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He was here. I know he was here. Not at first, oh no. At first there was simply the disorientation, of waking, the smell of candle wax burning. Candle wax? We had no candles! I sat up, slowly tugging on my hair to pull it out from under Deacon's cheek. A candle was burning on the dresser, a candle's light reflected in the mirror behind it. And with the candle - a - what was that?
I slid my feet out of the bed, pushing the covers away and stilling at the quiet creak of the bedsprings. Deacon slept on, a deep sleep. A human sleep, hopefully dreamless or filled with dreams of more good things than bad. I could only hope.
Padding across the floor I reached the dresser, and the envelope that lay beneath the dripping wax. Naked I stared into the mirror, unwilling to lift the candle off of the envelope, suddenly so very afraid of what I'd find.
Slowly I slid open the top, unfolding the paper to see what was within. A long, curling tendril of dark hair lay folded around and around again within the winter-white sheet. My eyes met my reflection once more above the dim light of the candle, and my hand went to my hair, I slowly combed through it with fingers outstretched. There! That's where it had been shorn away, back there where my hair met the back of my neck. That is where the missing lock of hair had originally been, when it was still part of my head and not stuffed between a couple sheets of white.
Trembling, I had to stop trembling. And I had to be certain that he was gone. That he wasn't hidden somewhere close, watching me - watching us - still.
I slid my feet out of the bed, pushing the covers away and stilling at the quiet creak of the bedsprings. Deacon slept on, a deep sleep. A human sleep, hopefully dreamless or filled with dreams of more good things than bad. I could only hope.
Padding across the floor I reached the dresser, and the envelope that lay beneath the dripping wax. Naked I stared into the mirror, unwilling to lift the candle off of the envelope, suddenly so very afraid of what I'd find.
Slowly I slid open the top, unfolding the paper to see what was within. A long, curling tendril of dark hair lay folded around and around again within the winter-white sheet. My eyes met my reflection once more above the dim light of the candle, and my hand went to my hair, I slowly combed through it with fingers outstretched. There! That's where it had been shorn away, back there where my hair met the back of my neck. That is where the missing lock of hair had originally been, when it was still part of my head and not stuffed between a couple sheets of white.
Trembling, I had to stop trembling. And I had to be certain that he was gone. That he wasn't hidden somewhere close, watching me - watching us - still.
