Page 13 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

Rosemary waved a tiny hand.

“Details.”

“I don’t know if he likes coffee.”

“You’ll find out.”

“I don’t know if he has a girlfriend.”

The room went silent. Rosemary frowned.

“…We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Gerald muttered,

“I miss when it was just the three of us.”

Stacks of novels greeted me from every available surface. Bookshelves overflowed into neat little towers on the floor. Sticky notes decorated the walls. Half-finished outlines covered the dining table. Three empty coffee mugs occupied my desk like tiny monuments to poor life choices. I sighed.

“Hello, Home.”

Gerald looked around.

“You say that every time.”

“And every time I’m happy to be home.”

Because stories lived here. Ideas lived here. Characters lived here. Sometimes…They were better company than people. I slipped off my heels with an audible sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“My condolences,” Frank said to the shoes.

“They served bravely.”

“They tried.”

I padded barefoot toward the kitchen.

“Coffee?” I asked.

Gerald looked horrified.

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“So?”

“You already had four cups.”

“I fail to see the issue.”

“You stopped blinking for twenty minutes.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were vibrating.”

“…Creative vibration.”