He broke a window and slipped in; he had to get her back. It was silent and dark inside. The stairs moaned softly under his weight. Her bedroom was empty but for a moon beam stretched across her bed. In the bathroom a toothbrush winked at him. Perfume hung in the moist air, something fruity that tasted of her skin. She was here; he felt it, like hands brushing against his arms. He smiled – the closet. He pulled the double door open, and there she was, wrapped up in a towel, behind a row of dresses, a knife in hand.