“You gonna be our watch kitty from now on?”
She opened one eye and started purring.
Yeah, I can sleep now. I set the lock of hair aside and ever so gently, cradled Pebbles to my chest. She seemed contented as I pulled an old fleece throw from the linen closet and settled her in a soft bundle at the end of the bed. Without waking, Eileen curled her legs around Pebbles, leaving me enough room to stretch out beside her. Bonus!
I hurried back into the living room to turn off the lamp and grab my keepsake, and when I was once again plunged into darkness, it wasn’t as disorienting as before. Fingering the soft hair, I stood in the darkened room and opened and closed my eyes—hoping my angels would appear since I was more relaxed. But they didn’t.
A faint pressure around my shoulders reminded me that I wasn’t alone, though, and with another face-splitting yawn, I left the benign energy behind. Crawling onto the vacant sliver of mattress, I nestled under the sheet and listened to the slow breaths of my slumbering child and the throaty purrs of my cat. After a few peaceful moments, my fingers found the windowsill again and left Sal’s token on the corner closest to my pillow. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to keep it near, but before my mind could settle into sorting through possible reasons, the darkness pressed me to sleep.
Altered
I woke to a crescendo of buzzing snaps and cracks. Confused, I struggled to focus, but the sounds quickly faded into the predawn stillness. A hazy, blue-gray light outlined the posts of my bed, the dimness barely reaching the arched glass doors leading onto the balcony. My neck relaxed, my head heavy against the pillow. My alarm hadn’t beeped; it was early. No . . . song. My favorite song would wake me.
My eyes closed as sleep drew me back into its embrace, but the buzzing started again. Lower this time, like the warning hum of an electrified fence, but loud enough to make me lift my head to search for the source. Nothing. Everything was as it should be. My room was empty except for the bed and writing desk against the far wall.
Reluctantly, I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the mattress, and again the noise faded away. Heavy with sleep, I swayed slightly, balancing on the side of the bed as I tried to decide whether the noise even mattered. The room was growing lighter, but it was still dark outside. Like a child, I rubbed my eyes with fists. The light . . . how? It must be time to wake Eileen for school . . .
Eileen.
Where was she? Why was I in my room? I’d been sleeping with her for weeks . . . ever since . . .
No, that wasn’t right. I always slept in my room. This room?
Our room.
Yes . . . Where is he?
No! My daughter was with me. Here. I just . . . I couldn’t see her. It was this light . . . She’s here.
I stood and looked down at the lumps and puffs of the white duvet. My eyes didn’t want to focus, my gaze slipping back and forth without really seeing . . . There she was. The long pillowy shape on the far side of the bed.
My relief seemed to echo in the hollow room. If Eileen was with me, all was as it should be. I was just disoriented because the room was so empty now. I went over to the doors and pulled aside the curtains. It wasn’t dark at all. My breath frosted the glass panes, adding a translucent snow to the winter landscape beyond. The blue-gray light was the morning sun filtering through the spiny copse of evergreens that surrounded the house. It looked eerily beautiful as always. Barren, somehow—but protective. We’d needed the seclusion. He’d said I’d feel better if I wasn’t constantly reminded of—
No! Eileen and I live—
—but he’d left me alone.
—here?
The brass knob was cold in my hand, frigid with the promise of fresh, chilled air. I twisted it and Eileen stirred, mumbling in her sleep. But that was okay. She needed to get up and go to . . . go . . . she didn’t need to go anywhere. She needed to stay with me.
I frowned at the bed, the floor, the knob, my hand. Outside. I needed air. I must have slept poorly again. I eased the door open as Eileen rustled in the bedding, bracing myself for the cold rush that was sure to clear my head.
Except I didn’t feel it. Slowly, ponderously, I noted what I could feel. Ice-cold metal in my right hand, freezing marble under my bare feet, my nightdress lush and thick against my pebbled skin . . .
But not the air . . . ? Maybe if I stepped outside. The balcony tiles didn’t look slick this morning, but I extended one foot carefully—and almost stepped on a cat.
Go back.
My toes were suspended just in front of its nose, but it didn’t move.
Do not let her wake. Go back.
I pulled my foot back into the room.
My cat. Her eyes wide and feral and disconcertingly luminous. Eileen moved restlessly, changing position and rolling onto her side.
Go to her before she wakes.
Was my . . . was this cat trying to . . . ?
Lie down. If she wakes, you will both be here and not there.
“Pebbles . . . ?” My whisper curled back like smoke into the vacuum of the room . . . this room . . .
Where am I? The question floated through the half-light until it coalesced around my daughter’s sleeping form. Where are we?
Lie
