After an additional ten minute discussion of the incident, the pizza was removed from the oven and both men dug in. Somehow, the confrontation with his neighbor seemed to suck a lot of the flavor out of the food for Dante, but it did feel good having something inside his stomach at long last. Having missed breakfast, he had hoped to stock up on lunch. Unfortunately, the gallery had been hopping all day and Dante only found time to gobble down an apple and a small container of orange juice. Omar had fared a little better, claiming a donut, pear and soda for his lunch, but with these meager allowances of nourishment, both men had been in great need of something a little more substantial. The pizza hit the spot.

It was a quarter after nine when Omar finally headed to his car, although not without first offering to spend the night with Dante in case Leonard consumed more alcohol and decided to restart the war. The gesture was appreciated but declined. Dante just wanted to be alone with his thoughts, his fears and his shame. More than that, however, he wanted nothing to distract him from the sleep that called to him at an even higher volume than Leonard’s voice.

Dante slid out of his shirt, noting the greasy fingerprints where his neighbor had grabbed him. This might never come out, he thought, but he would deal with it tomorrow. He had the entire day off to wash clothes, or sleep, or whatever else he chose to do, or not to do. His pants were next and before he knew it he was sliding between the deliciously cool sheets with the covers laying lightly upon him, promising warmth very soon. Flicking off the light he snuggled back against the pillow, relishing in its softness and comfort. He would occasionally catch brief traces of Tyler’s cologne in his nostrils, this scent remaining upon the bedding from last night and adding even more proof of Tyler’s having been there . But Dante was tired of thinking about it. That was the past, and this the present, and sleep was the future.

The room was still, the only sound being the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the front room. Scant light entered through the frail curtains covering the bedroom window on the street-side of the house, the vapor lamp outside offering enough of a nightlight for Dante to navigate to the bathroom without having to engage the lamp beside the bed. Everything was now perfect, and in this perfection Dante felt the rapid encroachment of sleep.

It was the sudden creaking of the house that brought him back to his senses and he silently cursed the structure for interrupting what was soon to be the perfect sleep. Without opening his eyes, he again snuggled down in the bed and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and enjoying the feeling of his lungs contracting. A few more moments of inviting silence passed before he again heard the house creaking. This time, however, it sounded to be more localized, almost as if having come from somewhere near, possibly in the hallway.

Dante had heard these sounds for years and again paid it little attention, until it happened a third time. Now it sounded a little too near for comfort and his eyes shot open involuntarily. Glancing left and right proved the room to be empty, so he lifted his head to check out the remainder of the room. The dim light afforded him a somewhat restricted view of the area although he was able to identify the outline of familiar furniture and the closet. Moving his eyes to the left he suddenly felt his heart lodge in his throat. In the open bedroom doorway was clearly visible the dark silhouette of a man.

Selected text © 2010 Jeffrey Lynn Stoddard