Gladys is slowly waking up. The sun shines through the blinds. She looks away, the light is too strong, it hurts her eyes. Bubble the fat and hairy cat jumps on the bed and walks back and forth against her face. Eyes shut, she can feel bubble’s fur rubbing on her skin. With a deep sigh, Gladys sits up, pushing the cat away. Bubble is not happy and with a deep growl, jumps off the bed and walks out of the room without a single glance back.
Gladys stands up, her legs are wobbly and she reaches out to the wall opposite her bed to steady herself. Her head is spinning now and the light is still hurting her eyes.
Dressed in pajama, hair in a tangled mess, Gladys leaves her bedroom and goes down the stairs. She is still struggling with dizziness as she walks down each step holding on to both handrails for support.
As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she notices a faint aroma in the air … Fresh brewed coffee. The smell is comforting and strangely familiar and yet, Gladys feels a small twinge of worry in the pit of her stomach. She doesn’t drink coffee. Never has. Her mother always insisted she drink tea and she has never strayed from it.
As she approaches the kitchen, she hears voices. They seem so distant, she can’t understand what they are saying. Someone is definitely inside her house. The worry she felt a second ago has blossomed and turned into fear and … anger. It is the anger that propels her forward. She turns the corner and stands inside the kitchen threshold. The sunlight coming in through the garden windows is blinding her. The light is strong and Gladys lifts her hand up to protect her eyes.
“You’re awake. I was beginning to worry about you. Coffee?”
A tall dark man is sitting at her kitchen table. His face is shadowed by a large black fedora. He is wearing a long trench coat. The bottom edge is resting on the tiled floor. Across from him is a steaming cup of coffee. Gladys spots a pot filled with coffee on the stove. He must have brought it with him, there are no coffee beans in her house. Low voices are coming out of the old radio she keeps in the kitchen.
“Coffee?”
Her eyes move back towards the stranger.
“What are you doing in my house?”
Instead of answering, the stranger picks up the coffee cup in front of him and slowly lifts it to his mouth. Silently, he takes a sip. She can’t see his eyes, the hat is casting a shadow across his face, but somehow, she knows he is looking at her. She is afraid now, no longer angry. There is something about his stillness that terrifies her.
“Who ... Who are you?”
This time Gladys can hear the fear and uncertainty in her own voice. She can barely get the words out and she isn’t sure she will be able to say anything more.
“Well, I am here to kill you of course.”
[End Part I]
