It hadn’t been the alarm. Those fast-paced electronic wails don’t
wake our neighbors but on the rare occasion that they sound, we leap --
frenzied -- from our slumber. It could have been a phone chime, the baby
crying, or perhaps just a hunch. Either way, I moved, quasi-upright, toward the
bedroom door where I’d seen her exit, disappear into the hallway. Courtesy of
the minimal light reflecting up the staircase, I saw Alice the Merchandiser
vanish again -- this time into the foyer. The flash of her movement that I
caught was quick and hunched, creepy like one of those alien snippets from Signs. It should have frightened me more
than it did.
I should’ve
been afraid for what she might be doing or what her intentions were. Instead, sordid
motivations sent me -- grumpy at being awakened, startled and pissed by her
presence -- after her. As is my tendency, I hadn’t thought it through and had
no plan regarding what I’d do if I caught her.
For what
seemed like an hour, though, I couldn’t find her. She was nowhere on the main
floor and the more the time passed, the more I panicked. No doors had chimed;
she wasn’t outside or in the basement or garage. Still, I could pick up no
trace of Alice.
