The Stillness of an Empty House and a Bit of WIP


I’m trying to clear my desk of a few things in preparation for heading to Texas on Wednesday for World Fantasy Convention: moving the piles of review CDs around to make a differently ordered series of stacks, filing paperwork, paying bills, putting books on shelves, clearing away icons from the desktop. I’ve turned in part one of Harry’s Dream Journal for Farrago’s Wainscot so that’s done, and I’ve got a few weeks before I need to finish the draft of part two (so as to stay ahead of the game, of course). Last night, I worked through a couple of outstanding movies that have been in the drawer for a few weeks/months (The Proposition and most of Kill Bill, Part Two for those who are curious. For the even curiouser, I 8x’ed the first to see if anything remotely interesting happened during the film [consensus: not really] and napped during part of the second). I also did a coat of primer in the downstairs bathroom so that I can do the first coat of paint tonight. Ah, the mundane life.

Here’s a bit of INSTRUMENT from this morning, salvaging an otherwise uneventful post.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Detective Levanti shook my hand. Crisp and not quite dry, it was like squeezing a leaf that had just been plucked from a tree. “I didn’t expect you this early.” There were dark circles under his eyes and he hadn’t bothered to wear a tie.

“I don’t sleep much past daybreak,” I said in way of apology. “The sun stirs up the air too much–stirs me up too much.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding as if my explanation was a sort of a holistic Oriental secret that was intended to be both vague and insightful. “Well, we might as well get this over with then.” He indicated the elevator at the end of the hall. As I turned in that direction, his other hand brushed my elbow. It was a light touch, not meant to be overly familiar, just to reassure me of his presence. To tell me that we were doing this together; that no one liked to look upon death, even those who chased after it. We were going to look on the faces of my family together–the touch said–and if I needed support, his hand would be there.

The wind told me he didn’t offer such aid to everyone, only to those who were about to see something awful.

I waited until the elevator was descending into the basement to ask. “They were tortured too, weren’t they?”