She steps into the darkened house
and closes the door behind her, locking it.
Without turning a light on, she wearily climbs the stairs and strides
down the hallway in darkness. Dropping
her purse and coat into the chair by the door, she crosses the bedroom and
turns the bedside lamp to its lowest setting.
The bulb casts a soft glow, illuminating the room enough to push back
the night ever so slightly but not enough to chase the shadows from the
corners. She draws one slender hand over
her face, gently rubbing her tired eyes then runs the fingers of both hands
through her hair. It’s been an
exhausting week of long days, late meetings and too much driving. All she wants is to drop into bed, slide
between the silken sheets and drift off to sleep.
He hears the
faint click of the door as it latches and the fainter catch of the lock
turning. The slow steady patter of her heels
approaching on the hardwood flooring invokes visions of her long slender
legs. A flush of heat washes over
him. He steps back and slips behind the
heavy drapes just as she enters the room.
The dim light of the lamp brightens the room enough for him to see her
now but does not reach him where he lurks.
He can see the toll the week has taken on her. The weary droop of her shoulders, the
lethargic pace of her movements, the deep sigh as she finger combs her luxurious
locks. In her current state, she would
be easy prey for any predator.