Free The Recipient by Dean Mayes Page B

admit,” she whispered menacingly. “You might have the favour of the Commissioner right now but I’m going to see about changing that. You will slip up and when you do, I will be there. Your parents won’t be able to help you.” In an action that she knew would antagonise Casey, Prishna reached out with a slender finger and ran it down the centre of Casey’s T-shirt, right over the scar that lay underneath.
    â€œYou leave my parents alone,” Casey snarled, slapping Prishna’s hand away.
    Prishna smiled as she turned on her heel. “I’ll be in touch.”
    â€œI mean it, Prishna!” Casey shouted after her, unwilling to step through the doorway. “Leave them alone!”
    Prishna was already gone.
    Retreating back into the warehouse, Casey closed the door and held onto the handle, frozen where she stood as she tried to process what had just happened.
    With a sudden snarl, she banged her fist against the door.

CHAPTER 6.
    I t begins with utter blackness and silence.
    A cocoon that envelops everything and reveals nothing.
    But it does not last.
    A low, rhythmic thump becomes audible, rising in volume. A beating heart. It exudes comfort and security.
    Soft white light coalesces, bending and separating, forming distinct shards that pierce the blackness, spreading out across colourless clouds, absorbing light and transmitting hues of blue.
    The awareness of herself emerges from the sound of the beating heart. She is comfortable and safe. She allows herself to exist.
    Her awareness expands to include her body. She moves her arms and legs. She floats, unrestrained by gravity. She does not know where she is but she is completely free. It is invigorating.
    She stretches her arms wide, spreading her fingers as far as she can. She uncurls her legs, extending them out before her; stretches her toes and lets herself go. Soft tendrils of light caress her naked skin, the tips of her fingers, the soles of her feet. She feels a tactile warmth and pleasure that gently tickles her and she laughs silently. Her hair crackles. Her skin prickles.
    It is a pleasure unlike anything she has felt before.
    Where is she?
    It is not water. She can breathe comfortably here. But it is neither air nor space. There is density to her movements as she twists her body around, tumbling and turning gracefully in this cloudscape.
    Is she even alive?
    Blinking at the cloudscape, she watches as one of those billowing forms shifts, sending out a long, finger-like projection that approaches her, seemingly sentient and aware. It spirals inquisitively around her body.
    She extends her hand towards the fluffy blue mass.
    A crackle of electricity flickers from her fingertip and dances across the billowing form and it recoils sharply, retreating as though startled.
    The colours in the clouds shift abruptly. Black tendrils stream from her finger and quickly slither across the mass, consuming light and colour. She blinks again, this time in alarm. Dark tendrils expand greedily across her field of view, heralding this new malevolent presence.
    Hues of yellow and orange seep from the mass where they coalesce and bind themselves to the cloud forms, darkening and transforming into deep and thickening reds.
    It is happening.
    Her body is grasped by a force unseen. It brings her into an upright position, then she feels herself descending.
    The heart beats faster, louder.
    Her naked skin twitches and shivers. Biting cold replaces the serene warmth. Clothing coalesces over her body: harsh denim that scratches her skin. A starched cotton singlet that quickly becomes sopping. The wet clothing clings to her cold skin, and looking up, she realises it is raining.
    Her bare feet touch a hard surface and she looks down, seeing bitumen all around her. She is standing on a road, a lonely outback road in some desolate wasteland that is unfamiliar. She looks around her, searching for a landmark, something familiar that will identify her