Shadowline Drift: A Metaphysical Thriller - Plot & Excerpts
Not the absence of sound—the forest was filled with songs, hoots, and calls that filtered through the window into the room—but the absence of human sound. Pilar’s voice. The women coming and going, chattering among themselves. Sounds that reassured him he was no longer alone. The air in the little mud-brick room felt stifling. He got up to explore. Probably the only chance he would get. With Naheyo’s cane to steady him, he hobbled down the corridor, an ungainly spy, pushing aside each doorway blanket to peek inside the rooms. They were all much the same. Unlike the room where he stayed, the walls were beamed in the corners. Strung between two of the posts, on iron eyehooks, a rope hammock was positioned to catch the breeze that came through the mosquito-netted window. Every room also held a dresser—each one identical to begin with, but now customized by the owner—spirals and dots on one, painted handprints on another, a painted vine climbing the drawers of yet a third.
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