The drive into town is only thirty minutes, but I’m tense enough tonight and don’t need the wait. Pulling out of the driveway, I already wish I’d stayed at the other house today. I hate this car, but she’s been fast enough to outrun a lot of demons I didn’t feel like facing. I’m certainly not taking my old Volkswagen Beetle to go bar hunting, so the flat black Eclipse will get a workout tonight. Frank was to take Julie back to town with the Charger this afternoon to keep up the appearance that everything was normal. Prick.Īs I enter the garage, it occurs to me that I’ve only got two cars at this house. My therapist would love to know about this fabulous train of thought. Too often these days, I feel like a spectator. I wasn’t ever all that sane, either, but I’ve grown more detached as time has gone by. I’ve never met someone with my affliction that was as sane as they had been when they were alive. I don’t know why closing my eyes helps me bond to my surroundings, it just always has. Standing still with my eyes closed, I concentrate and listen to the pulse of the water rolling heavily over the rocky bed, feel the lapping, almost angry waves against the shoreline. Tonight, though, it has an odd feeling, as though it were restrained. Even from this distance, the power is unmistakable. Stepping out into the thick evening air, the raw power of the river hits me with the force of a freight train. Yet, here I am, slipping into this dress that I haven’t worn since he left, simply because I know he’ll remember it. I’ve learned from his example and years of my own mistakes – emotion is a weakness to be managed. I first put it on in front of him and twirled around to raise the hem, hoping to entice and astonish with my feminine wiles, foolish enough back then to believe that because I loved him, a creature like him was even still capable of love. The mirror reveals the garment to be no more out of place, for its slinky cut or lack of length, than it did when I first wore it a lifetime ago, when I could still remember being a girl. The crimson silk of a dress drops down over me and it’s as though his eyes were on me again. Time may have dulled Jules’ scent, but it’s still unmistakable, mingled in with the fragrance in the clothing.Ĭlothes have always held memories for me. I breathe in deeply and can feel the corner of my mouth turns up slightly. She aired out everything in it while I slept, and the interior smells as though she even put some of my perfume on a few of the choice garments. Rubbing a hand down from the base of my skull, in a futile attempt to warm myself, I open the lid to the old steamer trunk Julie brought up from the basement today. My mind recognizes the sensation as a chill, even if my dead flesh can’t feel as it once did.

A soft breeze blows across me as I slip out of my bed, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand out.

Destroyer of Worlds by Dennis Sharpe