"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain.
In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."
(Rose Kennedy)
She took one step back.
It shouldn't have caught my attention, but it did. I noticed it from way up on the rooftop. She walked to the corner, then stopped and took one step back. Damn, how did I notice that from so far away? It could have been anybody out late, anybody taking their time getting home from work or from a night on the town. How did a single step grab my attention like that?
I figured maybe she just thought she was a bit too close to the curb and didn't want to be hit by some crazy driver. But I watched her go to the next corner and she did it again. Then again at the next one. I followed along the rooftops, watching every stop, every step back, trying to get in front of her just enough to see her face. She had too much hair, all down in front of her eyes. I couldn't see a damn thing past it.
But, still, I watched┘ I followed her for blocks. I suppose if I was a human I would have been arrested for stalking. But I wasn't stalking, I was observing. I was remembering┘ with every step back, I remembered a bit more. And when she got to an apartment building and stepped inside, I stayed and waited. I saw a light come on in a corner apartment three floors up and her shadow stepped behind the shade.
I stared at the window for a long time. Every once in a while she would pass by. I would watch her shadow for those quick moments, then I'd sit back and wait for her to pass by again. It looked like she was alone in there. I didn't see anyone else's shadows, didn't see her acting as if she were speaking with someone. An hour or so passed and the light turned off, but I could still see a dim flicker behind the shade. A candle, or maybe a television had been left on.
By then I had seen enough, remembered enough. I made my way to the street and crossed when I was sure there was nobody watching, then I slid around the side of her building and made my way up the fire escape. Three floors up to her corner apartment. The window was locked, but that doesn't matter to my kind. I made quick, silent work of the latch, then slid the pane up.
It took me a long time before I decided to go in. I thought that maybe I was wrong, that I was seeing things. I wondered how surprised she would be, then chuckled at the thought of maybe showing up at her door. Knocking instead of breaking-and-entering┘ there was a concept that I didn't often consider. It didn't matter. The window was open, welcoming me inside. I slid one foot through, then the other -- and then I was in. I looked around in the dark, my eyes adjusting quickly and well, then I saw that I was in a tiny kitchen. The flicker was still there, coming from what was, as far as I could tell, the only other room in the apartment. I followed the light, but kept myself hidden away in the shadows.
She didn't know I was there. I guess that was fair, because I didn't know why I was there. Stupidity, probably. Curiosity. It didn't matter either way. I was there, in the dark doorway to her room, looking in as she laid on her bed with her eyes staring up, unblinking. I guessed she was watching the light flickering across the ceiling. What else would she have been looking at? There was no other light in there, nothing else to see.
I glanced over and saw the candles for myself. They were just old, half-burnt pillars -- five of them, set haphazardly across the cluttered dresser. It surprised me that the flames hadn't set the surrounding piles of mail and unfolded clothes on fire. Cans of hairspray, lighters, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol added to the mess┘ that dresser was an explosion waiting to happen.
I looked back at her. She hadn't moved. She was still staring, barely breathing. She didn't look the same. She still looked like I remembered her, but just not the same. And it wasn't just her hair, as messy and out-of-place as it was. It was something else that I just couldn't place.
I thought for a moment about turning around and going back out the window. She hadn't seen me yet, and I was sure that she wouldn't notice if I left. But I didn't want to leave. I wanted to talk to her. I hadn't seen her in so long. For about half a second I wondered if she would even recognize me, then I realized that my kind isn't all that easy to forget. It made me feel more than a little ashamed that I had nearly forgotten her. Even for my kind, the years play hell on the memory when there is something that you are desperate to forget.
I could have cut my losses, I suppose, and took off out the window right then and there, but I didn't. I stepped into the light, instead.
"Nessie?" I whispered. I could barely hear myself, I said it so low.
She rolled her head to the side and looked at me. She blinked--something I hadn't seen her do since I got there--then sat up and stared at me. She slid herself back to the headboard and leaned against it, hugging her knees.
I smiled a little and took a step forward. "Hey, remember me?"
She shook her head slowly. "You're not real."
... (Continued) ...