Page 32 of Night So Silent
“To make those.” I motion to the wreath hanging on the back of the front door and the greenery affixed above the largest windows. “I guess you couldn’t see them in the dark when you came in.”
Sergei squints at the door, silently taking in the decorations.
“But I saw something!” I continue, my patience wearing thin. “And I think it was trying to get inside!”
He turns back to me with a resolve. “I’ll check the cameras. And in the meantime, you’re still safe here. You have my word.”
“You’ll check the cameras?” I echo, not letting him off that easy.
“Yes.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes.”
I let out a deep breath, accepting that’s all I can ask of him. Then he strolls back out into the dining room, gazing around at the pine branches adorning the walls, accented by paper cranes and metallic stars. It’s not much, but somehow, it dramatically changes the ambiance. It’s beginning to—dare I say—look a lot like Christmas?
He doesn’t say anything at first.Big surprise.But he meanders around the room, examining each one in silence. Finally, he returns to the hallway, where I’m still trying to bring my nerves back to equilibrium.
“They’re very nice,” he finally says. “Where did you learn to make those—the birds?”
I scrunch up my nose in thought. “Summer camp, maybe? I did a lot of origami in middle school. We used to get in trouble for making those fortune teller things in class.” I chuckle at the memory.
“You practiced the occult in school?”
“Yeah!” I knit my brow in surprise. “Didn’tyou?”
He stares back at me, long enough for me to realize that he legitimately doesn’t know that I’m joking or what I’m talking about. I bring my hands up to my chest like I’m holding an imaginary paper fortune teller on the tips of my fingers.
“So, there are four sides, and you stick your fingers beneath the flaps and move it like this.” I move my fingers in and out, simulating the game. “There are colors and numbers drawn on it that determines how many times you move it, and then at the end, you open the flap and there are answers likeyes, no, maybe, you’ll die in eight days…”
“What?” Sergei furrows his brow.
“I’m kidding! I’ll make one sometime and show you,” I snicker. “So, was there any damage to your building?”
Since he’s home now, I feel comfortable enough to steer the conversation away from things that don’t involve shadowy figures prowling around outside.
“Some downed trees and debris on the west side, but it was easy enough to clear,” Sergei replies, heading into the kitchen to grab a glass out of the cupboard. “Did you sleep well last night?” he asks before downing a tall glass of ice water.
“Oh, yeah, thank you. And thanks for breakfast again. That was really nice of you.”
“I'm not used to someone else sleeping in my bed with me,” he adds, eyeing me with his glacier blue eyes.
His tone’s returned to its normal stoicism that makes it difficult to tell whether he’s just making an observation or implying that I’m still an interloper in his house.
“Me, either. I hope I didn't disturb you. I actually slept really well.”
“I know.” He sets the glass down on the countertop. “I figured as much when you used my hand to make yourself come.”
Oh...shit.
All the oxygen leaves the room as my brain short-circuits.
“You could've just asked,” he adds.
My throat is suddenly parched. “Asked—asked what?” I try to play dumb. It’s my only defense.
Sergei starts across the kitchen in slow, lumbering strides. “You could’ve asked me to make you come.”
