Days and weeks slouch by as February staggers into March and rags of dirty snow cling to the ground in the back yard by a copse of dead trees that once sheltered the last wolves. Alex keeps trying to date Isabel and she keeps dismissing him as politely as she can. She likes Alex, maybe because he is superficially like Max but she does not reciprocate his feelings for her however meager or fulsome. She wonders if he is still not speaking to Liz but that isnt something one asks.
Liz told her that she thought Alex would keep quiet but she wasnt entirely sure. So Isabel decides to dreamwalk into his mind to answer that question.
As Isabel tries to walk into Alex’s mind she crosses some threshold into his dreams, hers and his. Dreams and visions that sail on feathery wings borne up from currents of seething things of the night, hot erotic fantasies come to life or dreams of blood and vengeance that only the wicked vessel of the heart may contain.
With a shock she sees Alex in bed without a stitch on. He rolls over and says, Hi, Isabel. How’s your sex life?
How’s my sex life? She sputters angrily. It’s fine. How’s yours? Go fuck yourself.
Dont be mean to me, he says, laughing.
He touches her hand and she gets in bed with him and he slowly undresses her and they do unspeakable things until she wakes with a start, bathed in night sweat. Is this why she keeps pushing him away?
Of course it is, she says to herself. She wasnt seeing into his mind. She was seeing into hers. And she is terrified. For herself and all of them.