He saw her standing there and he was sure she looked at him, though after the memory was replayed through his mind over and over, he couldn’t be sure if she was really looking at him or just briefly over her shoulder for no discernable reason.
The string of beads, tied to a black cord, hung around his neck, where they felt cool against the skin that covered his heart.
He took his seat in the small, uncomfortable chair that never moved from its constant vigil at the window. Looking out, the grass seemed to ripple under his gaze.
The days seemed longer, now, than they should have been. The air, warmer.
It was wrong, he knew. But he could breathe easier. The long-awake nights didn’t feel like such a burden. His thoughts were leaving him in piece.
Something was happening.