Lightning flickered and danced evilly in the sky as the thunder boomed along. Danse macrebe, Dr. Amelia Rinaldi told herself as she watched. Perfectly fitting for the upcoming holiday of Halloween. The wine in her glass vibrated, spreading concentric ripples through it as the peals rocked the house. Little Mischa was asleep in her room, able to sleep through everything. She on the other hand, was relegated to the living room in the huge old Victorian. She hugged a throw pillow tightly to her chest, wondering what was keeping him so late. Something was eating at her, gnawing away on tender memories. Something dark lurked in her palace halls, escaped from the dungeon. Another wicked flash as the lights flickered then plunged the house into darkness.
Great, just great. She dropped the pillow and stood from the couch, knocking her wine from the arm where it rested. Things can't get much worse. She found the five cell Maglight in the kitchen and thumbed the switch. A bright white beam illuminated the kitchen, and she felt a tiny stab of relief. She made her way to the garage, hoping that it was only a blown circuit. The door knob was cold against her palm, and the flashlight seemed to grow heavier in her hand. She tightened her grip on the cross-hatched aircraft aluminum, swearing that she would not drop the damned thing. Down the two wooden steps to the concrete floor of the garage. The chrome on the Lincoln glinted and winked at her in the dark. She found the fuse box and pried it open. A quick examination revealed that it was not a blown fuse.
A thump against the garage door startled Amelia, and the Maglight tried to jump from her hand. Chiding herself for being so skittish she swung the beam to the door. It illuminated nothing more ominous than the door itself. Slowly, she knelt next to the Lincoln, resting a hand against its cool exterior as she peered under the car. Again, nothing. Another rumble of thunder rolled through the house, and she glimpsed a flash of lightning through the tiny crack between the garage door and the floor. She rose, and turned back to the door, returning to the warmth inside.
She had been settled for about two minutes before she was overcome with the need to go outside. The thump that she had heard in the garage would not leave her mind. A check on the girls, still out cold, and she made her way to the door. She carried the Maglight with her, although she was unsure whether it was for protection or light. She looks at the bookshelf as she steps down into the front hall, pondering whether she should grab his Harpy. No, the Maglight should be enough of a weapon. A heavy waterproofed trench coat is slipped from its hanger in the closet and donned. It isn't hers, and the scent of her husband lingers strongly on the collar. The flash of lighting brings Amelia back to the here and now, and she grasps the knob on the front door.
Cold driving rain greets her as she steps out through the security door. Lightning still dances in the dark night sky, reflecting in her pupils. She has always feared lightning, and has always been awed by it. She gets her legs into motion, sticking close to the edge of the house. Lights are out all over the street, and she assumes a transformer must have been hit. The flashlight is thumbed on again, and she plays it across the driveway. As water worms its way down her collar she wishes she had brought an umbrella. Currently, she can do nothing more than hunch her shoulders and flip up the collar of the trench. A smile twists at the corners of her lips. Her husband would not be happy that his coat was getting drenched. The smile disappeared as her beam glinted off something by the garage.
Careful steps as she peers at the object. Horror draws down her features as she realizes what she is staring at. The glint was from a pair of eyes that stared back at her, glassy and unseeing. Wet fur lays plastered on the face, and on the rest of the body. A long tail lay out in a curve behind the body. A cat. Someone's cat. She knelt down, illuminated by the dancing lightning, and poked at the cat. Amelia reached a finger out to caress its fur, noting a strange color seeping across its chest. Blood. She drew back a finger wet in it. It was quickly washed away in the rain, but it wasn't washed from her memory. She stood shakily, leaning against the garage door for strength. Amelia jolts back from the door as another thump resounds above the peals of the thunder. She sees a trail of blood run down the white paint, quickly being washed away by the rain. Her eyes track to the object, and she knows even before it registers what it is. It's the cat's heart. Instinct draws her eyes away and across the street. A lone figure is barely visible in the middle of the asphalt. The Maglight comes up as she starts out across the driveway.
"Hey!" she cried, seeing the figure pause nervously then start to trot down the street. He breaks into a dead run as she gets halfway down the driveway. Grip firm on the Maglight, Amelia starts to run after him. She dashes unheedingly into the street, hears the car horn and turns, freezing like a deer in the headlights. She hears the bakes squeal on the wet pavement and she stares in disbelief as a bumper comes to a rest just inches from her leg. Amelia looks in the direction that the figure had run, then back at the car. The driver's side door is opening, and someone is emerging.
"Excuse me…" Adrenaline already pumping through her veins, Amelia drops the Maglight and runs back to the house. A grumble is heard as the man gets back in his car, pulling into the driveway behind her. The doors into the house are thrown open and she stumbles into the front hall. She can hear the car door slam outside as she hurriedly digs the Harpy from its hiding place, inside the fifth book on the first shelf. Her hands tremble as she whirls back to lock the door. Fingers fumble at the deadbolt as the door pushes open. A powerful figure pushes his way in and grabs for her.
Amelia feels the Harpy slide from her fingers as her wrists are grabbed and she is thrown against the closet door. It clatters noisily against the slate of the front hall. She squeezes her eyes shut and sobs as she feels pain in her wrists. Her right wrist was released, and the hand that held it was pressed against her cheek. She tried to pull away, but stopped as she felt the remaining grip loosen. She choked back a sob and opened her eyes, and almost fainted from the relief when she realized who her captor was. Dr. Antonio Rinadli let his wife collapse against him, holding her soaking figure tight. She sobbed against him, incomprehensible and distraught. He carefully leads her to the living room, settling her into the couch, murmuring soothingly before he let go to return to close the front door. The image is striking as he walks back into the living room, the lights choosing that moment to come back on.
She is curled tightly on the white couch, lithe figure hidden inside his trench coat. Her honey colored hair lays in limp strands around her face. Dr. Rinaldi crosses the room to her, settling himself on the couch next to her and pulling her close. As the hours pass with them in this embrace she tells him about the evening. Soon, her words begin to trail off as her eyes begin to grow heavy. He is still whispering soothingly in her ear and stroking her wet hair as she falls asleep. Something dark has invaded his sweet, sweet wife's mind, and he was determined to discover what it was. Dr. Rinaldi pushes the thought aside as he rises from the couch. Amelia curls tighter as the warmth of his body leaves her.
Carefully, he sits her upright and removes the trench from her shoulders. The silk blouse she wears beneath it clings tightly to her body. Warmth flows though him as he glimpses her curves and he pushes that thought aside as well. She is carefully lifted and held against his body as he stands with her. She is always so light in his arms, and now she is as limp as a wet rag doll. He carries her up the stairs, setting her in the dressing room chair as he begins to strip the cold and wet clothes from her body. She is cold to the touch and he briefly worries about hypothermia. He shakes her slightly, and rouses her from her sleep. She leans heavily against him as he leads her to the shower.
Dr. Rinaldi strips his own clothes as Amelia leans against the shower door. She can feel the warmth of the steam from the hot water within. She favors him with a wan smile as she he slips an arm around her for support as she slides the shower door open and steps inside. As tired as she was before, the shower only increases that feeling. Without her husband behind her she would probably slide ungracefully to the floor. She feels his strong hands as he massages the tense muscles in her neck and back. She feels her weighted lids begin to close again, and tries to fight it, since it would be undignified to fall asleep in the shower. Dr. Rinaldi feels her yawn and decides that the shower has lasted long enough. He keeps a firm grasp on her waist as he leans to shut off the faucet.
Amelia manages to towel herself off and slip into a pair of silk pajamas. She blinks sleepily as she watches him do the same, eyes trailing over his body. Even for a man his age, he is still in very good shape. She then allows herself to be guided back to her chair in the dressing area as her husband deftly sweeps her wet hair into a bun coiled on top of her head. She takes his elbow as they make their way to the bed. He tucks her in gently before he climbs in beside her. He feels her breathing slow and deepen as he slides an arm around her, spooning behind her. He takes a deep breath of the bare skin at the back of neck, right at the nape, letting himself be carried on the soft notes of her scent. He hopes that the shadow that she told him of doesn't plague her dreams.
*****