Untitled Story
Plot
Salma rushed into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Soaked in sweat, her chest felt heavy; she closed her eyes.
She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him. It had barely been hours since Monsieur Duval was let out on parole, but there he was. Standing in front of the porch with unfinished business.
Rodion· Section 1
Was it really him? She tiptoed to the peephole, and there he was - his eyes fixed exactly where hers were. Like he knew her next move. Like he always did. She collapsed onto the ground, hugging her knees, trying to control her breathing. The footsteps approached; she counted - 1,2,3,4......then she couldn't hear any.
ChappIO· Section 2
The silence held. She waited for the knock she knew was coming. Duval never left without knocking, three times, always three. But it didn’t come. She made herself stand. Made herself walk back to the peephole.
The hallway was empty. The wall lamp, the console table, her shoes by the door. No one to be seen.
He moved, she told herself. He’s just out of sight. She pressed her forehead to the door and counted again. one, two, three, four. The way the doctor had taught her, back when she still went. When she opened her eyes the hallway light was flickering, and for a moment, in the dark seam beneath the door, she was certain she saw the shadow of two feet.
Rodion· Section 3
There was a sound. Like someone tearing a page out of a notebook. No, a notepad. Before she could hear anything else, she found the note next to her. She recognized the paper — 4 inches, yellow, with a tiny red heart at the lower-left corner, and a rainbow watermark — just like they left notes for each other when they worked different shifts. She picked the note: “Tomorrow 11AM, Barbara’s. H”