of him.
“Hey. Eyes to the grass!” Rather than having the desired effect, Sol’s instruction to the curious sheep seemed to make him more interesting to the creature. That, added to the irritation of the birds and flute was just too much.
“WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM? YOU ARE A HAIR’S BREADTH AWAY FROM BECOMING A LAMB PIE!”
In response the sheep bleated, but Sol knew all the way to the bottom of his core that it was intended as a raspberry.
He was in the process of standing with plans to throttle the errant ovine, when he noticed that he was wearing a toga. A white toga. Complete with one shoulder and a skirt that ended above the knee. No shoes, and a quick check confirmed that there was nothing underneath the toga either. Nothing supporting or protecting or covering the package, that is.
The bad news was that he was shoeless and naked except for a short ass toga. The good news was that some of his anger dissipated when he realized that the sheep actually had a legitimate reason to be looking at him funny.
When Sol got to his feet, the sheep bleated again.
“Yeah. That’s what I think, too,” he grumbled.
Looking in the direction of voices, it seemed the most logical possibility for determining where he was, how he got there, and, more importantly, how to recover his clothes and get the hel out.
CHAPTER 3
Jefferson Unit, Fort Dixon, New Jersey, Loti Dimension
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
The caller didn’t need to identify himself by name. Litha knew his voice very, very well. Well enough to hear every layer of weariness and to note the absence of his usual exuberance.
“Hi, Glen. How are you? Haven’t heard from you for a while.”
“Yeah.”
Litha was nothing if not patient. She could wait him out no matter how long it took, but as the silence stretched, she felt a maternal need to rescue him from awkward conversation. “We’ve missed you.”
He cleared his throat. “Am I still invited to Thursday night dinners?”
She smiled at the phone. “I think you know the answer to that. Standing invitation for Thursday or anytime at all. Shall we expect you tomorrow?”
“I’d, um, like that.”
“Sure. I’ll come get you. You know Rosie’s not here though. Right?”
There was another pause. “Not there as in…what do you mean?”
“Not here as in gone, Glen.”
“Gone where?”
“We don’t know. Precisely.”
There was a pause. “For how long?”
“We don’t know that either. Actually I was hoping you might shed some light on the situation. I know it’s prying and might only be considered my business indirectly, but do you think her sudden need for time away has something to do with you?”
After another pause, he sighed. “Maybe.” He said it quietly with a hint of something that might have been embarrassment.