Thunder rumbled outside and lightning flashed, illuminating a small apartment living room and a dumpy red couch. James lazed on the couch, holding his paperback copy of The Wind Chimes of Love and trying to pretend like there wasn't a raging storm outside. He was average height, skinny, with dark, thin hair and dark eyes that sunk into his face like wax candles.
Storms made him nervous. They were always brief here, so there was that, but something about the combination of the rumbling and the flashing made him feel like his apartment was paper thin. Amelia had said she'd be home early tonight. Something about trading shifts. The thought made him feel a little safer and he curled into the couch, trying to sink into the fantasy of Harper Reginald and his tryst with the Housemaid.
The thunder rumbled and the lightning flashed, coating the pages in a blue-white hue. James snapped the book shut in frustration and went to the window, pushing the curtains aside and looking out in the dimly-lit street, as if hoping that by confronting the storm, it would take the hint and go away. He glared out the window. Pouring rain spattered against it, harder it seemed than before. Through the mist he saw the outline of a car and some blurry shape running toward his door.
Immediately his mind went to Amelia. He dashed over to the door, his book forgotten on the mantle, and dragged the heavy door open. Before him stood a strange girl, covered entirely by a wispy silver poncho.
"Can I come in?" she said over the din of the torrent outside.
James hesitated. Amelia had very particular feelings about letting strangers into homes at night. She wouldn't approve at all. The strange girl shivered. Thunder rumbled and a flash of lightning seemed to illuminate the two of them for a brief moment, dancing over them like a light show.
Sympathy won over. James felt a tingling in the back of his head as he gestured her in and slammed the door shut behind her, clicking the locks in place.
She thanked him and shed her poncho, draping it on the couch like she owned the place, "Thank you for letting me in. My car broke down." She gave him a timid look with pale green eyes and wrung her hands. "Do you have a phone I can use? I'm Rachel, by the way," she said, offering him a hand.
He shook her hand, lost in her eyes for a moment, "James." She pulled her hand away and stood there in abject silence.
"In my room," he stammered and led her into his cozy room. "It's just over here..." he said, sorting through a pile on his nightstand looking for his phone.
The sound of the lock turning hit his ears like a siren and he whirled, realizing that the front door was on its way open, "My roommate," he hissed, "stay where you are." He rushed to his bedroom door and slammed it shut, clicking the lock with a rush of adrenaline.
"What's going on?" she said.
"Hold on, Rachel."
"James-"
"Shush." He strained to hear. The familiar sound of Amelia's boots clomped outside, followed by a rap on the door.
"I got takeout if you want any," came Amelia's voice through the door.
"Ok, thanks!" said James. He turned back to Rachel and saw her eyes wide with fear. "Are you ok? Rachel?" He waved a hand in front of her face. She didn't even flinch. She was standing stock still at attention, her arms at her sides and her mouth clamped shut.
A thought struck him, but if this was some kind of weird game she was playing, he didn't want to fall for it. "You can say something," he said.
"James, what-" she blurted out.
"Shh, quiet." He strained his ears again, hoping Amelia hadn't heard. If she found out he'd invited in some random girl, he'd never hear the end of it.
Rachel's mouth was clamped shut like before and Amelia wasn't making any abnormal sounds.
"If this is some kind of game..." he whispered. Rachel merely stared back, wide-eyed and tight-lipped. He had visions of the girl stabbing him when he turned his back, her mouth curling into a devious sadistic grin. The suddenness of it shook him and he had a strong urge to get as far away from her as possible.
But the possibility... he hedged his bets on embarrassment and went for it, going for something that would be outlandish and embarrass her if she did it, "Piss yourself. Just a little."
Her eyes gave the impression of widening even more, despite staying in the same place. She let out a low grunt and the crotch of her white sweatpants turned grey.
James waved his hands in panic and took a step backward, smashing into the chair behind him. It let out a crash over the beating of his heart and Amelia's footsteps came running. She pounded on the door.
"James, are you alright? James!"
He gathered himself, taking a deep breath and trying to calm the building lump in his throat, "Everything's fine! Just slipped." He forced a laugh for added effect, immediately berating himself at how stupid it sounded.
Amelia seemed to buy it, "Well alright. Let me know if you need anything." Her booted feet clomped off.
James sat down on the bed with shaking hands and frowned at the girl standing at attention in the middle of his room. Her figure pressed itself at him like a beacon of temptation. She was on display, like a mannequin; her chaste, silk red hair; her pert, round breasts pushing against her cut-off white t-shirt; her sleek, tucked stomach; her full, coiled hips; her quiet, nimble feet; her snug, drawstring pants, now with a pool of gray maligning the white.
No, this is wrong. It's a trick. He got up from the bed and paced back and forth, stopping every few seconds to glance at her, as if to reassure himself that she hadn't moved. He thought about the puddle at her crotch. It would need to be cleaned and how? No, stupid. She can clean it when she leaves.
If she leaves.
No! He clenched and unclenched his fists. She was still there, wide-eyed and unmoving, silent and invisible. Like another object in his room. He cleared his throat and tried to speak, but the words caught and came out garbled. He tried again.
