Then—just when I thought my head would burst, I found myself in my bedroom, standing before my closet.
I stared at the door. It beckoned me to open it.
I spread both hands and shook my head. Backed away.
Left the room.
Retraced my steps.
Despairing, I gazed at the door.
My hand went to its knob.
I stood there, feeling the cold, hard metal in my fingers. And a voice in my head whispered, “That’s your heart. Cold and hard.” But the words were oddly encouraging. They said—
Next thing I knew, the door stood open.
I pushed through clothes to the back of the closet. Stooped to pick up the box.
On my bed I dumped out the contents, books scattering everywhere, some falling to the floor.
And, of course—the fabric.
It beckoned to me.
I picked it up.
The cloth radiated heat into my palms. Soothing, assuring. What an amazing, wondrous feeling! How had I left it in that box for so long? How had I lived these months without it?
Folding it three times, I wrapped it around my shoulders like a blanket. I walked around the room, feeling its lightness and warmth envelope me. This was
Humanity has its own calls. Out of nowhere hunger hit. I had to eat—
I sat down on the couch to eat, staring out the window. Watching darkness fall.
I gulped down the sandwich, my mind entertaining strange and wild thoughts about how lucky I was. How some power in the universe had chosen to give the fabric to
Sandwich gone, I strode to the kitchen sink and washed my greasy hands, longing to touch the fabric, not wanting to dirty it.
My fingers reached to unloosen it from my waist. But at the knot, they lingered.
How fascinating. I rubbed over the knot’s smooth, silky strength. Gazed down at it, marveling. How enticing the green stripes looked, taunting, teasing. Appearing only to disappear, winding in and out over the sleek black background.
Understanding came over me slowly.
A bow was too prettified. Too flimsy. Worse, it had been an afterthought. This fascinating knot could be the act itself.
New tingling warmth spread through me.
When I could stand the knot’s beauty no more, I untied it and pulled the fabric from my body. I bunched it to my chest, stroking.
Preparations needed to be made.
From a kitchen drawer I pulled a pair of scissors. Cut a ten-inch strip of the cloth.
Folding the strip, I smelled its silky scent. I headed out to put it in the glove box of my car.
Just outside the door, I hesitated. Logistics and details rolled through my mind.
Back inside, I pulled a pair of leather gloves off the shelf of the coat closet. These I placed in my glove box along with the strip of fabric.
Even as I returned to the kitchen I
The rest of the fabric I returned to the bottom of the box. I covered it with the books and hid the box in my closet.
The rest of the evening was fine. I watched TV. Laughed at sitcoms. I felt right with the world. Properly placed. Worthy of the space I took on the planet, the air I breathed.
By the time I went to bed that night, the strip of fabric in my car had settled down in my mind. Some of its glow had waned. I recalled the sensations of the knot and found the memory pleasant but no longer felt its pull. Sort of like a starving person given food, now satiated.
In fact I felt so right it seemed to me I was done with the cloth. For some reason that strip just needed to be in my car. I wouldn’t really do anything with it. Maybe take it out once in awhile, look at it, run it through my fingers. Nothing more.
As for that fascinating knot, just remembering it would be enough.
Yes, just remembering would be enough.
thirty
Kaitlan shivered in the front hallway as she listened to Craig’s Mustang turning around in front of the carport. She clutched both arms to her chest, loneliness and vulnerability spinning a web around her head. Every heartbeat banged in her cheek.
Why hadn’t Craig killed her?
The sound of his car engine dwindled, then roared once more. Craig was headed down the long driveway.
Kaitlan edged into the living room and peeked through the window. The twin beams of his taillights glared demon eyes.
In a little over seven hours he’d be back.
If only she had a land line phone in her apartment. But she’d been trying to save money, using only her cell. Not that it mattered. Craig would have pulled out the cord and taken it as well.
She turned from the window and focused on the red throw blanket on the back of the couch. The blanket that Craig’s last victim had grabbed in desperation as they fought. Kaitlan could never use that throw again. Or sleep on her bed. Or even lie on the bedspread, now stained with the smells of death.
