20th October
I knew I was right. There is a woman staying in the room opposite. I can see her when she passes the window and moves into my line of sight: she paces angrily, her sleeves twitching as though she's gesturing. Her hair is beautiful, this sleek cap of gold that glows in the light like a crown. I wish I could see what colour her eyes are, but she's too far away.
21st October
She's still there. I managed to get a better view tonight, and I could see that she was
wearing a full-length dress, not just a top and some sort of skirt or jeans. I like that. She ought
to be in a dress, someone as gorgeous as that. It's a very deep green dress, the colour they call
forest green, and she has a choker with some sort of ivory cameo brooch on it. Her face is thin -
perhaps she isn't eating enough - and I still can't tell what colour her eyes are. Sometimes she
goes out of my line of sight, and she must be sitting down or something. I wish I could see better.
The window itself hinders my view, as it's one of the antique arched ones and they draw the
curtains when it gets dark.
They, yes, they. I've seen at least one man in there with her, though she never seems to
leave the room. It's difficult to be sure, but the one I think I recognise is shorter than she is. He
keeps on trying to put his hand on her shoulder - fondling, almost - but she shrugs him off and
walks away. I don't like him.
22nd October
I think she saw me through the window! Our eyes met, I know it. Her eyebrows are the
heavy sort - it's that look of dark eyebrows and golden hair which some women have. She paused
for a moment, looking outward, then turned back to the man who was in there with her. A second
man this time, taller than her, in a well-cut business suit. He was wearing dark glasses, an odd
thing given that it was nearly sunset. Perhaps a lawyer, or her uncle or father - his hair was brown,
mind - or some kind of doctor.
They spoke a while, with him leaning by the door, spine as straight as a poker, and her
pacing. At one point she moved across to him, grasping for his shoulders, trying to touch his face;
he didn't try to shake her off, but something seemed to happen. She recoiled, as though he had
hit her, and fell to the ground, out of my sight.
When she got up again, her hands were pressed to her temples, and I thought that she was
crying. He just stood there, watching her dispassionately, and said something short and cold. She
shook her head, and he shrugged, opening the door and stepping outside.
Perhaps he's a lawyer trying to pressurise her into signing some sort of agreement. I could
believe that. He could be keeping her prisoner there, till she agrees to his terms. I would have
watched longer, but the short man came in and drew the curtains.
23rd October
I dreamed about her last night; we were dancing in a room of candles and mirrors. She's
so beautiful, I could believe anything of her, expect anything of her.
When I looked across this afternoon, there was a third man with her. He was actually
sitting in front of the window, watching her as she leaned against the door, in the same position
that the tall man had been the day before, saying something to him. She still had the cameo around
her throat, and the same dress that she has always been wearing.
Perhaps it's some kind of quarantine for an infectious disease, except then why would they
be going in and out to visit her like that? They could be quarantining themselves, I suppose. I
don't see anyone going into the house, or coming out of it. Maybe they're her family, or friends,
or private doctors, but then why is she so unhappy?
The third man was assembling a gun in his lap; I saw him checking the action on the slide
as she screamed at him. It was dreadful to see it in her face, the slip from calm beauty to furious
bitterness, the way her mouth stretched as she shrieked and raised her hands to claw at her face.
He didn't shift his position, not even moving his shoulders as he lowered the gun again. He didn't
move at all as she began to cry.
24th October
Another dream of her. I dreamed that she had blue eyes, as vivid as the morning sky. I
dreamed of myself opening the door, so that she could come running down the stairs and I could
take her in my arms.
When I looked through the window, all three of the men were in the room with her. The
tall one stood by the door, and the short one held her shoulders where she sat in the chair, head
bowed, and the quiet one was lounging against the wall, barely in sight; I only saw him when he
moved, once or twice.
The tall one kept on talking to her, pausing occasionally for answers. Her replies seemed
very short, only a yes or a no. She didn't even look up to try and see me.
It can't have been disease, or the short one wouldn't touch her like that, hands resting so
wardingly on her shoulders. Perhaps she has some sort of mania, and they're her guards, but she
doesn't look insane. I wish I knew.
They questioned her till sunset, and perhaps afterwards, but the short man drew the
curtains again and that was all. She sat like a defeated queen, hands still in her lap, the cameo
glinting at her lovely throat.
25th October
In my dream last night, she whispered to me that she loved me, as I embraced her and
kissed her. Can she know that I think about her? I wondered if she might be a political prisoner,
and the three men would have to be CIA or something, bodyguards. That makes the most sense
of anything yet.
A fourth man came by to see her today; I didn't see him enter the house, but he was
talking to her when I looked across. He was stooped, hair greying at the temples, but he had the
air of a hanging judge, so drawn and cold. I thought that he might be some kind of medical
consultant, explaining a diagnosis or giving a final verdict.
He didn't speak to her long. She tried to keep her composure as she watched him, head
lifted proudly, but at his words her calm broke, and she lowered her eyes, shoulders trembling.
There might have been a shadow of pity in him for a moment, but he said nothing more as he
opened the door and left the room.
She walked across to the window, and stood there, looking out. Her hands were flat
against the pane, so I could see how delicate her fingers were, how fragile a construction she was:
wide pale eyes, golden hair washed by the last of the sunset, high-boned face twisted in an
absolute desperation and despair. She didn't see me - I'm not sure that she saw anything as she
looked out at the end of the day over the city. I willed her to look at me, to show some sign that
she cared about me, that she had shared my dreams, but she didn't even try.
She drew the curtains shut in a ripple of motion, and the sunset light flickered against the
glass like blood.
26th October
When I looked across today, the room was empty. I thought for a while that she might be
out of my line of sight, but eventually I had to accept that she had gone, and that there was
nobody there. Why couldn't she have let me know somehow, or contacted me? I'd been watching
her through the window for a week now, I'd thought about her, I'd dreamed of her. Did that
mean so little to her? Perhaps I'd made a mistake about her all along. Just a pretty face and no
more. I felt disappointed.
Still, before night fell, the short man came into the room, and began to tidy it, fussing with
the chairs and bed. Perhaps they're going to have someone else staying there soon.
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