After midnight, in Stan Greene’s apartment. Urban sounds filter in through the walls; the thrum of traffic punctuated by the occasional “brraap” of an unmuffled scooter, a distant siren. Street light, slatted by living room blinds, stripes across his Ikea cream-colored couch and coffee table.
Down the short hall, similar stripes provide a backdrop to a slight green glow emanating from the dresser top. Top center sits the statue; its green eyes brighten and dim as if pulsing with an unseen heart.
Suddenly there are voices in the hall; laughter, a stumble, and a key rattles the door. The eyes go out as the door flies open, and Stan and Barbara fall through it giggling leaning on each other.
Barbara wobbles upright as Stan turns to shut the door. “Ooh, spooky. Lights?” she asks.
“I like to save eleck-k-tricety,” Stan slurs as he switches on a lamp near the door.
“There,” Barbara says as a warm glow fills the livingroom, “now it’s mood lighting,” she sways over to him, arms around his neck. “I like frugality in a man,” she whispers, “but sometimes, ya gotta throw caution to the wind.”
They both giggle, and the passionate embrace progresses. Stumbling down the hall, various pieces of clothing leave a path to the bedroom.
The amorous couple falls onto the bed, fumbling, petting, melding. Even when they pause for Stan to retrieve a condom from the bedside table, neither notices their silent witness atop the dresser.
Two hours and several condoms later, darkness has descended upon the apartment again, and the light returns, bathing the sleepers in its emerald pulse.
Stan moans in his sleep as the dream begins. This time, Barbara is with him, and they share a secret, grinning at each other as they float hand in hand over blocks of city buildings. They find themselves in the darker suburbs of the city, floating over matching roofs, finally setting down in a cul-de-sac.
They walk up the sidewalk, a silent purpose shared between them. Stan looks down at a cheerful gnome family clustered beneath a Japanese maple, and jumps when Barbara’s bright pink pump kicks over the mother gnome and stomps it, snapping the head off. Looking at her laugh-crinkled eyes, he grins, and together they pass through the front door of the house.
Unable to sleep, Sheila sits on the couch reading her iPad, oblivious to the invaders. Barbara clears her throat, and Sheila springs to her feet.
“Barb! Stan?! Jesus, you guys scared the shi – stuff out of me. How did you get in here?” The look on their faces is no comfort, and Sheila brings up her phone and punches a speed dial.
Barbara slaps the phone from her hand. “You nosy bitch! Stan told me you called that detective. I’m sick of you controlling my life. When I said we were done, I meant it!”
Sheila tries to bargain, “Barbara, you can do better- I would treat you better! Look how crazy this is! What do you think you two are doing here?!”
Barbara responds, “Getting rid of you!” As she slaps her, Stan reaches in and grabs her heart. The couple turns away, and Stan pulls Barbara to him for a passionate kiss. Inches from him, Barbara opens her eyes, and the spinning green glow pierces Stan’s brain to the sound of Barbara’s laughter.
Stan bolts upright in bed, flinging Barbara’s arm off. Barbara moans and shuffles over in her sleep. He rubs his eyes, shaking his head to rid his vision of her eye’s green glow. His breathing and heart rate slowly return to normal, but spike again as Barbara sits up.
“What’s wrong, love?” her voice muzzy with sleep.
His momentary fright is soothed when her eyes open to their natural dark brown. Exotic stripes of light trace her naked curves, and another stirring replaces the fear. “Just a nightmare,” he replies.
“Want to talk about it? Sometimes it helps,” she replies, tracing his spine.
“It’s so weird,” he begins, “you were in it.”
“Was I?” her voice is husky now.
“Yeah,” Stan slides back down in bed and lies on his side so he can trace her cheekbones. Why had it taken him so long to notice how beautiful she is? He wondered. Somehow it is easy to tell her. “We floated into Sheila’s place, and, well, we turned her to dust,” he said.
“Hmm…” Barbara responds, pulling his hand to her breast, and smiling as she draws him over for a kiss. She whispers against his lips, “Couldn’t happen to a nicer person.” This time, their lovemaking is urgent, and Stan collapses into a dreamless sleep.
Ally grips the steering wheel, willing the cars out of her way as she races to the outskirts of town. She is out of her jurisdiction, but she has the light on top of her car. Life or death, she thinks, white knuckled as she floors the accelerator.
She pulls up in the suburban cul-de-sac, and her heart sinks. Two deputy cars, flashing lights, officers rolling out police line tape. They are too late.
As she pushes her way in, showing her badge, Ally notices a broken garden gnome. A deputy comes up to her, Geri, she thinks.
“She’s gone, detective,” Geri says, pointing to the livingroom. Ally walks over to Sheila’s body, lying with eyes open, and a pile of dust on her sweatshirt front. Sheila’s phone is still lying across the floor under the TV. Putting gloves on, Ally picks up the phone and verifies the last call was to her.
“DAMMIT”, Ally growls.
“Detective,” the deputy says, “you knew this woman? Is that why she called you instead of 9-1-1?”
Ally nods. “She was a witness in a murder case. Deputy, this needs to be treated as part of a murder investigation, even though the cause of death appears natural, alright? We need to work together.” Ice cube’s chance in hell, Ally thinks.
“In the call I could hear two other people, and she named Stan and Barbara. Former co-workers…”, dammit, I need a warrant for his apartment, she thinks.