Free The Twilight Swimmer by A C Kavich

vacant. He didn’t seem to understand the significance of her terror. He was not frightened in return, or eager to quiet her. He merely stared at her with his gray eyes blinking rapidly, observing her reaction to his arrival with detached interest. But no, it was more than that. There was the hint of a smile on his lips.
    Brandi had no time to wonder at his strange reaction, or even his intentions. She heard her father’s heavy frame roll off her parents’ bed down the hall. She heard him grumbling as he barreled out his bedroom door, her mother’s shrill voice following him with what should have been admonishments to hurry and reach their imperiled daughter. More likely, she was shrieking warnings that if Brandi was under attack, he should bring his gun.
    His gun.
    Brandi leapt from her own bed, embarrassed by the shorts and camisole that barely covered her body. No time to worry about that. She raced across the room to the Swimmer and grabbed his slender wrist, pulling him inside the room and closing the door with her foot. She tried to drag the Swimmer across the wood paneled floor and toward the closet, but he was heavier than he looked, sturdy on his broad feet. She couldn’t budge him.
    “He’s coming,” she shouted in a whisper. “Please!”
    The subtle smile on the Swimmer’s lips turned up a bit more, and he looked down at her with amusement. She tugged at his wrist with her full force, but he hardly felt it.
    “Brandi!” Her father’s frightened voice was a boom in the hall, the firing of a cannon, the collapsing of a skyscraper. He was seconds away from bursting through the door.
    Finally understanding her efforts, the Swimmer released the tension in his legs and took a step forward. Brandi flew off balance and tumbled into the closet, crashing into a rack of hangars and falling into her hamper. She crawled out and beckoned frantically for the Swimmer to take her place. He took a step toward the closet, but was moving much too slowly.
    “Brandi!” Her father’s voice again, right outside the door. His hand on the knob. One second. Maybe less.
    The Swimmer didn’t dive into the closet like Brandi hoped. Instead, he effortlessly tore off the wet clothes.
    “What are you doing?!” Brandi shrieked, her panic heightening by the second.
    Without answering, he took a step back and leaned against the wall, very casual.
    “Oh no,” Brandi whispered.
    Conrad burst through the door with such force he nearly lost his footing. He was in his boxer shorts and a dirty white tee shirt, and he had managed to grab his police issue handgun before vaulting out of bed and down the hall. He held it at his thigh, ready to raise and fire.
    “Dad, no!” Brandi screamed, even louder than the first scream. “Don’t shoot!”
    Conrad didn’t hear her. He was scanning the room, looking for the intruder that had assaulted her daughter inside his home. The bed was empty. The closet was empty. He looked left and right, up and down. He looked at the pile of wet clothing – his – lying on the floor. He looked up at the wall where the Swimmer had leaned against it...
    Brandi followed his eyes, expecting to see the Swimmer standing there, naked and pale, that strange smile on his face inviting her father’s wrath and, perhaps, a bullet. But all she saw was the bare wall.
    The Swimmer was gone.
    “Where is he?!” Conrad yelled as he performed a quick spin, scanning the room a second time.
    “There’s no one here!” Brandi yelled back.
    “What?”
    “There’s no one here!” She sat down on the floor, suddenly exhausted.
    “Then what are you screaming for?” Conrad engaged the safety on his gun and lowered it. He clutched his chest, twisting the tee shirt between thick fingers. Brandi’s mother appeared at the bedroom in her nightgown, her hair in its signature ponytail. She was shaking her head vigorously. As usual, Brandi did not understand what exactly the gesture was meant to communicate. Disappointment that