The New Neighbor

felt as if he were suffering the hangover of a lifetime. His hands trembled and his legs were weak and he felt as if someone had stabbed a straw into his gut and sucked out his insides.

When he first opened his eyes that morning, he'd thought of a dream he'd had, a vivid sexual dream, no doubt inspired by Lorelle Dupree's proposition the night before. It wasn't until he realized that he was lying on the floor beside his bed – that he’d slept on the floor – that his dream took on a new meaning. He sat up and saw the red circles of irritated flesh just below his thighs, as if his knees had been rubbing vigorously on the carpet. He touched his unusually tender cock and smelled on his fingers the distinct, musky odor of his dream.

How had it happened? How had she gotten into the house? Before going to bed, he’d gone through his nightly routine of checking all the doors to make sure they were locked. It made no sense.

As he sat in the recliner, wincing at the blaring noise from the television, George remembered he'd left the bedroom window cracked all night long. But in the dream -

– It wasn't a dream, he thought, it was real -

– he'd been awake when Lorelle came in. He would have heard that window open – even if he’d been asleep, the sound would have woken him.

As he ran his fingers through his hair, George noticed that the movement made his back sting. When the sensation did not go away, he got up, went to the bathroom, dropped his robe and turned his back to the mirror over the sink, looking over his shoulder.

Thin red scratches striped his back.

He quickly washed his face with cold water and decided he would make a pot of coffee. Then, no matter what it took, George was going to forget all about it.

After scrubbing his face with a towel, he looked into the mirror and muttered hoarsely, 'Just a dream. Thassall.'

In the hall, he heard Karen stirring in the bedroom and hurried away before she came out.

* * * *

Karen had awakened suddenly, sat up and clutched her head in her hands, sick with guilt. She went over it all in her mind and could not believe what she had done. And she’d done it just across the street! Lifting her head slowly, she stared for a moment at the jewelry box on her dresser. That was where she'd hidden the tiny silver women Lorelle had give her. She thought of the way their legs were locked together, of what she and Lorelle had done.

It was still light outside, so she probably had time to fix a quick dinner. That's what she would do. Maybe she'd get take-out Chinese food – a favorite in their house – and treat them all like royalty, shower them with affection, pay each of them a lot of attention – more than she usually did, she was afraid. She felt groggy, as if she'd been drugged, and knew she could probably sleep a few more hours if she laid back down. But she couldn't do that. George would be home soon and the kids were probably hungry.

As she got out of bed, she saw the time on the digital clock: 10:41 A.M.

Karen slapped a hand over her mouth and groaned, 'Oh, God.' Her stomach turned and her throat felt thick, as if full of phlegm. She never slept that long, not without at least waking once to go to the bathroom, or something. She had never been a heavy sleeper.

Slipping on her panties and dress, she peeked out into the hall, saw no one, and went into the bathroom. The woman who stared at her from inside the mirror was frightening: greasy hair, pale, splotchy skin with dark bags beneath her eyes, and hands that looked veiny and aged.

Turning away from the mirror, Karen sat on the edge of the bathtub and closed a fist around a clump of her flat, spiky hair, thinking about it all again.

All the licking and sucking… all the wet noises they'd made…

The worst part was that no matter how hard Karen tried to be repulsed by the memory, it only excited her and made her want more.

An abrupt knock at the bathroom door made her jump.

'Mom?' Jen called.

Taking a deep breath, struggling to keep her voice steady, she answered, 'What, honey?'

'Do we have any more cocoa? I can't find any.'

'May-maybe not. I-I’ll come look in a minute. Okay?'

“‘Kay.” After a moment: 'You feel better?'

'Yeah. Yuh-yeah, I think so.'

'That's good.' Her footsteps hurried down the hall.

Better than what? Karen thought. Had Jen sensed something wrong yesterday? Had she looked this bad yesterday?

Looking in the mirror again, she was certain she'd never looked worse.

She stood and ran a brush through her hair a few times, then stood at the bathroom door for several long seconds, wondering how she could bear to show herself in her own home.

* * * *

Robby felt better when he woke that morning, although he had not slept well. His dreams of Lorelle had been haunted by the dark, limping figure he'd seen out his window the night before.

He put on jeans and a shirt and went into the hall, where his mom was just coming out of the bathroom. She quickly looked away from him and rushed by before he could say good morning.

The house was unusually quiet. Even the television was playing at low volume. Jen was not in her usual place on the floor and instead of cartoons, a news show was on. The Carl's, Jr. bag was still on the coffee table and Dad was slumped in the recliner, scowling at the television.

'Morning, Dad.'

'What?' He looked up at Robby with a long face, his eyes deep beneath eyebrows so mussed that they seemed made of tangled black wires.

'Just… good morning.'

Dad turned back to the television without responding.

In the kitchen Mom was doing something at the counter, while Jen thumbed through a magazine and listened to her iPod at the breakfast table.

'Guess Dad's not in a great mood, huh?' Robby asked quietly as he sat down with her.

Removing the headphones, Jen rolled her eyes and said, 'He's weird this morning.' Tossing a glance at Mom, she whispered, 'So's she. You think they're fighting?'

Robby remembered the sounds he'd heard in their room the night before. They hadn't been fighting then.

Something thunked to the kitchen floor and Robby turned to see his mom staring at the coffee can she'd dropped to the floor. Grounds were spilled at her feet in a pool. She said nothing, just stared at it, pressing her lips together tightly as if she were about to cry. Then she walked out.

Robby went over and picked up the can and set it on the counter as she came back in with a broom.

'I'll get it,' she said, her voice unsteady, quavering. “Just leave it alone, okay? Just leave it alone.'

Robby backed up to the table and watched her sweep up the mess. She didn't look at him or even acknowledge his presence.

Jen looked up at him and shrugged, as if to say, I don't know what's going on.

He didn't either, but something had made the whole house thick with tension and Robby did not like it. He started out of the kitchen and as he passed Mom, she breathed, 'Sorry.'

The tension in the Pritchard house that morning did not go away. The day stretched on silently, with the exception of the television and an occasional door closing. Or slamming. Robby did some homework and Jen went down the street to see the Crane twins. Karen made a big pot of potato soup, baked some banana nut bread and wrote a few emails. George worked on the broken lawnmower in the garage, cleaned out the fireplace and watched an old movie. They did the things they usually did on Saturdays, but there was no conversation, no laughter, not