left, right after the gas station that’s across from Safeway,” the woman explained.
Vivien beamed.
“I live on Flowers Street also. We’re neighbors then.”
“Great news! When you have time, come over to see my statues collection,” Mr. Logan invited her. Then he came closer and whispered in her ear. “Every now and then, she calls on me. I can smell her perfume the instant she enters the house. And I can hear her walking and breathing. She doesn’t talk to me, but I guess she misses me from time to time and drops by to see me. You remember my Lili, don’t you, Vivien?”
Vivien felt icy shivers traveling through her body. The blood drained from her face. A number of questions came to her mind, but she chose silence.
The assistant laughed again, in the same awkward manner, defusing Mr. Logan’s statement at once.
“Don’t pay attention to him,” she advised. “His mind is…” She made circular motions with her hand in the region of her temple, to make up for the lack of that peculiar word in her vocabulary. “He believes he is visited by his girlfriend from fifteen or twenty years ago. The woman has committed suicide, she’s long-dead.”
Slightly embarrassed, Vivien promised Mr. Logan that she would ring at his door quite soon. Then she got back into her car and left.
The five-minute drive from the grocery store to her house became a quarter of an hour. Groups of Halloween dressed up children gamboled and crossed the street everywhere with no insurance whatsoever.
Finally, she arrived in front of her garage without any incident.
Damn it! Really! I forgot to leave a light on again , Vivien chided inwardly.
At the sight of her own house wrapped up in darkness, a disturbing feeling of fear raked at her heart. She grabbed a box from the trunk, prepared her key, and walked with hesitant steps toward the main entrance. She opened the door and turned on the light. From the doorway, she shot a quick look over the entire living room. Nothing changed , she decided, all muscles tensed. Her initial dread starting to ebb, she advanced into the kitchen. Everything okay here too .
Paranoia , she muttered, realizing the ridicule of the situation. I will never get over this , she bitterly admitted defeat vis-à-vis her own fears.
“You have to put yourself in situations that force you to face your greatest fears, otherwise normal, safe situations that you tend to avoid because of past panic attacks,” the psychologist had advised her at her single cognitive-behavioral psychotherapy session she had been able to bring herself to come.
After months of playing with the idea in her head, Vivien had decided to follow the doctor’s advice. She had moved to the Bay Area all by herself. Without her parents, without a boyfriend, a lover, or a friend. She needed to win this battle once and for all. Nevertheless, she felt terrible. Every minute spent alone seemed like an assault to her sanity. Sometimes, the fear of death paralyzed her, and she felt just as if she were awaiting an imminent heart attack. The only thing that she loved to do in total solitude it was to play the piano. The musical notes flowed one by one, like sweet, gentle touches on her agitated heart.
The children chorus startled her.
“Trick or treat!”
They looked funny – a small battalion of skeletons, witches, and black cats. The young woman greeted them amused.
“Welcome, guys! Glad you stopped by. Just a moment, please, to open the bags of bonbons. I just got home,” she excused herself for being caught unprepared for their visit.
“I would be glad to help you carry the boxes from your trunk,” the tall and plump teenage boy volunteered politely. He appeared to be the leader of the group.
Vivien accepted graciously.
“Thank you very much, if you really want
Vivien beamed.
“I live on Flowers Street also. We’re neighbors then.”
“Great news! When you have time, come over to see my statues collection,” Mr. Logan invited her. Then he came closer and whispered in her ear. “Every now and then, she calls on me. I can smell her perfume the instant she enters the house. And I can hear her walking and breathing. She doesn’t talk to me, but I guess she misses me from time to time and drops by to see me. You remember my Lili, don’t you, Vivien?”
Vivien felt icy shivers traveling through her body. The blood drained from her face. A number of questions came to her mind, but she chose silence.
The assistant laughed again, in the same awkward manner, defusing Mr. Logan’s statement at once.
“Don’t pay attention to him,” she advised. “His mind is…” She made circular motions with her hand in the region of her temple, to make up for the lack of that peculiar word in her vocabulary. “He believes he is visited by his girlfriend from fifteen or twenty years ago. The woman has committed suicide, she’s long-dead.”
Slightly embarrassed, Vivien promised Mr. Logan that she would ring at his door quite soon. Then she got back into her car and left.
The five-minute drive from the grocery store to her house became a quarter of an hour. Groups of Halloween dressed up children gamboled and crossed the street everywhere with no insurance whatsoever.
Finally, she arrived in front of her garage without any incident.
Damn it! Really! I forgot to leave a light on again , Vivien chided inwardly.
At the sight of her own house wrapped up in darkness, a disturbing feeling of fear raked at her heart. She grabbed a box from the trunk, prepared her key, and walked with hesitant steps toward the main entrance. She opened the door and turned on the light. From the doorway, she shot a quick look over the entire living room. Nothing changed , she decided, all muscles tensed. Her initial dread starting to ebb, she advanced into the kitchen. Everything okay here too .
Paranoia , she muttered, realizing the ridicule of the situation. I will never get over this , she bitterly admitted defeat vis-à-vis her own fears.
“You have to put yourself in situations that force you to face your greatest fears, otherwise normal, safe situations that you tend to avoid because of past panic attacks,” the psychologist had advised her at her single cognitive-behavioral psychotherapy session she had been able to bring herself to come.
After months of playing with the idea in her head, Vivien had decided to follow the doctor’s advice. She had moved to the Bay Area all by herself. Without her parents, without a boyfriend, a lover, or a friend. She needed to win this battle once and for all. Nevertheless, she felt terrible. Every minute spent alone seemed like an assault to her sanity. Sometimes, the fear of death paralyzed her, and she felt just as if she were awaiting an imminent heart attack. The only thing that she loved to do in total solitude it was to play the piano. The musical notes flowed one by one, like sweet, gentle touches on her agitated heart.
The children chorus startled her.
“Trick or treat!”
They looked funny – a small battalion of skeletons, witches, and black cats. The young woman greeted them amused.
“Welcome, guys! Glad you stopped by. Just a moment, please, to open the bags of bonbons. I just got home,” she excused herself for being caught unprepared for their visit.
“I would be glad to help you carry the boxes from your trunk,” the tall and plump teenage boy volunteered politely. He appeared to be the leader of the group.
Vivien accepted graciously.
“Thank you very much, if you really want
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