The Other Shoe

She knocked first, and again got no answer. She turned the knob and found to her surprise the door was unlocked. She went in, and stopped two feet from the doorway.

The big bed was roiled, sheets and summer blanket in an explosion of folds. Lelia lay facing the window, her body position awkward, one arm flung out behind her. There was something pale beige trailing over her shoulder and disappearing under a toss of sheet. As if to emphasize her total motionlessness, the white ruffled organdy curtain lifted in the morning breeze, floating forward. The yellow climber, burdened with bloom, half-lifted one rose over the top of the sill before the moving air let it drop back.

The room breathed death, and roses.