(Read the Whaur’s Logan intro post.
And here’s Part One: Napoleon the Heartbreaker)
(Picking up where I left off.)
Stepping inside Montrose Mansion, I saw this:
The foyer’s flamboyant decor hardly matched the staid exterior of the former home of Napoleon Bonaparte’s heartbroken sister-in-law. My suspicion grew even more when I stepped into the living room and saw this:
Was the shadowy figure beyond the doorway Logan, or was it merely my own reflection? I hesitated a moment, then thought of those I’d left behind in Twitterland. I owed it to them to bring Logan back as soon as possible.
The vortex experience was…hmm…remember that ice cream I consumed at the Cow in Reisterstown? It’s now splattered over six or seven dimensions of the universe. Perhaps it’ll create a new universe based entirely on mint chocolate chip, and they shall worship a creator goddess who looks like this:
After the prolific vomiting session, I was dumped unceremoniously onto the grounds of a hospital. Judging by the tans and palm trees, I deduced I was in southern California.
Pleased to see that the vortex had cleaned and pressed my shirt and trousers (it was the least it could do, really), I entered the hospital. There was no sign of Logan, so I’d no idea where to go. I checked the visitor’s directory on the wall. My eyes were immediately drawn to the fourth floor:
I bought some flowers at the gift shop and went to the unit, inventing a story inside the lift as it rose. The doors opened onto a floor where the voices could barely be heard over the beeps and tweets of various machines.
As I walked down the hall, pretending I belonged there, I realized no one could see me. I was as much a ghost as Logan. (Just to be safe, I dodged those hurrying towards me, fearing a collision or an inadvertent sharing of my vortex-ness.)
Logan’s voice came from behind a half-open door. The noises of numerous machines told me the woman inside was recovering from a recent surgery. Her voice was soft but strong. They laughed together like they’d known each other for years.
And I can’t quite confirm this but…I think she purred.
I decided not to interrupt as he sang a new song (brand-new, as in released last week—I dunno where Logan finds the time to learn these things):
The song wasn’t about mending broken hearts, literal or metaphorical. In fact it seemed to be more about not fearing the next heartbreak but rather embracing it.
Or maybe not. The chorus seems to contradict the verses. But perhaps that’s the point.
Their voices softened, until finally Logan’s went silent. I knocked on the door, and the woman called me in. She was alone.
"Where’s he off to, then?" I asked her.
She gave me a tired smile full of slyness. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I left her with the flowers and a kiss on the cheek, and she left me with an idea.
Bear: Perpetually Peeved
PS: Please vote for Logan in the Ultimate Book Boyfriend Battle. If he beats Edward and goes to the final round, I’ve a notion he’ll return to us. (NOTE: I’m in it, too, in a separate heat, but I’ve no wish to go to the finals against Logan. He would hate it, too. So save yer unlimited-voting energy for him. Cheers.)
PPS: If you’d like to cast a vote on my behalf, the finals of the Team Smackdown are now occurring. The Woman Upstairs is posting a section of my upcoming short story, “Shattered”, on her blog with each round’s victory. This week’s “teaser” shows what lads are really thinking about when you lasses talk to us. I’m not proud of it, but, as they say, there it is.