The bees were humming near the flowers Natalie planted two days ago. The sky was riddled with dark clouds and she could feel drops of rain on her arms in strange intervals. The neighborhood was relatively quiet since most of the neighbors were still at their office jobs so Natalie took this time to catch up on lawn maintenance instead of working on her next work of modern art.
Natalie Trescoe was a painter and one who’d reached local fame. However, lately she’d been feeling a bit distant when she was sitting at a blank canvas trying to envision her next big piece. She’d sit there for hours on end trying to find something around her that spoke to her imagination. After three hours of just sitting, frozen in position like a doll, she’d finally placed her tools back into their rightful place in her work space and decided to take advantage of the quiet neighborhood.
At 35 years-old, Natalie’s short stature often made store clerks ask for identification whenever she wanted to buy a bottle of wine. Her long wavy hair and wrinkle-free skin made dating an issue for her, as she was too shy to approach a man on her own and those who admired her from afar often assumed she was jailbait. The only male species that approached her were either high school boys thinking she’s a homeschooled summer fling or men in their 80’s that are asking for directions even though there’s a good chance they’re not supposed to be driving.
Natalie chuckled to herself as continued pulling weeds from her garden; she remembered seeing this old man who’d pulled up in a giant Lincoln. At first glance it didn’t look as though anyone was driving the car and for a split second she thought she’d lost it only to be doomed to the fate of many famous artists; a trip to the insane asylum or dead in her home from a successful suicide attempt. That was one fear she’s always had: being a nobody until after she was gone.
The last of the weeds had been removed from the garden when she heard the roaring of large trucks echo through the neighborhood. She began to look around to see where they were coming from and at the end of the block she saw four large moving trucks driving her way. Great, another yappy neighbor who doesn’t know the meaning of boundaries. She frowned as the trucks came to a screeching halt at the house right across the street from her. Even better. A chatty neighbor with no sense of boundaries is now living right across the street from me.
Natalie lived on Baker Lane for the past 15 years and never once has the house across the street been occupied. She feared this new neighbor was either old and nosey and young and noisy. Either way, she wasn’t looking forward to the encounter.She watched silently has the movers jumped from their vehicles and began to unload the mystery neighbor’s items. She felt like she was a child looking for the prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jacks box. She always wondered what stories the things of others held. Were those stolen? Those light fixtures looked expensive. Probably a family heirloom. Looks like another old nosey woman who comes from old money.
Soon after the movers had gone into the house, a shiny black car with tinted windows pulled into the driveway of the home. Wow, an old lady with a taste for nice cars. Nah, she probably just has enough money to buy the finest of everything, including car service. Maybe the car is hers but she hired a driver because her eyesight has gotten progressively worse over the years. Natalie waited to see if the old lady would need to be helped from the car. It was this moment that gave Natalie the most pleasure. To see someone she can only imagine has always been snooty and rich in the position of helplessness satisfied her in a sick way.
Instead of the trembling woman with a walker and shaky, spotted hands that she’d imagined would be emerging from the car, a tall, muscular man with chestnut hair brushing his broad shoulders took a seamless glide from the driver’s seat and rushed through the front door of the home the movers disappeared into earlier. Feeling baffled and a bit ashamed, Natalie just stood there, staring.
He noticed her. It was hard not to. Ethan Cross wondered whether the girl across the street was a girl at all. Maybe she’s just short with nice skin. He took note of her gardening gloves as he hopped from his car and once inside he was sure it was safe to assume this girl was indeed a woman. What sixteen-year-old girl would want to risk getting her hair wet for the sake of weeding a garden that size. The variety and health of the plants alone told Ethan that no sane parent would allow a teenager to run wild around plants that were so well taken care of. For now, he would leave her to her gardening. In due time, however, he intended to make himself known. Until we meet again, my love. The words were spoken softly, like a sweet promise that nothing could make him break. Ethan Cross never broke a promise.
Later that night, after setting her alarm, Natalie allowed her body to sink into her mattress and closed her eyes. She eventually drifted into a deep sleep.
“We were meant to be. I’ve been watching you for a while and I will always be yours. You will always be mine.” In her dream, Ethan appears in front of her. His eyes yearned for her, yet he kept his distance. So near, yet so far, it seemed Natalie was stuck in the middle. Natalie’s eyes fluttered as she slept. The hallway in which they stood was a deep crimson and the walls seemed to move in a slow, wave-like motion. Suddenly, Ethan rushed toward her with his hands in a choking motion. Natalie felt the air leaving her body and suddenly, there was a bright flashing light as she felt her throat close completely.
Natalie’s eyes flew open and she sat up in bed, sweating and gasping for air. She touches her left hand to her neck and her eyes scan the room, looking for her assailant. The room was empty and she saw no signs of anyone’s presence other than her own. She let out a sigh of relief and allowed herself to lean back into the comfort of her mattress. She allows her eyes to slowly close again and drifts into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Ethan stands there, watching her. He places his hand on her window and imagines how soft her skin must feel. Yes, my love, I always keep my promises. He traces her curves through the window with his index finger one last time before crossing the street to his home. As his head sinks into his pillow, he remembers the smell of her hair; the smell of strawberries and fresh rose petals.
