A tall shadow stepped into Lorraine's room, silent and deliberate.
Leroy.
He hadn't expected the door to be unlatched. That surprised him. Perhaps he was lucky. The thought made him scoff under his breath.
Lucky.What a damned word!
He stepped across the room slowly, the light from the hearth flickering faintly behind him. The heavy curtains of the bed were drawn shut, veiling her in twilight. He reached out and parted them, letting the silvery moonlight spill across her resting form.
She was lying on her side, facing the window. Still. Stiff like a wildflower preserved in glass: beautiful, fragile, and bound by something invisible.
He sat at the edge of the bed, and the mattress dipped under his weight. She didn't stir. His breath shook slightly as he reached for the oil lamp on her bedside table. A small flame danced inside. He stared at her. Then lifted a hand.
