Whispering to me from the dark

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It was that feeling of déjà vu that woke Simon Johnson up in the middle of the night.

He rolled over to face his wife but her side of the bed was empty, her digital clock still read 11:06.

Why would she be getting up at this hour?

He was still putting on his glasses when Christine walked into the bedroom in her red silk robe.

"What's up?"

"I don't know. I was dreaming and then woke up and had this feeling of..." she drifted off, her eyes fixed on the window.

Simon followed her gaze and looked out the window to see a man in a soldier's uniform walking down the sidewalk in front of the house.

"Christine..." he started, as if he wanted to ask her but she interrupted.

"Yes. Do you see this?"

"See what?"

"That man. The one in the uniform."

"Uh huh." He rolled onto his side, facing her.

"You're not looking."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Simon could feel his hair bristling on the top of his head, he scowled and Christine sighed.

"I'm going to make us some coffee. Just... go sit on the couch and watch the news."

"I would like to have a cup of coffee instead. If that's ok." She paused for a moment and opened her mouth, but closed it again. She turned and headed towards the kitchen, grabbing a pair of pants from the living room chair. Simon turned the television on and watched the anchorwoman. She was a woman his age, he could tell, with a nice smile and a slightly peppery way of speaking. For whatever reason, the television always made him want to guzzle coffee.

"The sudden death of actor Elias Smith Jr. has left his family stunned," the anchorwoman was saying, "Smith was just 29 years old. He was best known for his role in the hit television series Dare to Drink. Unfortunately, no cause of death has yet been released. I will now turn things over to Patrick Mackinon, who has the story."

The next image was of a man standing in the rain, "Elias Smith Jr. was discovered dead in his Los Angeles home by producers Anne and Richard Johnson, who have been his close friends for nearly-or in Johnson's case-approximately 15 years. What have the Johnsons had to say about their close friend's death?"

"We just don't know what happened. He was full of life, ready to get going again. It's just a hard thing to grasp." The picture cut out to the reporter, who was standing in front of the Johnsons' extravagant home.

"Was Mr. Smith planning on resuming his career soon?

"Well, we were going to do a play together, but he was tired of the big city, wanted to move somewhere smaller, maybe open up a theater. I don't know. I wasn't going with him. I'm staying put."

"No leads have been released in the case and the death is being ruled as suspicious as of yet." The images switched as the reporter continued to talk, but Simon was no longer paying attention. He turned the television off and walked into the kitchen, where Christine was pouring a cup of hot water into the coffee maker.

"You drank without me," she said without turning to look at him.

"I'm sorry. What are you doing?"

"Making coffee."

"You were making coffee."

"So it wasn't you who drank it?" She smiled, and Simon smiled back.

"Do you know if you want the couch or the TV?"

"Which do you prefer?" Christine asked. Simon stared at the television sitting on the kitchen table. He thought about the man down the street who had brought him the newspaper, who told him what to do.

"The couch," he answered, and Christine nodded. She continued to pour water into the coffee maker and Simon got himself a glass of orange juice.

"This tastes kind of funny," he told her a few minutes later, after returning from the living room. She looked up from her seat at the kitchen table.

"What?"

"This juice. It tastes-not very fresh."

"I don't think they're very good at keeping the fridge stocked. Want me to make some popcorn?"

Simon nodded, and then decided that she was probably wrong. It was probably just the rain.

When he was drinking the orange juice, he thought about how nice it would be for Christine to be back. It was almost as if she could read his mind.

The next morning, he made a call to his former boss. When he had gotten off the phone ten minutes later, he apologized for waking Christine up but she had assured him that it was fine.

"It's just one of those times when I needed the sleep," the man said and Simon admitted that he had been thinking the same thing.

Simon spent the rest of the day sitting on the couch, watching the news.

On Thursday afternoon, he took a bite of popcorn and looked at his watch. Christine would arrive any minute and that thought made him nervous. He kept waiting for her to call and check in, but she never did. He jumped as the phone rang, his heart suddenly started racing. He got to it before the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Simon, it's me. Are you up for a game of chess?"

"Sure. Uh, I mean, yeah! The usual place?"

"Around the corner." Her voice had an odd edge to it, a bit shaky and weird. He wondered if he had woken up Christine.

"Are you in the bathroom or something? You have a funny way of talking."

"No, I'm just-Simon, I have to go. I'm still on the job. See you soon." The phone went dead. Simon decided to have some more orange juice, it suddenly tasted fresher than ever.

The game of chess was cut short, he won and the man he was playing with offered him a ride home. Simon declined and decided to walk. It was his favorite part of the day, being alone in the dark after a day of being alone in the light. He pulled his coat around his shoulders and strolled down the sidewalk, his head down. When he got to the apartment building where he lived, he took the key out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock. His hand was shaking. As he turned the key, he felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears.