by Alistair Marquise

Created on: August 11, 2011   Last Updated: December 17, 2011

He flows from shadow to shadow, pouring himself from well-defined blocks of black to blurry patches of dismal shade like a fountain of liquid night.  From behind curtains to corners to closets he proceeds until he arrives at his destination within the house, cascading up from under the rocking chair in bituminous ambiguity, taking in his surroundings as he forms himself into something more man-like.  In the near total darkness of the room, he takes a moment to grin at the banner that hangs above the window. 

"Welcome Home Geoffrey!"

He starts by collecting the small items, organizing them into neat, precise piles upon the new furniture.  Then, using bits of himself like ink from a quill, he takes his long finger and, in his voluminous manner, writes words on pieces of paper- "Give Away", "Return", "Unnecessary"- until each pile is properly labeled.  Finally, he picks up the blue plastic trash bin, and touching his finger directly to the surface, writes the word "Payment" before setting it down in the center of the room.

Satisfied, he thinks back on the events that brought him here.  He wonders if she told her husband about what happened to her that night, when she begged for a miracle, anything to save her from herself and her miserable, hypodermic enslavement.  He wonders if she told him about how she used to wake up with a stranger in her bed and a needle in her arm.  He wonders if she even remembers their deal and the payment he promised to exact.  Of course she does, he grins again.  Ten years is enough time to turn your life around, but not long enough to forget about the direction you once faced.

He hears the front door open and careful, excited footsteps walk through it.  They’re home- all of them.  As the footsteps approach the room, he drops away like obsidian rain, concealing himself in the darkness of the closet, watching expectantly, waiting for the moment when she realizes...

As the door opens, a hand finds the light switch and the curiosity of his work is revealed to them.

“David,” she begins, looking over confusedly at her husband while gingerly cradling the sleeping newborn in her arms.  “I thought you said that the nursery was ready!”

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