Dead Echo

  *

  She came awake long before her alarm clock was set to ring at 7:30. In fact as she finally slid out of bed at a little after six, she had to admit it was unclear whether she’d slept at all. The night, in her mind, had simply been an exercise in futility, tossing and turning or rampaged by weird half-awake high-energy dreams that fled before she could get a grasp on any one. But worst of all, she was beginning to doubt the necessity of making the appointment. Absolutely nothing else had happened since she thought she’d seen the girls playing in the backyard. Since the phone call everything had been as peaceful as suburban life was depicted to be in the movies. She’d cleaned the rest of the house top to bottom, called a yard service to handle the lawn, made the necessary changes of residence and voting cards. And day or night, for the past six days, nothing had happened. Almost disappointing, really. It had begun to make her reconsider. Because, let’s face it, sometimes new environments brought out seemingly crazy behavior in ordinarily normal people. She was sure she’d seen that on some TV program sometime, or read it in one of those trashy tabloid magazines. But regardless of the source, the idea held validity. Maybe the things she thought she’d seen (she did notice her mind had begun to unconsciously substitute that word) had just been evidence of a stressful adjustment period? That sounded like something she’d heard on TV too...but, something about it didn’t ring true. She knew subconsciously her mind was trying to construct a solid reason for not going to the appointment, but regardless how she’d felt before, these new arguments seemed to bear weight.

  By the time she stepped out of the shower she was on the verge of calling the whole thing off. It seemed silly now, with the clock edging toward her acknowledgement that something was wrong with her mind. How could a person she not know help her with a problem she wasn’t even sure existed? It seemed ludicrous.

  She finished toweling off and stood naked at the foot of the bed. She’d pressed her clothes for the appointment last night and they were hanging in the front of the closet, right on the other side of that door. Now or never, she thought. Take control of your destiny or don’t be surprised what comes. Her mouth tightened into a line and she moved to the closet. For just a scant second she’d seen herself crumpled on the bathroom floor, her mouth and neck covered in blood, the gray flecks of matter dotting her nightshirt. And, finally, that was enough. She decided to go.