Chapter 5
Chapter Five
I wipe the sleep from my eyes. “Where the fuck am I?”
As I wake up and take in my surroundings, I realize that last night hadn’t been a strange nightmare fueled by recent events.
If anything, this is a sustained hallucination.
That’s the only way a parking lot could disappear, landing me in the middle of the woods until I could crash at some Amish dude’s house.
It also would account for some voice telling me I leveled up.
What’s almost as weird is how great my mental clarity is within minutes of waking up. I haven’t even had coffee yet. I’m sharp and aware of everything, but that’s not necessarily a good thing for someone with my special brand of anxiety.
I’ve been so focused on the ren faire quality of the room I’m in that I take a while to realize something very important.
My ankle feels fine. I lift it slightly and gasp when I see it.
There’s no more discoloration or swelling.
I can stretch my foot this way and that without even a twinge of discomfort.
Where’d my t-shirt scrap I wrapped it with go?
No matter how much I look around, I can’t find it anywhere, and there aren’t exactly a lot of places for it to hide in this one-room hut.
Did the farmer take it? Did he touch me in my sleep?
A shiver rattles up my spine. My imagination certainly cooked up a total creep with Celeas.
I pinch myself, trying to snap myself out of this illusion. All it does is hurt a little. I slap my cheeks. Nothing. Everything seems too real—from the scratchiness of the bed to the smell of manure coming from outside.
What if I was coming out of my hallucination when I arrived at Celeas’s place? That would explain a lot. If so, I definitely want to get as far from here as possible. Nothing in me wants to stay in a weird stranger’s house a second longer.
Sadly, I still don’t have a shirt to wear. I have to go outside with only a bra and leggings on like I’m doing the Walk of Shame.
I grab my purse and steel myself for judging eyes. I just need to get home. No one’s going to arrest me for only having a bra as a top. It’s the old ugly one that covers more than a bikini top. It’s not like I’m breaking some nudity law. Right?
When I open the door, I realize I don’t need to be afraid of people gawking at me.
The only person around is Celeas, and he’s busy ineffectually swishing a scythe around in one spot of a small patch of wheat immediately to the right of his hut.
I know the polite thing to do is to thank him for his help before leaving but…
Fuck being polite. That dude gives me the fucking creeps.
I’m not sure I can simply sneak away without going through the forest again, though.
There’s a seemingly endless expanse of rolling green hills around me.
If he pays attention to anything other than his mindless activity, he’ll spot me.
I decide to try it anyway and crouch as I turn the corner, keeping my eyes trained on Celeas as I do so.
I should have done a better job looking where I was going because I stumble into an empty barrel and fall with a loud thud.
“Shit!” I shout on instinct and then immediately clap my hand over my mouth.
The farmer doesn’t say anything or even look my way. He just keeps robotically swishing his scythe around. He has no clue I’m even there.
Did I die and become a ghost?
To test my morbid theory, I walk right up to Celeas and wave my hand in his face. He keeps his eyes focused on the wheat he’s failing to reap, despite all his effort.
“Hello?” I say like it’s a question.
At that, Celeas turns to face me.
“Hello,” he says. “Sorry for the way I look. Farming makes me sweaty.”
“Yeah, you said that before. Look, thanks for letting me crash at your place last night.”
Celeas smiles. “I haven’t had a guest in a long time. I’m not used to making myself presentable.”
Déjà fucking vu, Mr. Serial Killer Vibes.
“Well, thanks again for letting me stay. You even let me sleep in your bed.”
Without missing a beat, Celeas says, “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Okay, I’m saying goodbye now!”
The farmer returns to swishing around like an idiot.
Jesus Fucking Christ, I need to get home.
I scan my surroundings, seeing nothing but a narrow dirt road stretching from another patch of woodland to the distant hills. No rideshare service would come out here. Not that I can get a ride without my cellphone.
The moment I groan at my situation, a small group of people around my age walks out from the trees. My first assumption is that they’re part of the Amish community, but when they get closer, I see that they’re dressed in cosplay. They’re probably passing through like me.
On foot and in costume?
They’re more prepared for whatever their journey is than I am, though. I look down at my bra. It’s the comfy beige one with stains that I wear when I know there was no chance in hell I’m getting laid. Which is pretty much always.
At least one of them has to have a cell phone. So, as embarrassing as it is, I cross my arms over my chest and walk over.
It’s a motley crew. There’s a short young woman with chin-length black hair, a swarthy complexion, and hazel brown eyes.
Based on her all-black clothing, she seems to be cosplaying as a ninja, sans the face covering.
There’s a redhead who looks a lot like if a Viking and a supermodel had a baby.
She’s wearing a suit made entirely of animal skins.
The third person is a black woman with a sweet smile and a pastel pink afro that reminds me of cotton candy.
If not for the leather armor, I’d assume kawaii trinkets from her favorite animes filled her house.
There are also two men. One is lanky with pale skin, black hair, and blue eyes, and he holds a sword.
He’s exactly the kind of guy who would show you his sweet katana moves if you made the mistake of going to his house.
The second one is handsome in an “I have a wicked sense of humor, but I can do more than make you laugh” kind of way.
He looks a lot like a young Ryan Reynolds, but he’s wearing robes and has a staff on his back instead of dressing up like Deadpool.
I hurry to them as best as I can without uncrossing my arms. “Hi! Can you help me?”
The cosplayers look at each other for a moment.
“Think this is an escort mission?” the redhead asks, sounding a lot like Regina George from Mean Girls. “I hate those.”
“Escort? I just need—”
“She’s wearing skimpy clothes,” the guy with the sword says. “She might be a romanceable NPC. We’re taking this quest.”
“Don’t be such a perv,” the Ryan Reynolds lookalike says.
My cheeks burn with both embarrassment and anger. “Hey! Stop with your geeky role-playing! You’re not at whatever con you’re going to yet!”
Everyone stops talking to each other and stares at me.
“I just need to use someone’s phone,” I continue. “I got hurt yesterday. I lost my phone and had to stay in that creepy dude’s house last night.” I point at the still-swishing farmer and shudder.
“Celeas?” the woman with the pink hair asks. “He’s not creepy. That’s a great spot for a long rest.”
“Y’all, she clearly has no idea what’s going on,” the ninja lady tells her friends. She turns to me, giving me the non-smile you give someone when you’ve got bad news, but you’re trying to soften the blow by looking nice. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”
I shake my head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“She’s definitely not another NPC,” the redhead says. “Not with a mouth like that.”
“NPC…?”
“You’re in a game,” the pervy guy says. His friends glare at him. “What? Just ripping off the Band-Aid.”
I roll my eyes. Obviously, they don’t care about my situation and just want to keep dicking around. “Wow, okay, have fun at your con. You’ve all been incredibly unhelpful.”
Ninja Lady grabs me by the arm before I can walk off. “Look, I know that’s hard to swallow, but listen.” She points at Celeas. “Didn’t you notice anything weird about that farmer? Like he kept repeating the same stuff over and over?”
I don’t answer, but the “yes” must be all over my face, because the woman nods.
“Was there something familiar about him, too?”
“Yeah…”
“Think,” the woman says. “Where might you remember him from?” With her free hand, she motions to the surrounding scene. “Where might you remember any of this from?”
I search my mind. I’ve never been anywhere like this. The closest I’ve come to the countryside was a field trip I took to a petting zoo. Then, I notice dandelions swaying in the breeze on top of a nearby hill.
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuckkkkkk.
I feel like I should puke or pass out in a situation like this, but unfortunately, I’m as clear-headed as I was when I woke up.
“He’s the farmer…” I whisper. “The first guy you meet in Legends of Sacrifice.”
After pacing around while repeating, “This can’t be real” for a while, I finally calm down long enough to accept their invitation to join them at a tavern.
I don’t normally follow strangers to secondary locations, but they promised to tell me all they’ve learned about what’s going on over some food, and I’m hungry now. I mean, my stomach is growling.
They introduce themselves along the way. Tara is the one wearing a ninja-like outfit, Cait is the redheaded cavewoman, Sylvia is the pink-haired chick, Joshua is the lanky dude, and Guy is the man wearing robes.
I laugh at the name Guy. When Guy looks confused, I explain that Ryan Reynolds played an NPC named Guy in a movie about being in a video game. When he still doesn’t get it, I explain that he looks just like him. No one else seems to agree.
Seems like I’m the only purveyor of quality entertainment here.