Chapter 3 - THE RED STAIN AT DAWN
The sun began to bleed through the curtains at six in the morning,
painting the room in shades of orange and gold.
I woke up slowly,
the warmth of Sarah's body still lingering on my skin.
For a few seconds,
I felt a peace so profound it made my eyes sting.
I thought about the possibility of staying,
of walking away from the construction company in Chicago.
I thought about starting over here,
in the humidity and the heat.
I turned to look at her,
expecting to see her sleeping face.
But she was already up,
standing by the window.
She was wearing one of my white shirts,
the fabric hanging loose on her frame.
She looked like a ghost in the morning light,
pale and translucent.
She was staring out at the ocean,
her expression unreadable.
"Sarah?"
I called out,
my voice thick with sleep.
She didn't turn around immediately.
She just stood there,
her shoulders tense.
I sat up,
pushing the covers back.
And that's when I saw it.
A red stain on the white sheet,
right where she had been lying.
It wasn't large,
maybe the size of a silver dollar,
but it was vivid against the stark white fabric.
My heart stopped,
a cold dread spreading through my chest.
I stared at the spot,
my mind racing through a dozen different explanations.
None of them were good.
"Sarah,
look,"
I said,
pointing to the bed.
She turned around then,
her eyes darting to the stain.
A flash of pure terror crossed her face,
gone as quickly as it had appeared.
She moved toward the bed with a sudden,
frenetic energy.
She grabbed the sheet,
bunching it up in her hands to hide the mark.
"It's nothing,
Charles,"
she said,
her voice trembling slightly.
"It's just...
nothing.
I have to go."
"Wait,
you're bleeding,"
I said,
getting out of bed to reach for her.
"Did I hurt you?
What happened?"
"No,
you didn't do anything,"
she snapped,
pulling away from my touch.
She started grabbing her clothes from the floor,
dressing with a frantic haste.
She wouldn't look me in the eye.
She wouldn't even stay still for a second.
"Sarah,
talk to me,"
I pleaded,
my own panic beginning to rise.
"You can't just leave like this."
"I have to,"
she repeated,
her voice tight and small.
"Go take a shower,
Charles.
You have work to do.
Just forget this happened."
She didn't wait for me to respond.
She grabbed her shoes,
her purse,
and bolted for the door.
The sound of it slamming shut echoed in the quiet room.
I stood there,
half-naked and shivering in the air conditioning.
The unmade bed looked like a crime scene.
The crumpled sheet sat on the edge,
hiding the red stain that had started the collapse.
I felt a terrible,
hollow feeling in my stomach.
She hadn't left like a woman who was embarrassed.
She had left like a woman who was terrified.
I sat back down on the bed,
staring at the door she had just vanished through.
The silence returned,
but this time,
it was heavy with a secret I didn't understand.
I tried to tell myself it was nothing,
that she was just startled by the intimacy.
But the red stain wouldn't leave my mind.
It was a warning,
May you like
a signal fire in the dark.
And I was too blind to see what it was trying to tell me.
