There was only one thing that I cared about.
Her.
She was here.
But was it really her?
No.
She was close, but it wasn’t really her.
Her hair spiraled softly across her shoulders, streaked with highlights from the sun’s rays filtering through the mini-blinds.
She sat motionless, legs crossed, lounging seductively in the chair… Looking at me with lust in her eyes.
Yes, the blinds worked. They were artistic.
But something still wasn’t quite right.
Perhaps it was the sun.
Maybe just a bit less yellow…Yes, that would help.
And maybe tweak the blinds just a bit more.
Yes, perfect.
Well almost.
It would only be perfect when she was really there.
She moaned softly.
Need to hurry.
She whimpered.
Yes, must hurry before she moves.
She slid downward, falling to the side then off the chair, coming to rest as a tangled mess on the floor.
She was no longer perfect.
A flash of light.
Fear.
Pain.
Loneliness.
Lust.
Animal passion.
Needful desire.
Putrefaction sets in within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Purge fluids escape through the bodily orifices as the organs begin to decompose, and breakdown of the vascular system occurs.
Almost perfect.
If she’ll just stay in one place a bit longer this time.
If only she was really her…
Then…
Then she would be perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
Death settles in, warming itself briefly on the fading embers of a passing life.
I’m cold.
So very cold.
Why me?
Darkness.
A mocking chant in the distance.
Listen everybody; I’ve got a story to tell,
I’m lying here dead, and he just says, “Oh well.”
I called on Rowan; they said he was the best.
They told me, “Go see Rowan,” and forget about the rest.
I called on Rowan, because I was afraid,
But all he seems to want, is to get himself laid.
Dead I am, yes, dead today,
Will Rowan find my killer?
Hell no! Not this way.
I awoke more exhausted than I’d been when I had crawled into bed next to Felicity. According to the clock almost seven hours had passed, but considering how I was feeling it might just as well have been seven minutes. I remained perfectly still, watching until the numerals on the face of the digital timepiece incremented forward enough times to make it officially noon. Of course, since my wife had a penchant for setting clocks a bit fast to avoid being late, it was more like quarter till.
A small voice rattled about between my ears-singing a song or reciting a poem, I wasn’t entirely sure. I couldn’t actually make out the words, and the echo was so faint that I had no choice but to conclude that I was imagining things.
Still, something about it seemed intimately familiar.
My head was throbbing with a dull ache. Not enough to be debilitating but more than enough to get my attention. All in all, annoying, and something that I hoped would disappear in the very near future.
After a moment, I started to sit up on the side of the bed and found myself bound in a wild tangle of sheets. When I finally managed to extricate myself, I wearily twisted my fists in my eyes to force the sleep away. I threw a slack-jawed glance over my shoulder and saw that the bed linens were in a chaotic jumble. One of us must have done some serious tossing and turning, and I presumed that I was the guilty party.
Taking in a deep breath, I started to let out a sigh but was greeted instead by a grating cough. My throat was dry and felt a bit raw. Following the bout of hacking and sputtering, I wheezed in a deep breath and felt it rattle in my chest.
My hand automatically reached for the nightstand and pawed about, coming up empty. At first I really didn’t even know what I was looking for, then it dawned on me.
Cigarettes.
I stared quietly at the floor and picked through the mild twinges in the back of my skull. Reality was setting in and I summoned a bit of concentration before sending it on a quest for memories of the previous night. A quick inventory told me there didn’t appear to be anything new to add to the nonsensical list.
The one good thing-or bad, depending upon your take-that came to mind was that I hadn’t had any nightmares. At least, I didn’t think I had. Something still didn’t feel right though, and I definitely wasn’t catching on to what it was.
“Good morning,” Felicity greeted the back of my head from the doorway. “Or should I say, afternoon, then? Finally decided to join the rest of the world?” Her voice still held a heavier than normal Celtic lilt, and that told me that she must not have slept any better than I had.
“Uh-huh,” I grunted then forced out a scratchy query while thrusting a finger over my shoulder. “Is that clock right?”
“Close enough,” she returned as she ventured farther into the room and made her way around the end of the bed. “Right as it ever is.”
“Damn,” I muttered, “I sure don’t feel like I got seven hours of sleep.”
She laughed, “As it was I only got four myself. What makes you think you’d be gettin’ that much more than me, then?”
Now I was even more befuddled. “We went to bed around five a.m., right?”
“Aye.”
I didn’t say anything else. The comment seemed self-explanatory to me.
“Well?” I finally said.
“Well, what?” she answered as she tugged the bed linens off into a pile on the floor.
“Well, noon minus five,” I offered through my haze, “comes out to around seven. In my head anyway.”
