Shock.... Fred tried to concentrate on the meaning of the word.
The bed was an enormous expanse of fresh smelling sheets and luxurious blankets. The pillows were mountainous ... and so soft....
The sun was streaming in through open French doors, filtered through bronze screen doors. An electric clock on the dresser pointed at eleven.
He lay there without moving, remembering everything that had happened the day before. And he had a feeling that, in his sleep, he had been doing a lot of thinking. Or was it dreaming?
"Poor boy," a melodious voice purred.
He opened his eyes. It was the motherly woman, with a tray of toast and eggs and steaming coffee. The sight of it made him aware that there was a huge emptiness in his stomach.
He ate, gratefully. Mrs. Waters busied herself about the room, humming soft tunes, smiling at him whenever he looked at her. When he had finished, she took the tray.
"You just relax and sleep some more," she said. "The bathroom is through that door over there. If you want me for anything just call. I'll hear you. And if you want to get up and wander about the house just do so." She departed, leaving the door part way open in invitation.
Fred sighed and closed his eyes. In that moment of relaxation the thinking he had done during the night rose into consciousness.
For he knew now what he had to do. There was no other avenue of exploration. It might not even be possible. But if it was possible he was going to do it.