again. He stops a few feet from the bed and stares. The image soon emerges from the darkness—the low hairline, the thin lips, the nose straight and narrow. An appealing face, as it was as a boy. Everything so symmetrical.
The chest heaves, and he steps behind the clothes stand. The body rises up, seems to look around, then falls back on the bed. After a few minutes, the breathing becomes regular again, and he reappears from the shadows. On the dresser he sees a letter opener, with its long, thin blade. He picks it up in the soft leather of his glove. The body stirs in the bed, the arms shaking, as if tied down. He muffles his own breath with his hand and leans over. He sees the eyeballs fluttering under their lids, the reflection of dreaming. Of what? He feels an odd desire to know, to rouse the sleeper from his sleep and ask what he dreams of. Falling down a flight of stairs, perhaps, something cliché like that, a mind on the verge of giving in to its deepest urges. Or perhaps just a confusion of images, the random firings of a restless brain. Still, there could be meaning in what seems like chaos, if one looks long enough.
Then what would the disturber of dreams do—run? Thrust the knife? It would surprise him to find he’s capable of doing that, but who would have predicted that he could go this far? A gust of wind brushes through the trees outside and bursts into the room, whipping the thin blue curtains against the window frame. The sudden cool air shivers his bare arms. The temperature is dropping, a cold front moving in as predicted. Why wouldn’t a person lower the window on his way to bed? Didn’t he listen to the eleven o’clock forecast? A careful man takes note of the changing weather and adjusts his window for the temperature that would come, not that already is.
His hand eases its grip on the knife. His arm hangs limply against the leg, the blade pointing downward, harmless. The fleeting impulse to kill evaporates from his consciousness. He has come tonight just to satisfy his curiosity—he might even admit that it is an obsession. The letter opener lying on the bureau was pure coincidence. It could have been put away in a drawer, mixed in with pads and pens, or not existed at all in this particular place. Then the thought of killing would not have occurred to him. Plunging a blade, even a dull one, into someone shouldn’t be a matter of circumstance.
And so the uninvited visitor leaves as he has come, with silent footsteps. He glances into the room across the hall again. A light circle of fur rests against the pillow at the top of the bed. He admires the way cats above all species can ignore the comings and goings of humans that don’t concern them. It would be relaxing not to pay attention. He resists the temptation to go in and pet the animal. He has already stayed longer than is perhaps wise. He regrets not having the time to see more of the house—the layout of the downstairs, the angles and spaces. He appreciates the softness of the carpet under his feet and the dim overhead light as he descends the stairs. His own apartment is so cold and bright. He leaves the letter opener on the bottom step, pushed under the rug, where the bulge of it may be noticed in a day or two. An experienced intruder wouldn’t purposely disturb the scene, of course. There would remain on the carpet the faint imprints of his shoes—a common size—and in the air, linger the scent of some mild soap, not easily named. Otherwise not a trace.
Stepping out into the mist, he flips up the collar to his jacket. The slight bite to the air makes his skin shiver. He feels good realizing that he doesn’t have to do anything drastic right away. Violating the sanctity of this man’s home is enough, at least for one cool, moist night.
Summer carnival was coming to Red Paint. Simon watched from his desk as workers set up the two rows of blue canvas tents, creating a makeshift midway. It amazed him how quickly they could turn the Common into an amusement park. In three days would come its destruction, leaving no trace of it beyond marks in the grass as the carnival moved on to a neighboring