dirty car windshield after you’ve run wipers across it.
I found a clean place next to the mess his face had made, and peered out as if gazing over his shoulder.
The warnings from Tony made me nervous. Maybe the stranger would sneak back.
Maybe, next time, he wouldn’t let a door stop him.
Not that it had actually stopped him, this time.
I could still picture him writhing against it.
Trying my best to ignore the image, I must’ve spent about ten minutes pressed to the glass. I had to make sure the coast was clear. But I couldn’t get the awful picture out of my mind.
If he’d still been there—the glass gone—my right breast might’ve been pushing against his bare chest. He could’ve been squirming against me, rubbing me, spurting on me.
I finally stumbled backward to get away from the door.
The moonlight showed what he’d left on the glass.
It made me feel sick. Trembling, I turned away. I shut the curtains, then found my purse on the couch and made my way to the other door. I opened it and stepped into the hallway. This time, I was glad to see the foyer light.
This time, too, I wasn’t afraid of being seen.
That’s not quite true. The idea of being seen frightened me; it just didn’t stop me. I walked swiftly down the hall and into the living room. Almost nothing showed on the other side of the glass wall. Just darkness. But the glass gave back an image of me.
Me, striding across the carpet, my purse swinging by my hip, the robe flowing around me, my legs flashing out long and bare as if the robe were an exotic gown with a slit up its front.
I looked like the heroine of a gothic romance.
Or a madwoman from a horror movie.
Especially when I reached up with both hands and lifted the saber off its hooks above the fireplace.
The saber felt good and heavy.
I stepped away from the fireplace, turned toward my dark image in the glass, and watched myself slash the air a few times.
Was he watching?
With the wall of glass in front of me and the foyer light behind my back, I could probably be seen clearly all the way from the edge of the woods.
I raised the saber high.
“You want me, pal?” I asked. “Come and get me.”
I swung the blade a few more times.
I felt powerful and excited. I looked pretty cool, too.
But then I started to feel stupid and silly and even a little scared, so I turned away from the glass and hurried toward the foyer.
Normally, I would’ve left the house through the sliding door in the den. That was just my habit. It probably started because the den was where I spent most of my time, after dark. I’d be in it for hours watching the big-screen television, so I generally felt comfortable there and didn’t want to wander through the huge, empty house to get out. So simple just to use the door that was there, slip outside, slide it shut and hurry over to the garage.
Not tonight .
I just couldn’t. Not after what the stranger had done on the other side of it.
Somebody will have to clean that up, I thought.
Not me. Not tonight, anyhow.
Standing in the foyer, I wondered if there was anything I needed. I had my keys inside my purse. Since I planned to come back first thing in the morning, there was no reason to take my swimsuit, towel, oil, paperback, etc.
The doors were locked. I’d turned off all the lights except for those that were supposed to remain on all night.
I suddenly remembered the air conditioning.
Serena and Charlie usually turned it off before retiring—except when the weather was terribly hot.
When I was in command, I often forgot about the thing and left it going all night.
Since I’d just now thought of it, I rested the saber against my shoulder and marched up the hallway. At the thermostat, I flicked the switch to the Off position.
“What a good girl am I,” I whispered.
Then I wondered which door to use.
Not the den door, that was for sure.
Serena and Charlie’s bedroom had a sliding door. So did the living room, and the dining room
I found a clean place next to the mess his face had made, and peered out as if gazing over his shoulder.
The warnings from Tony made me nervous. Maybe the stranger would sneak back.
Maybe, next time, he wouldn’t let a door stop him.
Not that it had actually stopped him, this time.
I could still picture him writhing against it.
Trying my best to ignore the image, I must’ve spent about ten minutes pressed to the glass. I had to make sure the coast was clear. But I couldn’t get the awful picture out of my mind.
If he’d still been there—the glass gone—my right breast might’ve been pushing against his bare chest. He could’ve been squirming against me, rubbing me, spurting on me.
I finally stumbled backward to get away from the door.
The moonlight showed what he’d left on the glass.
It made me feel sick. Trembling, I turned away. I shut the curtains, then found my purse on the couch and made my way to the other door. I opened it and stepped into the hallway. This time, I was glad to see the foyer light.
This time, too, I wasn’t afraid of being seen.
That’s not quite true. The idea of being seen frightened me; it just didn’t stop me. I walked swiftly down the hall and into the living room. Almost nothing showed on the other side of the glass wall. Just darkness. But the glass gave back an image of me.
Me, striding across the carpet, my purse swinging by my hip, the robe flowing around me, my legs flashing out long and bare as if the robe were an exotic gown with a slit up its front.
I looked like the heroine of a gothic romance.
Or a madwoman from a horror movie.
Especially when I reached up with both hands and lifted the saber off its hooks above the fireplace.
The saber felt good and heavy.
I stepped away from the fireplace, turned toward my dark image in the glass, and watched myself slash the air a few times.
Was he watching?
With the wall of glass in front of me and the foyer light behind my back, I could probably be seen clearly all the way from the edge of the woods.
I raised the saber high.
“You want me, pal?” I asked. “Come and get me.”
I swung the blade a few more times.
I felt powerful and excited. I looked pretty cool, too.
But then I started to feel stupid and silly and even a little scared, so I turned away from the glass and hurried toward the foyer.
Normally, I would’ve left the house through the sliding door in the den. That was just my habit. It probably started because the den was where I spent most of my time, after dark. I’d be in it for hours watching the big-screen television, so I generally felt comfortable there and didn’t want to wander through the huge, empty house to get out. So simple just to use the door that was there, slip outside, slide it shut and hurry over to the garage.
Not tonight .
I just couldn’t. Not after what the stranger had done on the other side of it.
Somebody will have to clean that up, I thought.
Not me. Not tonight, anyhow.
Standing in the foyer, I wondered if there was anything I needed. I had my keys inside my purse. Since I planned to come back first thing in the morning, there was no reason to take my swimsuit, towel, oil, paperback, etc.
The doors were locked. I’d turned off all the lights except for those that were supposed to remain on all night.
I suddenly remembered the air conditioning.
Serena and Charlie usually turned it off before retiring—except when the weather was terribly hot.
When I was in command, I often forgot about the thing and left it going all night.
Since I’d just now thought of it, I rested the saber against my shoulder and marched up the hallway. At the thermostat, I flicked the switch to the Off position.
“What a good girl am I,” I whispered.
Then I wondered which door to use.
Not the den door, that was for sure.
Serena and Charlie’s bedroom had a sliding door. So did the living room, and the dining room
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