𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ~ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟?

She sits there on the front porch, eyes closed while enjoying the warmth of the sun on her bare pale arms. The weather was perfectly balanced. The chill cut through her spine but the glowing orb provided a respite.

He was nowhere to be found. She had woken up a bit late by her standards, correction, her new standards. This whole routine was developed recently, an accident, a gift and a curse. Her day would begin at six am sharp, her eyes would snap open and there would be no point in going back. Going back meant nightmares and she had had enough of those for a while. He would be there, lying next to her, snoring softly. She would stare sometimes, unable to register the fact that she is married to this man. A man she barely knows. But she did know him inside and out, knew him like she knew herself. The man was no stranger to her, he was an extension of her soul, an addiction she couldn't quit – impossible to quit.

She woke up late today – ten am was late, according to the brand-new routine. Her eyes did not snap open; it was strange, unprecedented. The light that streamed through the windows did not seem right, it was her first indication, her first clue. The light was somehow darker, unfocused. She blinked and turned sideways, ready to hear the soft snores of the colossal being beside her, but he was gone.

~

She peered at the mirror and her reflection stared back. No matter how many times she looked at herself, she could never get acquainted with the image staring back. It was a strange feeling but it was real and it stayed. She stared at the darkness underneath her eyes, it was supposed to be less, she was supposed to be well rested but this was clearly not the case. She picked up the wooden brush gently and ran it through her bottle blonde hair delicately, now cut into a lob. She placed the hairbrush back on the table and ran a hand through her smooth hair. She could never quite get used to it. She removed her hand and stared at the shiny band on her finger. Her eyes lingered, she twisted it and frowned, it was becoming too loose.

~

She silently and subtly searched for him throughout the house. She listened carefully before entering a room. It was a peculiar skill that she had picked up. She would listen attentively before making any sort of movement. She did not know when this habit started, but anytime she would hear something unusual she would freeze in her place, she would not move an inch, she would not even continue breathing. Sometimes she thought that her heart would also stop beating. Her 'attentiveness' to sounds make it extremely hard for her to fall asleep. They would keep her awake, beckon her to listen.

She poked her head through well-lit doorways and expansive rooms. The house was sizeable, clean, somehow easy to breathe in. It was mostly empty, uncluttered, free from mementos and forgettable memories. She made her way down the stairs, the wood creaked in response. She promptly questioned the creaking which automatically made her think of her weight. 'Impossible', she thought. 'I weigh next to nothing'. She shook her head and removed the unfathomable thought. She had reached the end and he was still nowhere to be found. She could not hear a peep in the house except for the soft sound of the television. He had left it on, the volume was turned down, almost muted. Re-runs of NCIS. "No wonder he abandoned it", she muttered under her breath.

The kitchen was empty, spotless. She touched the counter, glasses, plates and utensils. They were all dry, not a speck of water. 'Strange', she thought. 'He usually drinks coffee in the morning'. She touched the coffee pot. It was cold, untouched and certainly empty, clean too. She smelled the pot, nothing but the lingering smell of dish soap from yesterday.

He would sometimes leave colored sticky notes on the fridge, a way to keep her informed and updated. She looked to the big white ice box – nothing.

Perhaps she should start to worry. Maybe, soon. She abandoned the kitchen and meticulously scoured the living room. The television was still on, now forsaken. She touched the burgundy leather couch and looked at the bookcase – untouched and still very much dusty. The bar, however, was a different story. There was a lone glass on the table, recently drunk from. She gazed at it closely, his fingerprints coated the clear glass. He had also left a bit of amber goodness. She sniffed the contents. Bourbon. She wished she could find him now, wished for him to appear out of thin air. She was almost tired of looking for clues, connecting the dots. She liked to observe, reach her own conclusions but the sudden throbbing in her head continued to increase. She felt it when she woke up, she should've taken the painkillers, murdered the ache before it officially began. But somehow, it had slipped her mind, the mystery of her husband's disappearance excited her. It gave her the opportunity to play detective, at least for a short while. She rubbed her eyes and touched the left side of her head. The pain will persist until she can find the sheet of painkillers. She kept a spare in her handbag, upstairs, in the bedroom.

She walked back up the stairs and entered the bedroom once again. Her bag was strewn on the couch. A couch that was now illuminated by the streaming sunlight. She blinked and squinted; the light would only aggravate the monster. She speedily lunged for the bag like a feral creature and backed away from the light. The single sheet was easy to find, she plucked it out and threw the bag on the silk black sheets. The humming caught her attention, the window was slightly open - his doing, no doubt. The receding tune was familiar but she couldn't quite get a finger on it. She moved closer to the window, not too close though. She peered out. There was no one yet the humming persisted. She could not quite understand it. The more she tried to make sense of things, the less she understood and the more her head hurt. She had abandoned the idea of looking for the source, now she tried to regain the memory of the song itself. So close yet it eluded her. A soft tune, warm and almost delicate, but the lyrics were darker and far more serious, it was almost as if the music itself provided a sort of cloak. She started to hum the song herself, search for the words, complete the puzzle. She repeated the line over and over again. "..... Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain... Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain....." She kept repeating the same phrase over and over again. She could only hum the next part, she tried to plug in different words. "..... We can be ..... come on baby..... We can be..... We can be like they are, come on baby..... Don't fear the reaper". And just like that, she had registered the name of the song. It was perhaps a favorite of hers, it soothed her. She smiled in acknowledgement. She did not know where it came from, perhaps her mind had made it up, tried to conjure a good memory, perhaps nobody was actually humming, perhaps her mind had sought it out.

The staircase creaked under his weight, she clutched the sheet in her hand and searched for a glass of water. She did not turn around; she ignored the growing sounds in the hallway. He has been found; anything more did not matter. He did not enter the bedroom, she did not know where he went, it did not matter. He shuffled around like a ghost, looked at her as if she had sucked the life out of him. A bloodsucker, a leech. Once upon a time, she would've done anything for him, she would still do anything for him, but now she found herself wondering, would he do the same? Probably not.

She returned to the kitchen, procured a glass of water and downed the painkillers. She sat down on the chair, her mug – now filled with steaming bitter coffee – sat on the counter. She sat, facing the large bay window, overlooking the serene lake. 'Maybe, this was a terrible idea', she thought.