She came back into the house. Everything was as she had left. Not a leaf of paper had moved. Not a single book out of place. The dishes were still in the sink. One shoe lying on the floor and another beneath the bed. Black panty hose beside it. A copy of Doctor Faustus lying face down, hurting. Unwatered plants dying a slow death. Paint brushes stuck in the wash water and a half finished painting with brief, harsh, powerful strokes. The cushions sprawled on the couch and a throw that was thrown with carelessness.
The silence was overpowering. She could hear it. Feel it in the air, in her breath. Choking and closing in on her. And then she heard it - the faint hum of the computer, the background noise of the cars on the roads, the air conditioning unit running, the clock ticking, the refrigrator starting up...
The house was alive, after all...
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