[By Starlight]
I was awake. The last cheap, pithy pips of my digital watch were still alarming. It was close to 1a.m. The moonlight was glinted, a little too ripe and round, on the large elm outside the window. Kind of cold in here. Was it the shock of coming to my senses that made me stiffen so suddenly? Or was it the reaslisation that I was alone - the only one in the room? The window was open. The bed was empty. Christ! How did he manage to get past me? This was the second time - and this time I was sitting in the room with him! The sheet fell off me as I rose to my feet, aching from chair sleep with a flash of minor distaste for waking up fully dressd. Again. Still, it was a dirty job but... I stuck my torch inside my belt and my gun inside my pants, between the band and the bone of my hip. It shouldn't fall out. Oh Jeff, Jeff, Jeff, you are a hard man to keep hold of. I'd been saying that all my life.
I pulled up the window sash and assessed the distance to the most prominent bough. It could be done but it was definitely a hand and glove job (I had both) - the bark looked cruel. Memo to self: lock the windows and make sure there are no trees nearby. I then clipped the the window open to its fullest, and jumped. I did gymnastics at high school - I quit at 19 to allow my body to develop properly and it had shot up by four inches - weird but not unheard of. Bully for me. Using the branches as high bars it's a semi success. I certainly don't hurt myself. I drop the torch though and it takes me a minute or three to find it, undamaged, on the grass obscured in the shadows.
He could be anywhere, last time we just found him wandering near the stables, he could be further this time, God knew where. He could *hurt* himself this time. I take stock of the grounds. Over to the west is a forest, still part of the property but possibly an inviting prospect for a mute amnesiac. Well...I didn't know exactly. Maybe he could remember, maybe he could speak, but he never said a word. Just call him a mute and burn the rest of the bridges when I get to them. CAT scan showed scar tissue but other than that his recovery was exceptional. Exceptional and downright impossible. Jeffrey Spender should be dead. Except he wasn't. He was an, at least, half naked man running around my property at past midnight.
I made a fruitless circuit of the house before following the instinct to go west, and finding, on the lawn just before the forest, his pajama shirt. Just swell. What was the matter with him? It was fucking cold out here. My breaths were misting before my eyes. I picked up the shirt and draped it over my shoulders, looked at my crappy digital watch. It had been twenty four minutes since I'd left the room. Jeffy, where are you? I thought about calling out to see if he could hear me but thought the better of it. I doubt he'd answer me. I'm going to have to do this the hard way.
I entered the forest and crossed out of the lawn lights into near perfect darkness. Took my eyes a moment to adjust. It's just me and the man in the moon. Every so often as I passed amongst the trees and ferns, torch to the ground watching where I stepped (didn't want to make too much noise - not that Jeff would run away. Or maybe he would. The last time he had gone back to his room grudgingly, at best). I stopped for a moment, cocked my head. There was a rustle in the gnarled forms and shadows - a little further and I'm sure there was a clearing, north-east. I pulled the gun out of my pants band and slipped the safety off, lined it up with my torch.
There was a flapping overhead. An owl or roosting crow, I made out it's progress against the starlight. Usually, I'm guided by voices...and bodies. Enough of that. Something pale is on the ground a yard from me, dropped by the bushes and dead leaves. Jeff's pj trousers. I wonder vaguely if he's nuts and I grimace slightly when I think I might be right. Bullets to the head had unpredictable results. And there I was crouching, staring dejectedly at the lost pants. Then, I heard it. I was so soft and inhuman that you'd almost mistake it for the wind. You certainly wouldn't mistake it for a man. I moved towards it my tendons straining around the metal of the firearm.
It was coming from the clearing. I moved in closer. I didn't need the torch anymore the whole place was open to the moon. On a hot day you could lunch out here with a picnic basket. I kicked a twig out of the way so I didn't step on it. The leaves on the ground were moist, I could make out crystals of dew under them. They might thaw out in the morning if it didn't get any colder than it already was. I eased to the left, stayed low. Sweet, sweet, I thought to myself, there he is.
There was something disturbing about it. Something. He was there, in the clearing, a naked man. His back was to me - which helped - less of a a distraction. And I think, if you ever spy a naked man in the forest, run like the devil himself were after you. But I don't run. I just look, at his bare feet and his bare back, christ, his everywhere is bare, and he's there standing in the cold (I can see the mist rising from him in fitfull clouds. Is he hyperventilating?) Come back to us Spender. Come back to me, Jeffrey. My gun hovers before I slip the safety back on and slide the metal into my belt. He sounds like he's hissing, except he's not, that mad keening sound starts to come out of him again and I wish he'd stop. Except I know that if he does the silence will clutch at my insides worse than when his pain filled my ears. He sounds like an animal now. I hear, somewhere in the distance, dogs barking. The cords in my throat tighten. I say it softly.
"Jeffrey." It's almost a whisper. "Jeffrey." Slightly louder.
He hears me and falls silent. Just as I guessed, the silence hurts more. He turns around and sees me standing there, dead torch in hand half out of the undergrowth and shade and briars. He looks...so blank.
"Jeffrey, you need to come back in side." I say. Still soft and non-threatening.
He turns all the way around. He isn't ashamed of his nakedness. I'm not even sure it registers. Where does he think he is? Who does he think he's talking to? The tilt of his head and the angle of the light; I think his cheeks are wet, I think he was crying. I step towards him.
"Jeff, it's me. Lili"
Not a word. I stand almost directly in front of him and while I understand he's heard and seen me, I'm not sure what that means to him. I touch his arm - he merely looks at me touching him. Then he looks at the clothes over my shoulder. His eyes seem somehow tormented, in another place. I doubt he ever felt the cold. When I take his hand I notice it is raw and torn - he had climbed the tree out of the window after all - he has scratches on his face. His hair, at least has grown back where they shaved him. Not a hint of stubble - I'd watched over the nurse shaving him this morning. No, wait, yesterday morning. My hand creeps to his shoulder.
"Jeff, we have to go home."
Mute as ever. Hell, his skin was cold, really cold. His eyes were still shiny from tears - shining not with emptiness or weariness, it was as if he was trapped somewhere behind his eyes. I pulled at the clothes around my neck, and gave him the shirt first.
"Here, put this on."
I have to help him put it on because he looks non-plussed, not disinterested just non-plussed. I do up the buttons and wipe his cheek affectionately. Maybe he brushes against my palm like a stray cat, maybe he doesn't. Nobody here but half-naked madmen and girls called Lili.
"Trousers now."
I'm still soft with him, I help him with his pants, I try not to look. When Jeffrey's all suited and booted, I put his arm in mine and get him to walk with me back to the house. Once, he looks back at the clearing and that mewling sound rises again, but it gets strangled in his throat and he falls silent again. He only looks back once. For a moment I look back with him and wonder what he saw there.
***
I was awake. The last cheap, pithy pips of my digital watch were still alarming. It was close to 1a.m. The moonlight was glinted, a little too ripe and round, on the large elm outside the window. Kind of cold in here. Was it the shock of coming to my senses that made me stiffen so suddenly? Or was it the reaslisation that I was alone - the only one in the room? The window was open. The bed was empty. Christ! How did he manage to get past me? This was the second time - and this time I was sitting in the room with him! The sheet fell off me as I rose to my feet, aching from chair sleep with a flash of minor distaste for waking up fully dressd. Again. Still, it was a dirty job but... I stuck my torch inside my belt and my gun inside my pants, between the band and the bone of my hip. It shouldn't fall out. Oh Jeff, Jeff, Jeff, you are a hard man to keep hold of. I'd been saying that all my life.
I pulled up the window sash and assessed the distance to the most prominent bough. It could be done but it was definitely a hand and glove job (I had both) - the bark looked cruel. Memo to self: lock the windows and make sure there are no trees nearby. I then clipped the the window open to its fullest, and jumped. I did gymnastics at high school - I quit at 19 to allow my body to develop properly and it had shot up by four inches - weird but not unheard of. Bully for me. Using the branches as high bars it's a semi success. I certainly don't hurt myself. I drop the torch though and it takes me a minute or three to find it, undamaged, on the grass obscured in the shadows.
He could be anywhere, last time we just found him wandering near the stables, he could be further this time, God knew where. He could *hurt* himself this time. I take stock of the grounds. Over to the west is a forest, still part of the property but possibly an inviting prospect for a mute amnesiac. Well...I didn't know exactly. Maybe he could remember, maybe he could speak, but he never said a word. Just call him a mute and burn the rest of the bridges when I get to them. CAT scan showed scar tissue but other than that his recovery was exceptional. Exceptional and downright impossible. Jeffrey Spender should be dead. Except he wasn't. He was an, at least, half naked man running around my property at past midnight.
I made a fruitless circuit of the house before following the instinct to go west, and finding, on the lawn just before the forest, his pajama shirt. Just swell. What was the matter with him? It was fucking cold out here. My breaths were misting before my eyes. I picked up the shirt and draped it over my shoulders, looked at my crappy digital watch. It had been twenty four minutes since I'd left the room. Jeffy, where are you? I thought about calling out to see if he could hear me but thought the better of it. I doubt he'd answer me. I'm going to have to do this the hard way.
I entered the forest and crossed out of the lawn lights into near perfect darkness. Took my eyes a moment to adjust. It's just me and the man in the moon. Every so often as I passed amongst the trees and ferns, torch to the ground watching where I stepped (didn't want to make too much noise - not that Jeff would run away. Or maybe he would. The last time he had gone back to his room grudgingly, at best). I stopped for a moment, cocked my head. There was a rustle in the gnarled forms and shadows - a little further and I'm sure there was a clearing, north-east. I pulled the gun out of my pants band and slipped the safety off, lined it up with my torch.
There was a flapping overhead. An owl or roosting crow, I made out it's progress against the starlight. Usually, I'm guided by voices...and bodies. Enough of that. Something pale is on the ground a yard from me, dropped by the bushes and dead leaves. Jeff's pj trousers. I wonder vaguely if he's nuts and I grimace slightly when I think I might be right. Bullets to the head had unpredictable results. And there I was crouching, staring dejectedly at the lost pants. Then, I heard it. I was so soft and inhuman that you'd almost mistake it for the wind. You certainly wouldn't mistake it for a man. I moved towards it my tendons straining around the metal of the firearm.
It was coming from the clearing. I moved in closer. I didn't need the torch anymore the whole place was open to the moon. On a hot day you could lunch out here with a picnic basket. I kicked a twig out of the way so I didn't step on it. The leaves on the ground were moist, I could make out crystals of dew under them. They might thaw out in the morning if it didn't get any colder than it already was. I eased to the left, stayed low. Sweet, sweet, I thought to myself, there he is.
There was something disturbing about it. Something. He was there, in the clearing, a naked man. His back was to me - which helped - less of a a distraction. And I think, if you ever spy a naked man in the forest, run like the devil himself were after you. But I don't run. I just look, at his bare feet and his bare back, christ, his everywhere is bare, and he's there standing in the cold (I can see the mist rising from him in fitfull clouds. Is he hyperventilating?) Come back to us Spender. Come back to me, Jeffrey. My gun hovers before I slip the safety back on and slide the metal into my belt. He sounds like he's hissing, except he's not, that mad keening sound starts to come out of him again and I wish he'd stop. Except I know that if he does the silence will clutch at my insides worse than when his pain filled my ears. He sounds like an animal now. I hear, somewhere in the distance, dogs barking. The cords in my throat tighten. I say it softly.
"Jeffrey." It's almost a whisper. "Jeffrey." Slightly louder.
He hears me and falls silent. Just as I guessed, the silence hurts more. He turns around and sees me standing there, dead torch in hand half out of the undergrowth and shade and briars. He looks...so blank.
"Jeffrey, you need to come back in side." I say. Still soft and non-threatening.
He turns all the way around. He isn't ashamed of his nakedness. I'm not even sure it registers. Where does he think he is? Who does he think he's talking to? The tilt of his head and the angle of the light; I think his cheeks are wet, I think he was crying. I step towards him.
"Jeff, it's me. Lili"
Not a word. I stand almost directly in front of him and while I understand he's heard and seen me, I'm not sure what that means to him. I touch his arm - he merely looks at me touching him. Then he looks at the clothes over my shoulder. His eyes seem somehow tormented, in another place. I doubt he ever felt the cold. When I take his hand I notice it is raw and torn - he had climbed the tree out of the window after all - he has scratches on his face. His hair, at least has grown back where they shaved him. Not a hint of stubble - I'd watched over the nurse shaving him this morning. No, wait, yesterday morning. My hand creeps to his shoulder.
"Jeff, we have to go home."
Mute as ever. Hell, his skin was cold, really cold. His eyes were still shiny from tears - shining not with emptiness or weariness, it was as if he was trapped somewhere behind his eyes. I pulled at the clothes around my neck, and gave him the shirt first.
"Here, put this on."
I have to help him put it on because he looks non-plussed, not disinterested just non-plussed. I do up the buttons and wipe his cheek affectionately. Maybe he brushes against my palm like a stray cat, maybe he doesn't. Nobody here but half-naked madmen and girls called Lili.
"Trousers now."
I'm still soft with him, I help him with his pants, I try not to look. When Jeffrey's all suited and booted, I put his arm in mine and get him to walk with me back to the house. Once, he looks back at the clearing and that mewling sound rises again, but it gets strangled in his throat and he falls silent again. He only looks back once. For a moment I look back with him and wonder what he saw there.
***