Part 13 (1/2)

But she was there, turned away from him, curled into her pillow, long blond hair spilled upon it. He reached out to touch her, then nearly recoiled. Her hair was damp. Damp, as it often was after making love... He kicked off the covers and stood, reaching for his robe. He walked around to the side of the bed, almost afraid to touch Megan.

But she was sleeping. Soundly. Her breath came in an even, slow rhythm. He studied her face. Her beautiful face. And he was afraid.

Ridiculous. He'd had a bizarre dream.

Just as she'd had a bizarre dream.

It was this place. All this talk about witches.

Witches. Wiccans. But they were good, so Megan swore. They did no evil to others, because it would come back upon them threefold.

He was losing his mind. He was so afraid of losing Megan that he was losing his mind.

He gave himself a mental shake and walked out to the balcony. Sunrise was coming. The air was very cool. Yet he was glad to stand there s.h.i.+vering.

Trees rustled softly.

The moon shone down, benignly.

The coming day would be beautiful, he thought. Almost a touch of Indian summer.

He stepped back into the bedroom, hesitating just a second to look around. But there was no movement anywhere. The world might have stalled.

Suddenly, a noise. He jumped, then laughed at himself. It was just a car backfiring.

He walked into the bedroom, and carefully closed and locked the balcony doors. As he did so, he hesitated, having the strangest feeling that it was too late.

And so, he walked around the room. Looked in the closet, in the bathroom, in the shower. When he came out, he even looked beneath the bed.

They were alone, as they had been.

And still...

He had the strangest feeling he had let something enter. Something had come into their bedroom as they had slept. He was furious with himself for having left the doors open.

And yet...

He didn't think the doors would have stopped whatever it was from entering.

He groaned aloud, and spoke clearly to himself in the darkness as well.

”d.i.c.khead! a.s.s!”

He gave his head a shake. More light seemed to be drifting in. He glanced at the bedside clock. There was a small coffeemaker on the dresser. He filled the pot with water from the sink and threw in a filter. The four-cup machine took only seconds.

While the coffee brewed, he dug into his belongings. He didn't smoke often; this morning, he wanted a cigarette.He found a half-crushed pack of Marlboro Lights. He got his cup of coffee and his cigarette and headed for the balcony.

He hesitated, then forced himself to open the doors, walk out, and take a seat on one of the little patio chairs there.

The sun was rising. It was beautiful.

He lit his cigarette, sipped his coffee. The sun kept rising. It wasn't like a Southern sunrise. The brilliant crimsons and golds didn't streak across the sky. But still, day came magnificently. Soft grays became violets, and that color became softer still, an incredible powder blue.

He closed his eyes. There were noises now, too. Car doors, shouts here and there, conversations...

The world was awakening. Day-to-day. Usual. He heard a mother remind a child to grab a lunch bag.

He crushed out his cigarette, drained his coffee, and went back inside, ready to go back to sleep, despite the coffee. The dream had, at long last, left him. Only vague, scattered remnants remained.

Still...

He paused as he closed and locked the balcony doors again.

He had forgotten so much.

And still, that vague feeling remained.

Too late, too late, far too late...

There was no way to lock out...

Evil.

He swore, set the cup down, and crawled back in next to Megan. Oddly, he hesitated again, as if he had wronged her somehow.

Tentatively, he pulled her into his arms.

She came, not really awakening, just readjusting into his embrace.

I love you. I will protect you against any evil! he swore silently.

But then another thought plagued his mind.

What if I truly am the evil?

He slept at last with one very logical, disdainful, and determined notion.

Bull!

Chapter 6.

Megan awoke around ten. Finn, a rather restless spirit at the best of times, was usually up before her.

Previous Top NextNot that morning. He was out like a dead fish. In fact, he seemed so still that she found herself besieged by a moment of panic, checking to make sure he was breathing. He was.

She hesitated a moment, then touched his injured hand. Somewhere along the line, he'd lost the bandage. But the bleeding had stopped, and the injury didn't appear to be too bad. It would be annoying on his hand, but there was already a scab forming on the slash.