Part III of V.
The house of The Sun turns out to be a dilapidated apartment building. I drag my passed out companion off the horse and take a breath.
“This is ridiculous,” I tell her limp body. I pull her up over my shoulder and trudge toward the building. I ring the buzzer. It rings, then stops. There is breathing.
“Hi, I, uh, your sister said you could help me.”
There is more breathing, then, a click as the door unlocks.
“Fourth floor, hurry.”
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, dragging the girl up four flights of stairs. The door to an apartment is already open. A crusty old woman peers out at me.
“Hurry,” she is looking outside the window. I hand her the jar of white stuff. She smiles. Then looks fearfully out of the window.
“Quick, the closet. I must hide you from my son. If he catches you here he will surely eat you.”
The woman bustles towards a closet and opens it.
“In,” she demands.
So, I head for it, heaving the unconscious girl up over one shoulder.
Just as we are sealed in, the door bursts open. The Sun walks in. I peak through a small hole.
“Good afternoon dear, what are you doing home so early?” His mother asks.
The Sun flops down in a chair. “These people are so depressing. I needed a break. Soon they will be expecting me to stay out all day and night. I need to conserve my energy.”
“Of course dear,” his mother consoles him.
The Sun closes his eyes, then, they snap open.
“I smell a human,” he growls.
“Tut-tut, you are just tired. Why would there be a human here?” his mother cooed.
The Sun narrowed his eyes around the room, sniffing harder.
“No, I’m sure of it, a human, and…American?”
His mother sighs. “Oh there you go, an American? you must be tired. Why would an American come to Russia?”
The Sun sits back, thinking.
“Perhaps you are right,” he decides.
“Of course,” his mother says, ” now take a nap and then go back out.”
“Mhm,” the sun responds, already nodding off. When he begins to snore, his mother sneaks over to the closet. She whispers into the hole.
“As he sleeps you must steal from him one golden strand of his hair. Then, when he wakes, you must present him with this hair and he will grant you one wish.”
Then, she leaves the apartment.
So, taking a breath, I open the closet and creep toward the sleeping sun. I stand over him.
“What the fuck,” I whisper to myself, reaching down.
Inches from his head, his eyes snap open. He frowns.
“What the fuck indeed,” he says.
TO BE CONTINUED…