Nocturne

For a moment, the kitchen light flicking on dazzles the eyes of the dark figure peering in the window.

Only for a moment. Blinking, they focus on the petite woman walking towards the stainless steel refrigerator, her brow slightly creased. Pulling open the door, she stares blankly at the contents for several long moments, her body perfectly still. Finally, she reaches inside to pull out a container and lifts the lid to take a brief sniff, one shoulder twitching in an abbreviated shrug as she shuts the door with a bump of her hip while turning away.

The eyes keep watching as the woman, so small and fragile looking, rummages in the cabinet for a plate after setting the container on the countertop. His eyes are blue, set in a face that wears a grim, determined expression. Unaware, the woman dishes out some of the casserole the container holds, returning the rest to the refrigerator. Placing the plate inside the microwave, her slender fingers dance over the controls before she drifts towards the window, a hand moving to touch the cool glass.

The man rises from his half crouch to stand before her, thin glass separating them, and gazes at her face. It’s elfin; high cheekbones, a small, pointed chin, full lips and huge, wide gray eyes staring from under delicate, black brows.

She doesn’t see his face, the bulk of his body inches from her own, or the hand that rises to touch the glass where her own rests.

She’s blind. Her pupils are half-dilated and fixed, unchanging with the light as the microwave dings and she leaves the window to retrieve her plate.

He watches silently as she arranges her plate, a glass of milk, and a napkin on the table before seating herself. Close attention is paid to how she spends more time pushing the food around with the tines of her fork than eating. He blinks as she abruptly rises, the kitchen light flashing out a moment later. Quickly, he relocates to another window, just in time to see her draw her hand back from the light switch, leaving it unchanged. She undresses in the dark, neatly folding her worn clothing, unknowingly baring herself to him. His eyes scan her pale skin, the way her black hair brushes the small of her back when it’s released from the pony tail she’s worn it in. He studies the swell of her hips flaring from her small waist, lingering a bit on the faint marks her silk panties have left, then rove upward to take in her full breasts as she stretches, wincing a little at some point of tightness.

There’s a robe hanging from one bedpost, and she reaches for it. Slowly, she clutches it to her chest, burying her nose against the terry cloth to take deep breaths before replacing it. Three sure steps take her to the dresser, where she takes a plain white T-shirt from one drawer, pulling it over her head and tugging the hem down. She drifts back to the bed, and picks up something he hasn’t noticed from the nightstand. A bottle of pills.

There’s a long, frozen moment when half a dozen white capsules drop into her upturned palm. His eyes narrow as indecision floods her face, her white teeth appearing to sink lightly into her bottom lip. The moment passes, her shoulders slumping a fraction as she returns all but one pill to the bottle and replaces the cap. A swallow of water from the glass on the nightstand chases the pill down and she’s climbing into the bed to lie on her side. It looks like she’s staring right at him as he stands at the window, gazing at her through the glass.

Very slowly, her eyelids droop as her body relaxes into sleep. He’s been waiting for just that moment.

It’s the work of a few seconds to jimmy the window lock and crawl silently inside. Watching her alertly, he closes the window, but there’s no movement, no sign of consciousness. Excitement thrills through him as he approaches the bed, one large hand stretching towards her face, only to stop short as a single tear slides from under an eyelid.

Fascinated, he watches as it pools before gliding over her nose to fall to the pillow, where it sinks out of sight. Letting out the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, he does touch her, a fingertip tracing the softness of her parted lips. It moves to her cheek, brushes across her jaw, slides under and down to feel the pulse in her throat. Pulling away, he picks up the bottle of pills, turning the label to the moonlight to read it. Sleeping pills, a very strong prescription for such a small woman he thinks as he replaces the bottle.

So small, so helpless. Blind and drugged.

He cups her cheek, freezing as she stirs. Blind eyes half-opening, her voice is a soft, drowsy slur. “James. Had a nightmare. Horrible nightmare.”

“Just a dream, Lexy,” he whispers back, unable to stop himself. She sighs, cheek rubbing against his hand.

“Come to bed,” she demands quietly, her voice quivering as her eyes close. He moves without thinking, stripping off his dark clothing before sliding under the covers to take her into his arms as she nestles against him. The sleeping pill will work in his favor he decides. He’s never been able to resist her warmth against him, or the need to comfort her. “It was just a dream, Lexy.”

“So real,” she murmurs, hands stroking his chest. Her head tilts back from where it lays on his arm, and he can’t resist that invitation, either. It’s a huge risk he thinks as he presses his lips to hers. I shouldn’t…

He’s never been able to guard himself against her lure, and so he doesn’t try. Gently, slowly, not breaking the haze the sleeping pill has spread over her mind, he makes love to her. He murmurs to her, assuring her of his love, and holds her afterwards until the drug digs deeper and her breathing is slow, deep and even. Rising, he damns himself for a fool as he cleans away the evidence of his nocturnal visit from them both before dressing. Bending low, he presses a last kiss to her soft lips before leaving through the window.

...

Sunlight has turned the room to gold by the time Lexy stirs, one hand searching the bed. Eyes opening, she pulls it back to her chest as she remembers. James is dead, he’s been dead and buried for a month. Her lips tremble as she sits up, eyes beginning to dampen, but then, they narrow.

Blindness heightens the other senses. A deep breath pulls in her husband’s scent and the lingering perfume of their love making. One hand stretches, exploring, and finds the second pillow. It wanders over the cool cotton surface, lingering on the indentation she discovers. Snatching it up, she buries her face in it, then lowers it as a smile spreads. “They lied. He’s not dead.”

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Tags:

dreams, nocturnal, lies, spying and peeping_tom