The Woman Who Fell To Earth

Chapter 14

Moon

When Art arrived home after a very interesting discussion on arachnids with an Indian graduate student, there was no one to greet him on the front stoop as he had anticipated, no one to share his newfound knowledge. His apartment was also empty. It seemed so hollow. It occurred to Art that this used to be normal for him, to come home to an empty, hollow apartment. But just spending nine days with David inside had filled up so much more than nine days, nine months, nine years, that now empty was so foreign and hollow.

He set down his briefcase and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, plus the top two buttons. Normally he would have changed into sweatpants or cargos, but David had taken them all and thrown them in a bag destined for charity. Art would have snuck a pair out of said bag, but it was gone. David had probably gone out with Mrs. Pritchard and donated them. He assumed the pair were still together, probably having coffee.

He missed her. He picked up the white t-shirt she had worn to bed and brought it to his nose, inhaling her smell. He still couldn't place it, but it definitely suited her. Magic and wishbones. Champagne bubbles and stardust. Mysteries and the ancient sands trapped in undiscovered tombs. He folded the shirt and gingerly set it on the bed. He turned his attention to the stacks of clothes she had laid about the living room. He wanted to do something nice for her, something to cement her permanence in his life. He emptied the drawers in an underused bureau and decided to set up David's clothes for her there. There seemed to him no rhyme or reason to the stacks, but knew David thought otherwise. Carefully, he tried to move them into the drawers as they were.

Picking up the second stack, something hard and solid fell out and hit the floor with a thunk. It was a book. A black journal with gold spirals adorning the cover. Art set the clothes back on the floor and picked up the book, opened it to a random page. He scanned the lined paper.

His mouth fell open, and he dropped the book like it had shocked him. Had it shocked him? He was afraid to touch it again, but needed to look inside. With much trepidation, he reached his fingertips to touch the outermost page. He closed his eyes and stretched his fingers to the book. It did nothing to him. He brought the book to his desk to see better in the light. He let it fall open and braced himself for what he might see. The pages were covered in what appeared to Art to be handwritten Arabic characters. His pulse quickened and sweat beaded on his upper lip. He felt sick to his stomach and remembered vomiting on the rug the night before.

He heard footsteps coming down the hall, nearing his front door. In a panic, Art snapped photos of several pages of the book with his phone and shoved the book in between what may or may not have been the correct layers of clothing.

The doorknob turned and David entered, cheerfully calling out in laughter, "Honey, I'm home!"

Art managed to appear relaxed, though he wasn't sure how, by the time David looked at him. She walked to him warmly and took his hand. "How was your day?" she asked, her shark teeth clicking in a smile.

"Great!" he said too enthusiastically, but he meant it. Everything was great, and he owed it all to her, despite what was or wasn't written in that journal. He tried to steady his pulse, knowing full well she could feel it through his sweaty hand. He pulled his hand away too quickly. "I...uh...I made room for your clothes in this dresser," he said awkwardly, pointing to the open drawer.

David looked at the drawer, at her clothes. Her face brightened. "Splendid!" she exclaimed, and picked up the small stack of clothing where Art had stashed the book. He watched her closely to see if she handled it purposely concealing the book. She appeared to, as she very carefully placed the stack in the top drawer. She handled the other stacks just as gently, which led Art to make a mental note to check those clothes when he had the opportunity. "This is charming," she said. "It's like playing house."