Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 153
and out of consciousness. The sleep was a relief, but it was
not restful sleep.
After a couple of hours of on-again, off-again lucidity, he
came to, but the quality of it was different.
The thick-headedness was gone, and in its place, a chilly
numinosity that seemed to crackle with the dancing candle
flame. Then Mikael noticed that his perspective was different.
Instead of staring up from the mattress, he was staring
down from above.
He smiled as he saw himself. Handsome fucker, he
thought, and he watched his mouth smile in response. He
saw his spiky jet-black hairdo, his piercings, the scar to the
left of his chin left over from childhood when he had driven
his tricycle off the roof.
He was surprised that the overwhelming emotion he felt
was not criticism, as it usually was when he looked in the
mirror, but compassion, even pity. He saw not a rebellious
fuckup, but a noble man in unfortunate circumstances.
Instead of fear, he felt a calm assurance. He heard Julian of
Norwich’s words as if whispered to him out of the void, “All
shall be well, and all shall be well, and every manner of thing
shall be well.”
He relaxed even further, and enjoyed the floating sensation.
Just then, a squeak and a thud broke the stillness, and
a door he had not previously noticed opened onto a darkened
hall.
With calm disinterest, Mikael watched a man enter the
room and close the door behind him. A bolt slid into place
and the man turned towards Mikael’s body, resting peacefully
on the mattress.
From his vantage point on the ceiling, Mikael could not
see the man’s features, but he found he just didn’t care that
much who it was. Even in his detached state, his own lack of
curiosity seemed odd to him, but he did not dwell on it.