Chapter 6- Bacon Hangry

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Everly

I dream about bacon. A big plate that is overflowing with crispy, fatty goodness. The savory aroma trickles into my subconscious and dances around my mind. Luring me into its web of greasy glory, I reach out towards the plate to grab a tasty slice. But, no matter how hard I try, I can never reach it. Suddenly, I see a white wolf prance forward. We stare at each other in a silent challenge over who will claim the delicious bounty. Mesmerized by the wolf's aquamarine eyes, I feel myself being pulled towards her. Without warning, the wolf emits a low growl. Startled, I am pulled into the stage of sleep where one straddles the line between lucidity and unconsciousness.

My stomach grumbles and I realize that the growl I heard in my dream wasn't really a wolf and I really do smell bacon.

The delicious aroma motivates me to open my eyes. Morning sunshine filters in through the cracked curtains and settles on my face. Momentary confusion causes me to jerk my eyes open. Log ceilings welcome me as I take in the room. The iron-framed bed I am laying in is like a cloud with a soft, white down blanket and colorful quilt. The room itself is decorated in rustic, yet feminine additions. I notice an empty, disheveled sleeping bag on the ground.

Carefully, I maneuver myself out of bed and allow gravity to wash over me. CeCe had bandaged my feet before placing them in large wool socks. The oversized cocoons create a protective barrier for my feet and the sores are bearable to walk upon. Feeling confident that I can shuffle myself to the bathroom, I head in that direction but pause when something on the dresser catches my eye. Balanced against a tall glass of crystal clear water is a note. Picking it up, I smile as I read the message:

Good morning,

Hope you slept well. Doc and CeCe mentioned that you need to drink a lot of water, so drink up.

See you soon,

Zeke

His thoughtfulness causes something to stir deep in my chest. Smiling to myself, I put the note down and pick up the glass. My throat, parched and aching for relief, celebrates as I take in the cool, refreshing water in huge gulps. I walk into the bathroom and look at my reflection in the mirror.

"Well," I say to myself, "at least I'm alive."

The bruises are healing, evident by the yellow tinge outlining the purple discoloration. My jaw is still sore and the cut on my lip has scabbed over. After finishing my business, I wash my hands and face. Once dry, I apply some of the salve that CeCe left me. Spreading it over the bruising, I inhale deeply the ointment's rich aroma of lavender, rosemary, and citrus. My skin tingles as I smear the balm liberally over the affected areas. Satisfied with my personal care, I set off to locate the origin of the deep-fried goodness.

Stepping out of the bedroom, I make my way down a narrow hall and into a large kitchen. My chin drops and I let out a silent gasp. It is clean, shiny, and full of top of the line appliances. I step around a long island and run my fingers over the smooth, cool granite. The far wall has large windows that reveal the rugged landscape. Tall, forest-covered mountains peek through the low-lying fog that is progressing through the area. These mountains are different than the Appalachians that I grew up in. Strangely, these mountains feel more like...home.

"Morning!" a voice startles me from my thoughts and I twist around to see a woman walk into the kitchen. She is petite with long, dark hair and familiar, brown eyes. "Hungry?" she asks.

"Uh, yes," I stutter. "Very. The smell of bacon infiltrated my dreamscape."

Laughing, she walks up to me and holds up her hand in greeting, "I'm Beverly. Wife to Jack, mom to Zeke, and unofficial team mom here at White River..." she pauses, "Lodge. White River Lodge. That's this place," clearing her throat, she holds up the carafe and asks, "Coffee?"

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