Free Nocturne by Syrie James

of the house. One road twisted and turned downhill from there, no doubt leading to the main highway, although Nicole couldn’t see that far. Another road—short and straight—led directly away from the circular driveway into a nearby grove of trees.
    Beyond the trees, Nicole thought she caught a glimpse of another building, although the distance and snow gloom made it impossible to make out what kind of building it was. Michael had said there were no neighbors for miles, so the building—whatever it was—must belong to him.
    Nicole tied her hair up and took a quick shower, taking care not to get her hair or bandage wet. She then removed the dressing and inspected her forehead in the bathroom mirror. The gash was still red and angry, but the little butterfly bandage was doing its trick. Thankfully it didn’t hurt as much as before. The bruise on her cheek wasn’t pretty, but her headache was gone. After carefully brushing her hair, Nicole dressed in her jeans, a burgundy scoop neck pullover sweater, her navy blue zip-up fleece, and her fur-lined boots. Ah. Blessed warmth.
    Starving, she made her way to the kitchen. Where is Michael? she wondered. Did he have breakfast yet? Although he’d made
    To her disappointment, the kitchen was empty and just as immaculate as she’d left it the evening before. The only evidence that Michael had been there was a bowl and spoon sitting in the sink, half-filled with water. The house felt very still, as if she were its only occupant.
    Michael wasn’t in his study or in the gym. She tried the mysterious door on the lower floor but it was still locked. Checking the garage, she discovered that his truck was gone. Hmm. He must have more roads to plow than were visible from the front windows. Nicole recalled him saying something about a barn. She felt bad that he had to keep going out in this storm.
    With a sigh, Nicole returned to the kitchen. What she wouldn’t give for scrambled eggs and toast, some crisp fried bacon, orange juice, and coffee—but that wasn’t going to happen. The practically bare refrigerator stared back at her mockingly. The enchilada casserole was still missing only one portion—the serving she’d had the evening before. Hadn’t Michael eaten dinner while she napped yesterday? What on earth did he eat?
    Although it was almost noon, Nicole couldn’t stomach the idea of enchiladas for the first meal of the day. Nor did a diet of carrots and apples sound appetizing. A search through the cabinets revealed assorted cans of soup and vegetables, and a large bowl filled with rolled oats, the same type of oats you’d find in a Quaker Oats box. That must be what Michael had for breakfast, she decided. But why did he empty them out of the Just another one of his quirks , Nicole thought with a shrug. She scooped a half cupful of oats into a cereal bowl, added water, and heated it in the microwave.
    There was no coffeemaker. There was no tea in the cupboard—just an unopened jar of instant coffee and a half-empty box of sugar cubes. Nicole grimaced. Her mom used to drink instant coffee. Nicole had tried it a couple of times when she was little and could hardly stand the stuff—but it was better than nothing.
    She ate alone at the table by the window. The coffee wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, but would have been a whole lot tastier with milk or cream. When she finished, Nicole washed both her dishes and his and put everything away.
    Michael still wasn’t back yet. What could be keeping him so long? Nicole folded her laundry, then decided to occupy herself by reading—but remembered that she’d left the book she was going to borrow in his study. He wouldn’t mind if she went in and got it, would he?
    The study door was ajar and she slipped inside. The book wasn’t on the sofa where she’d left it, so she decided to make another selection. Studying the vast array of titles on the shelves was both intriguing and entertaining. It was a wonderful collection, and