My car kind of reeked of rotten milk that day, I'm not entirely sure why. My guess is that Cathal spilled some in there last week, but I can't figure out where. So I can't clean it, and I sure didn't want to drive in that smelly thing.
Anyhow, because of that terrible smell, I decided to walk to the art store. I considered skipping my monthly trek to the store—at least until I could de-funk my car—but all of my Grumbacher pens had exploded the day previous (accidentally left them outside in the summer heat. Oops.), so I really couldn't avoid having to endure the hour-long walk to the store.
I was exhausted by the time I arrived, and I sort of dawdled around in there for quite some time, enjoying the air conditioning while I could. I stayed around longer than I meant to, though, and by the time I had finished the sun had already set. Great. Well, at the very least, I guess it's not so hot out anymore.
I walked along, whistling absentmindedly as I traversed the long path home. As I walked, I looked up at the sky. It was a very clear night, and this part of town wasn't so well-lit, so I could see a decent amount of stars. I loved the stars, you see, and would spend many an hour just staring up at them. Of course, I couldn't keep staring up and risk getting hit by a car or something, and I had just had good enough luck to see a shooting star go by, so I figured I ought to avert my gaze Earthward.
I walked for a few minutes more, and noticed a light coming from behind me. Thinking it a car driving on the wrong side of the road, I stepped off the road and onto the grass. The light quickly grew brighter, and I started to wonder what kind of car had lights THAT bright. I put my tinted goggles on over my eyes, and looked behind me.
I must have blacked out then. I don't remember a thing after that.
I woke up the next day in my bed, still in my clothes, with the phone ringing. I pulled my goggles off—those were still on too—and picked up the phone.
"Yeah?" I mumbled drowsily into the receiver.
"What, did I wake you up, Tav?" Came Cathal's voice.
"Yeah," I rubbed my eyelid, "What time is it?"
"It's noon already!" Said he, "Jeez, you're getting lazy on me."
"Noon? Aw, hell…," I pulled myself out of my bed and started looking for some fresh clothes.
"In any case, I gotta talk to you. Care to meet me over at the coffee house?"
"Yeah, okay," I sniffed myself, and nearly gagged. "Just, uh, gimmie some time to shower. Meet you in an hour."
"That long?"
"I gotta walk there too. You stunk up my car with your milk," I accused.
Cath laughed. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
"It's milk, not soda. It stinks," I frowned. "Just like me, right now. I'll talk to you in an hour, okay?"
"Alright, see ya'."
And I hung up and proceeded to get naked and step into the shower. As I did, I noticed some sort of rash on my stomach. But I thought nothing of it, thinking it was some sort of allergic reaction to the new laundry soap I was using, and continued on as if nothing was amiss. I arrived at the coffee house a little later than I had planned, having been slowed down by a stomach ache that had come along as I had left my house. I found Cathal sitting at a booth next to a window. He was dressed as he usually was, wearing a black suit that his job required him to wear, and sunglasses. It always bugged me how he would never take those glasses off, even when he was inside or when it was dark out. He insisted that it made him look cool and that he was used to it, but that still didn't make me any less annoyed.
I sat down in the seat opposite him. He pulled a single headphone from his ear—either his radio or his cell phone, both had the same sort of earphone—and looked up at me.
"Took you long enough," Said he.
"Blah blah blah," I muttered, "Maybe you shouldn't go stinking up peoples' cars, then."
He sighed. "Oh, come on. It can't smell THAT bad."
"Oh yes it can," I insisted. "Anyway. What'd you wanna talk to me about?"
"I hear that author guy you like is looking for someone to do illustrations for the next reprint of his book," He told me.
"Which author guy is this?" I asked.
"You know, that Reden guy. The crackpot," He waved his hand dismissively. He wasn't as big a fan of Mr. Reden as I was; in fact, Cath thought the man was an utter lunatic.
"You serious?"
Cath nodded. "His publisher's offering a lot of money for this. I figured you'd wanna apply."
"Hell yes I wanna apply!" I was really excited now—the idea of working for my favorite author was a very happy thought. "Thanks!"
He frowned. "I hope you realize how much I hate the idea of you hanging out with that guy. Who knows what kinds of rubbish he'll try to brainwash you with!" He huffed. "But I'd hate to see you go hungry, and this could really help your career, so…"
"Cathal sure does like to overreact," Said I, teasing.
"And Tavarius sure lacks an ability to tell fact from fiction. Especially when it comes to that paranormal nonsense."
"Cath—"
Cathal's cell phone rang. He held up his hand, silently telling me to be quiet, and removed his cell phone from his coat pocket. He put an earphone in his ear, and pushed a button on the phone.
"Fordon here," He answered. He paused, listening to something on the other end of the line, and nodded subconsciously. "I'll be right there."
He hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket, standing up. "That was my boss. I gotta go."
"Okay," Said I, "And thanks again for the info."
"Just don't let this ruin your reputation," He put his hands in his pant pockets. "I know you can draw better things than just aliens." He then walked off without another word.
I stayed at the coffee house for a while longer, and finally left only after having consumed three cups of iced coffee. Yeah, okay, I'm addicted to caffeine. I'll admit it.
My stomach ache persisted for the rest of the week, steadily growing worse.
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