Opal, Is That You?

  * * * * *

  Footsteps beyond the hotel door disturbed Mallory's sleep. She groaned at the sound of shoes crunching along the asphalt of the hotel parking lot. At first, she gave the noise little alarm. Surely, the sound of footsteps deep in the night at a small roadside hotel shouldn't have felt alarming. Those steps likely announced the arrival of young lovers searching for hourly rooms. Perhaps, those steps were those shuffled by an exhausted driver seeking shelter.

  Yet the noise of those footfalls refused to recede after Mallory twisted again into her mattress and concentrated upon returning to her dreams. The cadence did not stop. Nor could Mallory see any indication of a shadow floating upon the curtains slung over the hotel room's front window. In the moments of silence that arrived predictably in the rhythm of the outer feet, Mallory nearly discovered her rest. And then, as predictably as it had arrived, the march of those footsteps returning pulled her eyes back open.

  The footsteps lingered until unease filled Mallory's mind, until anxiety crawled into the blankets next to her.

  Had they locked the car doors? Had they rented a room routinely used for drug deals, or for private fixes? Did Mitchell latch the deadbolt? How strong was the chain? What would they do if they heard something truly terrible through the walls?

  Mallory forced herself to breathe. These were the worries of the old Mallory, of the woman Mallory vowed to abandon upon that trip to the northern woods. She shook her head. Mitchell slept soundly, safely, beside her. She was returning to her old foolishness to fret so much upon footfalls outside the door.

  Eventually, Mallory drifted back to sleep though the march continued outside the door.

  "Mitchell!"

  Mallory bolted upright in bed. Her heart raced. Sweat pasted her hair to her forehead. Her eyes widened, struggling to see through the darkness in the direction of the hotel's bolted door.

  "Mitchell!"

  She swore she heard a knock. She swore she felt the wall shake from a pounding at the door.

  Mitchell groaned and rested a hand upon Mallory's shoulder.

  "What is it?"

  "I heard someone knocking at the door?"

  Mitchell took a breath. "Did they knock more than once?"

  Mallory's eyes remained fixed upon the door. "Just the once. But I think whoever knocked is still outside. Iv'e heard footsteps all night."

  Mitchell rose from bed with a grunt. He moved slowly to the front window, shaking the cobwebs from his mind. He pulled the curtain aside and revealed am empty parking lot.

  "Whoever it was is gone now," Mitchell dropped the curtains and turned towards bed.

  "Make sure to check the door."

  "I'm sure it's locked, Mal."

  "It'll help me sleep better."

  Mallory listened to the rattle of the door's chain, heard the deadbolt's click.

  "Everything's locked tight," Mitchell returned to bed.

  Mallory lay back and gazed at her dark reflection in the overhanging mirrors. The shadows shrouded much of her detail. Had she only imagined the knock? Had even the footsteps been real?

  Mallory stared into those mirrors for much of a long hour, wondering when, exactly, she had become a woman filled with so much anxiety. Did such persistent, haunting fear come naturally with the years? She had promised Mitchell, had promised herself, to leave that old Mallory behind. She needed to relax. She had to learn how to meet life with more courage.

  She pulled the sheet tightly to her chin to shelter herself from the air conditioner's biting chill, and sleep slowly returned to Mallory Howard, a restless slumber that twisted and turned in search of a deeper dreams the night refused to grant her.

  And then, with a whisper and a breath, there was a voice at the foot of Mallory's bed.

  "Opal, is that you?"

  Mallory again bolted upright in bed. Her eyes gaped at the shadow standing at the foot of her bed. She attempted to scream as that darkness shaped like a man leaned over the bed and stretched a hand towards her, but her throat clutched whatever sound her racing heart desired to shout. Shaking, Mallory screamed into a throat turned to fire, until a wail finally burst from her lungs.

  "Jesus, Mallory!"

  Mitchell sprang out of bed. Slapping at the light switches, he flooded the room in the chandelier's light. The man of shadow vanished in the glare. Desperate to see where he hid, Mallory scanned the mirrors on the ceiling; yet none betrayed any intruder's reflection. She gasped as Mitchell pulled at the front window's curtains to reveal the outer parking lot remained empty.

  "What is it, Mal?"

  Mallory trembled. "There was a man standing at the foot of the bed."

  "Take a breath."

  Mallory shook her head. "It wasn't a dream. He almost grabbed me."

  Mitchell inspected the door. "The locks are just how I left them."

  A fire sparked in Mallory's eyes. "Don't tell me I'm crazy. There was a man."

  "You've been under a lot of pressure," Mitchell returned. "Both of us have. With our jobs. With everything else."

  "You mean us. With the pressure of us?"

  Mitchell held up a hand. "I didn't say that. We agreed we weren't going to put that kind of pressure on this trip. We agreed to just see it as a vacation."

  Mallory frowned. "And see it as what else, Mitch? As the therapy it is? I'm terrified, and you sit next to me and just shake your head, as if I'm simply crazy."

  Mallory stomped into the bathroom and returned wrapped in jeans and a jacket. She paced through the room, retrieving bits of discarded clothing from the carpet and tossing them into the suitcase near the door.

  "What are you thinking, Mal?"

  "We're not staying here," Mallory crumpled up a blouse and slammed it into her suitcase. "It's not safe.”

  Mitchell rubbed his eyes. They had certainly not agreed to their vacation for the sake of further fighting. It would be morning soon enough. He only needed to remain patient with Mallory. Only yesterday, their adventure into the northern woods had started so well.

  "You're not going to say anything? You're not going to argue?" Mallory asked as Mitchell began packing his clothes as well.

  "I'm not going to say anything."

  Mallory smiled though her hands still shook. "Not even about the cost of the hotel room?"

  Mitchell winked. "We only rented by the hour, Mal."

  And less than ten minutes later, the Howards rolled further into the northern woods, miles of back highway passing beneath them as they drove through the early morning. Mallory felt relieved to think of those miles distancing herself from that hotel as she peeked into the rearview mirror. She frowned, however, as she considered the reflection that there greeted her. Were those the first strands of gray hair marring her dark locks? Was that crease across her forehead there the day before? When had those bags first gathered beneath her eyes? Mallory shook off the gloom that threatened her mood. She had simply not slept well. The night had been long. Before she knew it, she would see her younger self smiling back upon her from the mirror.