Meg tossed about, first too warm, then too stiff. As the minutes bled into hours, the likelihood of finding comfort lessened. She worried as the mattress moaned beneath her, fearful of waking Faye. She was lying on her side, facing the window, when just before three a figure appeared outside the glass. Meg froze, unable to move or react as she watched the silhouetted figure lever open the window. It slid open quietly, admitting the frigid night air and the pattering sound of rain. She watched, paralyzed, as the figure - a man - swung first one leg and then the other through the window and into the room. His feet landed with a hushed thump on the hardwood floor. It wasn’t until he turned to lower the pane that his face caught in the serous moonlight. Don. The air in Meg’s lungs left her in an audible rush. Don lifted the sheet in which Faye was twisted and slithered in beside her. She stirred with a muffled sigh, then awoke. As she turned to face her visitor, Meg rolled onto her back.
