Siobhan comes to bed. Turn off the music, she says. I am half asleep but I reach over and hit the mute button.
“Do I have to do it?!” She sounds annoyed, as she comes round to my side of the bed.
“I did it already!” I reply.
Later on, I am fully asleep when she reaches over, gently touches my arm.
“What is the time?” she asks. But I am asleep. She reaches further over.
“Ngghh,” I mutter and I push out at her. “Why you waking me?” And I push her more.
“Don’t fight me,” she exclaims, “I am not a ghost!”
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In the morning I notice Siobhan is already gone and her car is not in the driveway. I too take a car, take a drive along the coastal road, top down. The sun is already setting by the time I cross the Tappan Zee bridge back home, but when I return she is still not back.
She could not be gone shopping this long. Is something wrong? It has been a lonely day.
It is getting dark. I am in my childhood house on Coring Road. I do not feel well, so I go up early. Maybe I should call her.
I walk up the stairs and on the landing, it is fully dark now, I notice the trap door to the attic is open. The attic light is on, but the ladder is not down. How can it be?
It would be work to get up into the attic, to turn off the light. The light pull is not long enough to reach up and grab. So I peer up to see who could be there, in the square of light, but I see no one through the opening. It’s not a good idea to look too closely and I am afraid to confront it. Instead I go to my room and to bed. I should call her.
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