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He recalled her almost childlike, voice. She sang to him, not because she had a gift, but because it brought her joy. The lyrics were not of any Christian hymns he recognized.
“The Red Album,” he repeated, recalling the words from his dream, the air fizzing with the dulcet echo of her voice.
He wrote down the red album, wondering what it meant and how it might help him find her. As he wrote down his memories, more came. A road sign with a number one, blue fabric, a necklace shaped like the letter Y with a circle pendant, and salt. There had been lots of salt in his dream, falling like a waterfall through a small glass opening. But none of these details helped him find her.
Slamming the book shut, he glared at the filtered slices of daylight cutting across the carpet. He’d slept as long as he could manage. Now he wanted to hunt, but the sun held him prisoner.
He packed up his personal belongings and waited. Hunger gnawed at him and he needed a distraction. He picked up a device beside the phone and examined the faded buttons. No wires. He flipped open a small compartment on the flat side and discovered batteries. Replacing the cover, he cautiously pressed buttons.
“I want you to imagine with me, if you can, that you have been stuck, trapped in a space that is so disgustingly full of junk that you can barely walk, let alone find a place to lay your head.”
A rotund man with a mustache spoke to him from the television set. Eyes wide, Adam lowered to the foot of the bed and stared at the picture on the screen. An audience listened to the man as he preached about something called hoarding. It was a new term to Adam.
The picture shifted to a room packed with modern amenities, items Adam had never seen before towering to the ceiling. Laundry flung on the floor and spilling out of tubs. Who needed so much?
Such abundance could only invite trouble. Was this how the English lived?
Piles upon piles of rubbish, food crawling with insects, boxes overflowing with gadgets, rumpled clothing, and cats. Why would anyone keep so many cats inside?
The man with the mustache navigated the clutter, no longer in front of the mass of people, but walking with a woman through the mess. The mess was gone, and they were suddenly sitting in front of the audience. The quick switch disoriented him.
“Stay tuned as we look into what might cause an ordinary person to turn into a pathological hoarder. And see if we have any advice that might help someone in your family.”
Again, the image changed. A man riding a bicycle smiled at a woman as a deep voice spoke of something called E.D. Whatever the condition, a small, blue tablet claimed to be the cure. Adam didn’t understand what he was watching, nor was he prepared for so many warnings regarding his health. Based on the last few minutes of television, the English seemed plagued by everything from depression to life threatening disease. Were all humans this fragile?
The short stories made no sense. A couple sharing coffee and then walking hand in hand. Smiling in bed... Who openly portrayed such intimacies for the world to see?
Appalled, he pressed buttons on the handheld control until the set went dark and silent. “I miss home.”
Collecting his belongings, he braced to face the lingering daylight, exited the room, and headed east. He found himself in a metropolitan area, disoriented by the tall buildings and busy roads.
“Pardon me...” When he spoke, it seemed as if everyone around him was deaf. The traffic light changed, and a small stampede of mortals charged in his direction.
“Miss, could you help me...”
When the woman kept walking, his words tapered off. Did they not speak English? He listened, overhearing the nearby voices inside of passing cars and buildings. He understood fine, so why couldn’t they understand him.
“Excuse me, sir, I’m looking for a road called One.”
A man with a full beard and black-framed glasses paused. “One?” He pushed some sort of contraption between his lips and exhaled a cloud of vapor. “There is no One. You mean Front Street?”
“No, I’m certain it’s One.”
“Sorry, brother. I’m not sure.” And off he went in a fog of skunked air.
Mortals traveled fast by vehicle and foot, always rushing to get somewhere. And when the roads grew congested, they honked horns and yelled obscenities to the people blocking their way.
While Adam possessed inhuman speed, he lacked the hurried agitation of the English. And though he was stronger, faster, and possessed greater sensory knowledge than they could ever imagine, there were more of them than him and he was feeling dizzy and overwhelmed by their presence and innumerable feelings assaulting him.
“She’s not here,” he determined, speaking out loud since no one seemed to pay him any mind.
