Good Girl

Was it a bird?

*Benjamin*

I pull into my driveway, the last rays of the sun slipping beneath the horizon, casting a dusky hue over everything. My body aches with exhaustion, a heavy weight pressing down on my shoulders after another grueling day chasing shadows. The case has me spinning in circles… the serial killer, elusive and dangerously clever, slipping through our fingers with every lead that goes cold. I’m running on fumes, my mind a chaotic jumble of facts and theories.

As I step into my townhouse, a chill wraps around me, as if the house itself is holding its breath. The air feels different, and I can’t help but shudder slightly. I lock the door behind me, instincts kicking in as I scan the space. Everything seems in place, but the eerie silence gnaws at me. The faint scent of lilies drifts through the air, a soft, floral note that feels oddly out of place. I don’t keep flowers in my home.

I move cautiously, the floorboards creaking underfoot as I make my way through the living room and into the kitchen. The draft is more pronounced here, and it leads me to the back of the house. That’s when I notice it… a broken window, shards of glass glimmering on the floor like a scatter of stars. My heart quickens. Did a bird fly in? But there is no bird or feathers to be seen, an unsettling feeling prickles the back of my neck.

I step closer, inspecting the broken glass, my mind racing with possibilities. Could someone have broken in? The door was locked; I’m sure of it, and checking it I find that it still is. My instincts scream at me to be on high alert. I don't like this. Not one bit.

As I move through the house, I keep my senses heightened, listening for any sound that might betray an intruder. I check the living room, the bathroom, my office… everything seems undisturbed. But that scent, the lilies, grows stronger as I approach my bedroom. There’s something almost intoxicating about it, pulling me closer, igniting a flicker of curiosity mixed with dread.

I push the bedroom door open, and a wave of warmth envelops me, contrasting sharply with the chill of the rest of the house. My heart races as I step inside, the air thick with that floral aroma. The bed is unmade, sheets tossed aside as if someone had been here recently. My breath hitches, and I feel an inexplicable rush of adrenaline.

"Hello?" I call out, my voice steady despite the unease coiling in my stomach. No answer. Just the silence, heavy and pregnant with tension. I step further into the room, the heat intensifying around me, and I catch a glimpse of something on the bed… like a faint indentation where someone has lain.

The feeling of being watched washes over me, an instinctual awareness prickling at my skin. I can't shake it, even with the certainty that I’m alone. I search for hidden corners, beneath the bed, behind the door, my heart pounding in my chest. I’m a detective, trained to observe, to notice the smallest details. But here, I feel blind, caught in a web of unease and curiosity.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me, and then it hits me..: the scent, the warmth, the broken window. It all collides. Someone has been here, I am absolutely sure of it and they’ve left behind an essence that clings to the very fabric of my home. Is it a prank? A sick joke? Or something more sinister?

For some reason I can’t help but think of her. Irene. The girl who crashed into my life like a whirlwind, her laughter still echoing in my ears. The way she looked at me, those eyes filled with mischief and longing. I shake my head, trying to dispel the thought. It can’t be her. She wouldn’t…

But the scent of lilies deepens, and I find myself drawn back to the bed, the warmth still lingering in the sheets. My heart races as I think of the possibility that she might have come here, that she slipped into my world without me knowing.

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, frustration and intrigue battling within me. I step closer to the window, peering out into the dimming light, scanning the street for any sign of movement. Nothing. Just the shadows lengthening across the pavement.

I’m left standing there, caught between the remnants of a warmth that isn’t mine and the chill creeping back into the corners of my mind. The thrill of the unknown coils around me, and I can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning. Whatever has happened here, it’s set something in motion, and I need to find out who or what it is.

The night stretches before me, vast and full of possibilities, and I know I won’t rest until I get to the bottom of this mystery.

But for now I get the broken window covered up to keep the wind out and I start making a simple dinner… trying to tell myself that it must have been a bird.