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Was that a footstep?
Or her imagination?
Was someone breathing hard?
Or was it the sough of the wind through the magnolia tree outside her window?
Only one way to find out.
Slowly and quietly, she rolled out of bed, bare feet landing on the carpet.
The room was cold. She shivered and sensed a stirring in the room, something out of sync.
The back of her mouth turned to dust as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw a movement, a shifting of shadows at the window. The blinds moving with the breeze, filmy light from the streetlamp filtering through the window to ripple in undulating stripes across her mussed comforter.
What? The bedroom window was open just the faintest of cracks, the curtains moving only slightly.
Really? Hadn’t it been closed? The latch didn’t work all the time, but she had shoved the sash completely closed just before the horrible rainstorm on the night of Jay’s death, what—like about two weeks ago, going on three? In the time since, she hadn’t touched it. Hadn’t felt any breath of air seeping in.
So...
Her heart stilled.
She glanced around the room.
Nothing seemed out of place.
Right?
But the hairs on the back of her neck raised.
She thought about finding Jay’s jacket misplaced and the shattered glass in their wedding picture. Her stomach twisted and she paused, again listening, but hearing nothing out of the ordinary. On silent footsteps she walked to the dresser where Jay kept a dish for his keys and pocket change. The dimes, quarters, and nickels seemed the same, the spare set of keys untouched, a thin layer of dust visible.
And yet . . .
She felt something, a shift in the atmosphere, as if someone was or had been inside, as if unseen eyes were watching.
Again, she strained to listen, but only heard the pounding of her pulse in her ears.
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” she whispered, but slowly opened the drawers. First Jay’s—underwear, socks, T-shirts, shorts, nothing out of place, everything neatly folded and stacked. Three drawers undisturbed. Nothing changed since she’d found his jacket in the dining room a while back.
Still . . .
She opened her side of the shared dresser. Sweaters and scarves, jeans and T-shirts, all tossed in, half folded and stuffed into lower drawers that were forever too small. Looked fine.
She let out her breath.
Opened the top drawer filled with her bras, underwear, and socks, all in a tangled pile as always. No way to tell if it had been disturbed. That thought brought a bad taste to the back of her mouth.
Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nothing. For God’s sake, don’t freak yourself out.
She shoved the drawer closed and it stuck.
Nothing unusual there, overstuffed as it always was.
Cardboard?
“What the—?”
