AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Isobel knew the act of turning on the radio and hanging the jacket in plain sight had been her mother’s way of making a statement.
Unable to resist, Isobel hugged the jacket close, rewarded with a scent that seized her heart like a clenched fist.
It smelled like him. God. It still smelled like him.
Isobel carried the jacket back to her bed, where she laid it out flat. She stared down at the image of the dead crow etched in black against the white patch of fabric safety-pinned to the back. Letting her fingers trail down one sleeve, she then turned toward her dresser and went to open the top drawer. Pulling out a worn pair of pajama shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt, she tossed her robe to the floor and got dressed in the dark.
She picked up the jacket again, carefully threading her arms through the sleeves. It slid onto her shoulders with a hushing sound.
Somehow, its stiff weight managed to ground her. She came back to herself, scarcely realizing how far away she had really been.
Not bothering to peel back the covers, Isobel climbed onto her bed. She lay down on her side, facing the window, Varen’s note to her crinkling inside the right pocket.
She gripped the collar of the jacket and tucked it around her chin. She didn’t need to take the note out to know what it said. She’d already memorized the words written there.
Over and over again, she repeated the last line in her head.
I will see you again.
It was something she knew she would have to believe if she wanted to keep from losing her mind.
If she was even going to entertain the idea of leaving for Baltimore on her own, if she was going to try and formulate a plan, a new plan, she would need all her sanity.
Downstairs, she heard the furnace shut off, allowing a more concentrated silence to close in around her.
Isobel shut her eyes, even though she wasn’t sleepy.
Her mind circled back to the previous night’s dream. By now, though, the only thing that remained untarnished by layers of wishful thinking and fogginess was the core feeling it had left her with. It lay buried deep within her, like a piece of grit worried into a pearl.
In the end, it was the only thing she really needed in order to keep going.
Hope.
6
Some Late Visitor
Cold wind swept over her.
Isobel shivered; loose strands of her hair tickled her cheek in spiderweb wisps. She pulled the jacket more tightly around her, curling into herself.
Though the draft died away, dissipating like a sigh, it left the room frigid in its wake. Thin and sharp, the air stung her nose as she inhaled.
Isobel stirred. Through half-mast eyelids, she saw her breath puff out before her in the dim wash of filmy moonlight that still shone through her bedroom window.
Her open window.
She scowled, squinting at the gaping foot-wide gap as another breeze, harsher than the first, surged through, causing her lace curtains to swell.
Smoothing her hair back, she pushed herself up onto her elbows, wondering who had opened the window. More important, why?
When a blast of arctic air brought with it a spray of snow, Isobel sat upright. Shuddering uncontrollably, her teeth chattering, she pushed her confusion aside and scooted toward the edge of her bed.
She froze, though, a clangor of silent alarms triggering within as her focus was drawn to the outer fringe of her vision. To the dark figure standing at the foot of her bed.
Her hands gripped the covers beneath her. Slowly she turned her head to look.
Motionless, he stood watching her, his thin, angular form little more than a black outline in the darkness.
