Midnight Fugue

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Splintered woodwork, bedroom door flung open, feet pounding across the floor, duvet ripped off, grim faces looking down at him, his wife screaming as she’s dragged naked from his side…

He sits upright and cries, ‘NO!’

The duvet is in place, the room empty, the door closed. And through the thin curtains seeps the grey light of dawn.

As for Gina, she hasn’t been by his side for…days?…weeks?…could be months.

The digital bedside clock reads 5.55. He’s not surprised.

Always some form of Nelson whenever he wakes these days: 1.112.22 3.33…

Meaning something bad.

Things go on like this, one morning soon he’s going to wake and the clock will read 6.66…

He is still shaking, his body soaked with sweat, his heart pounding.

He gets out of bed and goes on to the landing.

Even the sight of the front door securely in place can’t slow his pulse, even the shower jets cooling and cleaning his flesh can’t wash away his fear.

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