He was elbow deep in my mother's hope chest when I did wake, alerted by wind blowing my things off the dresser top in a noisy clatter. The thief whirled, cursing quietly, and my bed squeaked at my movement. I didn't speak, when he looked at me, eyes indistinguishable in the low light. I barely moved, heart beating in my throat. That same wind caught the window, still hanging open. The hinges sounded again, that familiar sound echoing back strangely from my dreams, and it broke me from the spell. I beckoned to him. He stood slowly, like a beast with its eyes trained on a hunter. I held my breast through my gown with a hand and shifted beneath the blankets, so the fabric dipped between my spread thighs. Still afraid to speak, wary that a sound might send him scurrying, I quirked my fingers again. Come. He did. Still slowly, moving gently, almost. The boards of my attic bedroom, in my poor husband's old, creaking house, did not sound beneath his steps. His face was still shaded when he. Minutes later the door opened again, this time the steps came closer. He felt breath on his neck and then a whisper.“Your collar.”Whatever it was he had no idea, leather perhaps, cool but not cold enough to be metal. He couldn’t see it, somehow whoever was behind him had hidden the collar under his chin as she — it had to be a female — wrapped it around his neck.A kiss on the back of his neck distracted him at the same time that cuffs were applied to his wrists and locked together. The feeling of anticipation was almost overwhelming but what happened turned out to be a very different experience. Nothing happened.More exactly, a very active nothing. The perfumed breath behind him disappeared and was replaced by silence. With no way to keep track of the time, he stood alone, curious, reflecting.He heard a door open behind him again and then the sound of heels on the hard floor. Two women, quiet voices. It was impossible to make out the words; was it a foreign language or were they.
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