A lonely young women's life changes the very
night of Murray Franklin's murder, on live television and it is a change that her heart will never forget. When she spots a man passed out and bloody, in an alley, that same night and even when she sees...
It was 9am and Iris' eyes shot open, as if she were waking up from drunken stupor, rolled over and forgot for a moment that there was a wanted, mad man on her couch. She quickly got out of bed and stopped to fix her hair a bit as if she wanted to look good for him, but she lied to herself and didn't want to acknowledge it. She laughed at herself, opened her door and her heart suddenly began to race. Her cat Tilly dashed out the door and was immediately headed towards the couch.
"Tilly, no" she whispered sharply.
Arthur was in the same position that he was in right before Iris retired to her bedroom and she was extremely relieved to hear the faint sound of him lightly snoring. Tilly was meowing right near his head and Iris cringed as she walked over to the living room to try and prevent her cat from jumping on him.
He didn't budge. He was dead asleep and she was glad because she knew this poor man needed it. She wondered if she should make him some coffee, or breakfast, or something, but she didn't want to disturb him, or make him eat if he was still feeling sick. She also did not want to cause him more anxiety with caffeine.
Iris was able to snatch her cat before she jumped on him, gave her food in her bedroom and shut the door while she was preoccupied. Iris called out of work for the day (which she never did) because she did not want to leave him alone in this condition.
Arthur stirred in his sleep, let out a soft groan and turned over facing the couch cushions. He let out a sleepy sigh and did not move for almost 3 hours.
********
Iris kept herself busy while he was resting, showered and put her makeup on. She felt so silly, but just went with it regardless.
She looked at herself in her vanity mirror as she ran her soft brush across her cheek, giving it the perfect touch of rouge she desired. She wasn't going to be going out or anything, but she felt this strange excitement inside of her that was making her heart swell. She felt almost like a teenager.
When she was trying to figure the shade of lipstick she wanted to us, she finally decided on a deep, dark shade that mirrored that of a fine red wine. As she slightly yanked at her eyelashes with the tiny bristles of her mascara brush, she noticed something strange.
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