isochronous

She wanted to run. But her feet wouldn't listen.

She wanted to look straight ahead, look only at where she was headed. But her eyes couldn't keep from the corners, from searching for his shadow.

And most of all, she wanted to stay calm. She needed to stay calm. And that was so much more than impossible.

She felt him. Staring at her, hungrily, from a distance. But the distance meant nothing to him then, and it most certainly didn't mean anything now. He was upon her. Leaning against her back. Pressing into her. His hands were wrapped around her, caressing her lovingly. His lips were on her ears, his breaths filling in, his tongue ever so lightly licking her ears, sending tremors of fear through her while enjoying tremors of excitement himself. She felt his hands reaching for her neck. And she broke into a run.

She needed to get out of here. Get as far away from him as she could. She was losing her mind. She knew. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Home was the only place she could return to. Her home. Where he had never set foot. Which was hers long after he was dead and buried and decomposed into the earth. Where he should never have been able to come.

But he had. He had been inside. It wasn't a safe sanctuary anymore. But she was helpless. Where else could she go?

She locked the doors and the windows. Pulled the curtains. Shut out all of the outside. Lay in her bed. Curled under the sheets. Trembling. Crying. Stifling the sobs as best as she could. Telling herself repeatedly, it was just her head playing tricks. Failing. Crying harder. Trembling increasingly violently. And continually telling herself the same thing.

A circle of insanity that would yield little.

And then, she heard him. The sound of his feet in the distance.

*

Mike was standing outside Adyans mart on 14th street in Barrow city at 8:30. And it was almost as if he was dreaming. The people going in and out were blurry figures. The racks were skeletal buildings, cloud of haze occupying the shelves. And he was outside, looking in through the glass wall that was like the canvas upon which he sketched.

"It's not a dream," he said to himself. "You're really here."

He walked in. He was a cloud in the dream, but he was walking on his feet now. Following the same trail deeper in. Pausing at the frozen foods section, where he had seen Rika most.

She wasn't here.

He walked around the store. Without finding her. And then came to a stop in the very same aisle, behind the very same rack where Shade stood. He was seeing the exact picture Shade had seen.

"He's the same tall," he noted.

And as he was looking away, he grabbed a bag of chips. He stopped himself from opening it right there. He headed straight to the billing counters, paid for the chips and walked out. Outside, he stopped in the face of the night beckoning him. It wasn't a familiar voice. It was vague, but distinctive enough to grab onto him.

He felt the pull growing. And he gave in.

He opened the bag of chips and began feasting on one piece at a time. The night was brighter with the saltiness dancing on his tongue and the crisp chips crumbling under his teeth. The people were columns of mist as he walked past. The path he was walking was lit under a faint yellowish light, as if under a candle, and strangely brighter and at the same time dimmer than the surroundings. He walked slow and steady, and without pause. As he threw the last chip into his mouth, he stopped in front of an apartment building. He threw the empty bag into the nearest dustbin, licked his fingers clean, and looked up at a flat four stories up.

And as he grinned, Mike was himself again.

He looked up at the flat that was dark, knowing fully well that he had been led here by Shade. This was Rika's home.

*

Rika was so excited she couldn't sit still through the half hour drive. Her parents had told her they were moving to a new house a few days ago. But they wouldn't tell her where, or show her pictures.

"We want to keep it a surprise," her mother said.

Her father nodded. And the two of them smiled at her who was a delightful blend of excitement and disappointment.

Every day had been torture. So slow. So long. She wanted time to speed up. She wasn't prepared when her parents told her in the morning that they would be moving today, so they could have lunch in the new home.

She was stunned silly when she saw the new home. It was a villa, with a small garden in the front. Her room was upstairs, decorated already just the way she'd like her room to be.

"It's your room," her mother said. "You can be happy."

Only then, did she scream from excitement and joy and so much more.

A few months later, that same room couldn't even be her sanctuary.

She was trembling under her bed. Squeezing down on her mouth to keep the sobs from escaping. Shutting her eyes tight. Curling into herself as if wanting to disappear into herself. Anything to stop him.

He came over anyway. He stopped with his legs right against the bed. He was whistling, a tune that couldn't be any more familiar. Then, he bent down to his knees, and looked under the bed. Grinning.

"Come on out honey. I caught you."

She wanted to scream, "No!", but her hands were pressing down too hard. She wanted to close her eyes tighter, as if willing herself into disappearing, but she couldn't when she felt his hands nearing. She could do nothing as he grabbed her and dragged her out.

"You like your bed so much, don't you?" he said, as he threw her on it. "Should we test how comfortable it really is?"

*

"No!" she screamed.

But the sound didn't go further than her. The hand was pressing down on her mouth. A hand too big for hers, too cold. She refused to open her eyes, even as she felt his cold breath on her face. She shook her head slightly, and even that was a herculean effort. And she couldn't do even that as he tightened his hand on her face.

"I caught you honey," came his cold voice, right in her ear. "Your bed is bigger. Surely is a lot more comfortable."

He laughed. A horrid, disgusting laugh.

She felt his hand slide downward, and her eyes burst open. And he wasn't there. It was just her, in the dark room.

And the shadow outside, showing through the slit under the door.

*

He walked up to the building, went in, and climbed up the stairs. His steps were slow, deliberate, steady. He was breathing only a little harder as he stepped onto the fourth story. The corridor was long, and wide. And lit up bright. It was really easy to feel comfortable. The building was old, but still nice and warm.

He didn't need Shade to show him to Rika's flat. He felt the coldness that was out-of-place. And he followed it to a closed door, with yellow tape across it.

He had found Rika's flat. But she wasn't home.