Weekend - By Christopher Pike Page 0,40

house. She was being given a choice, she felt, and not being controlled. But her suspicion list was long and jotted with question marks, with not a single answer. She had to return to the house with more than she had left. Whispering a prayer for protection, she started towards the light.

He was alone, dressed in white, sitting cross-legged near a small fire, facing the twilight. He did not look up as she approached. She noticed yellow flowers - dandelions - blooming in a nearby bush.

Instinctively, she plucked them.

"Hello," she said, holding forth her small bouquet. He looked at her then and smiled faintly, stretching out his hand to accept her gift. His hair was long and silver, his posture straight and firm. Energy sparkled in his clear eyes. Taking the flowers, he touched her briefly, gesturing that she should sit beside him. His hand was warm, soft. She made herself comfortable.

"I don't speak Spanish, but I wanted to talk to you. Do you understand me?"

He nodded, putting the flowers in a clay vase filled with water. He smiled for her to go on. He had a nice smile. It seemed on the verge of bursting forth into laughter, a frail cap on a well of unfathomable joy.

Any thought that he was evil dissolved.

"I know you know Robin... Robin Carlton?" She took a breath. "Is she going to die?"

What was she waiting for? He couldn't speak English, even if he could somehow sense her meaning. Yet he seemed to be considering her question. He raised his head, whistled softly. A few seconds later a blackbird landed at the edge of the camp and walked purposefully towards him, hopping on to his shoulder. He whispered to the bird. The way it nodded in response, Shani could not help but believe it understood what he was saying. The bird stared at her, cocking its head quizzically, as though wondering, what's your problem, girl? She wanted to laugh, but it suddenly left its perch on the old man's shoulder and landed on hers. For a moment she was frightened, lest it peck at her eyes. But then it began to tug lightly at her hair with its beak, creating the same sensation as when she got her hair cut, a sensation she found divinely relaxing. The old man began to hum softly. The fire crackled and sparkled, the flames dancing in rhythm with the pleasing chant. She was suddenly so very sleepy that she had to close her eyes. The bird teased individual hair shafts, which she imagined were attached deep inside her brain, stimulating areas she seldom used, soothing areas she used too often. Her anxieties began to fall off. And her head began to fall...

It was dark; the man and fire were gone. Far below, the hill was slipping quickly behind as her perspective glided effortlessly over the weed-choked miles. Up ahead was the Carlton Castle, the black ocean beyond, both approaching swiftly. A warm light shone through a window on the top storey of the house. Her course focused there, and a moment later she hovered outside the closed window. Robin lay inside, asleep beneath a patchwork quilt. She wanted to speak to her, reassure herself that she was okay.

Was that not why she was here? But when she tried to tap on the window, her arms were sluggish and lacked strength. Robin dreamed on. However, there were two others in the room, and they heard the knocking. One of them rose from Robin's desk and hurried to the window, pulling back the curtains.

In amazement, she stared back, staring at herself.

"Good-bye," Shani said, standing. "I'll have to come and visit you again with Robin so we can talk together." She chuckled, embarrassed. "Next time I promise I won't fall asleep. I don't, usually."

He nodded, returning her smile. Though they had been unable to converse, she felt his calming presence had relieved many of her worries. Her doubts and questions were still there, but they seemed far away, troubling someone else. Her untimely nap had been especially refreshing. She'd had the strangest dream... one she couldn't quite remember. She wondered where the bird was. Vaguely, while she had been dozing, she recalled it having launched itself into the night, plucking a beakful of hair off the crown of her head in the process. The old man took one of the flowers, gave it to her.

"Que bonita," he said.

Leaving the warmth and peace of the man, she clutched