So Nice to Finally Meet You...
"He was a painter. Had a studio on the second floor...."
My eyes rove to the second floor. He and his daughter now stand in front of the upstairs window, the window that I assume had been the window of the art studio.
"When he got me alone, he told me to take my clothes off...."
It happened, right there, in that small room under the peaked roof. Tears stream down my cheeks as I step
slowly toward the house, until the floodlights flick on. They startle me, and I duck into the shadows. The upstairs window is dark when I look up again, and I suddenly lose my nerve. I back away from the house and quickly slide the note I’d written inside his mailbox.