Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 124, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 757 & 758, September/October 2004

She pulled off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the living room floor, then slid open the glass door to the balcony. The cool ocean breeze played over her naked breasts, neck, and shoulders. It felt both soothing and exciting. Soon she was cold; she walked into the bedroom to get a white T-shirt from under her pillow.

She went back into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of iced tea from the refrigerator and stood looking out the windows, watching the moon glisten on the channel water. She loved the stillness, the ripples, the slow creep of moonlight; it completed her like her mate, as if it were all she needed, this solitude.

Finally fatigue melted over her. She dragged herself to the bedroom, climbed into bed, and pulled the down quilt up to her neck. As soon as her body was still and she could feel her heart beating, she longed for the ocean breeze. She got out of bed, threw open all the bedroom windows, then crawled back under the covers. The cold air chilled her face and she kicked her feet until they warmed up.

For a long time Laura lay awake reliving her date. At first, she thought he was rather boring, but she let him talk and discovered he had other interests, in geology and scuba diving, and after their hug, she let him kiss her, and the kiss felt good, like she hadn’t been kissed in a very long time, new and a little scary, and she realized this person didn’t know anything about her, and she didn’t want him to know anything about her, thinking too that usually the better looking a man was the worse he kissed and made love, and the man she was kissing was nice and a little goofy-looking, and his arms and shoulders were wonderfully strong.

She cleared her mind of his image and listened to the silence of the marina, a car passing, the plaintive hoot of a mourning dove. She suddenly felt fortunate to be awake while her neighbors slept, as if their sleeping gave her more room to breathe, more room for her thoughts, for her being.

Then she heard a thud against the side of the house, footsteps on her balcony, and the glass doors in the living room sliding open. She sat up quickly, her skin all gooseflesh, a cold stab of regret shooting up her spine, for she knew immediately that HE had climbed up to the second floor and was there in the dark.

“Laura? It’s me.” His voice was light and querulous like an adolescent boy, the hard leather soles of his shoes scraping across the living room floor, his palms slapping the furniture, then posturing in the doorway to her bedroom, his hand sliding up the doorjamb, his body still and tense like a dancer waiting for the curtain to rise. “There you are,” he said.

She couldn’t see his face, but saw the angle of his jaw, like an eel ready to strike. “You’ve been drinking,” she said, remembering that drink made him petulant, but not violent. “Go away, Scott.”

“Why’d you come home so late? I was worried about you. Wait. Don’t tell me if it was a date. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Laura used her feet to push herself back until her hips touched the headboard. “I’m calling the police,” she said, reaching for the cell phone by her bed, though not dialing.

“You don’t need to do that. I just want to talk. Can I turn on the light?” He walked toward her.

“No,” she shouted. An urgent instinct to hide in the dark made her pull the cord to the bedside lamp, then scoot to the other side of the bed.

“Jesus, Laura. I’m not going to hurt you. Why are you being like this? Can’t we just talk?”

“Don’t come near me.” She grabbed a wooden hanger from a chair and brandished it like a weapon. “I want you to leave, Scott.”

He walked slowly toward her and she swiped back and forth with the hanger until he lunged and grabbed it out of her hand. “Did you think you could hurt me with that?”

She realized she was cornered. She scrambled to the other side of the bed, then began poking the sequence on her cell phone, knowing it was taking too long. Scott rounded the foot of the bed, grabbed her wrists, and slammed her down on the mattress. “For chrissake, Laura. Would you relax? I just want to talk to you.”

The entire weight of his body lay on top of her, her arms pinned to the bed, his moist beer-breath on her neck. She went limp. He took the phone from her, then sat back straddling her hips. “I miss you something awful, Laura. You’re the only girl for me. Don’t you see? Weren’t we good together?”

“Get off me,” she said firmly, trying hard not to tense her body. “Please, Scott. You’re frightening me.”

He seemed not to hear, but leaned over and kissed her neck. “Baby, I love you.” She struggled, pushing him away, wiggling out from underneath him; he let her go. She jumped out of bed and ran into the living room to her other phone; as she lifted the receiver she dialed madly. The receiver slipped out of her hand. As she bent to get it, Scott came up behind; she darted away carrying the phone with her. The telephone cord pulled tight.

Scott yanked the cord from the wall.