Free Dream House by Marzia Bisognin

look him in the eyes, feeling an urgent need for him to understand me.
    â€œI’m not imagining things.”
    â€œI know,” he whispers back, without breaking eye contact.
    We stare at each other, and it’s clear that we are both feeling something—there’s a connection between us.
    Still speaking in a low voice, I tell him, “I don’t know if I’m safe here.”
    His eyes shift to the dark bulk of the house behind me.
    â€œWhat exactly is it that you’re afraid of?” he asks, his expression becoming more intent.
    â€œI have this feeling that won’t go away. The sensation that I’m being watched, constantly . . . and I’m afraid that the person behind it all is Alfred.”
    I immediately realize how silly I must sound, but it’s too late to take it back.
    â€œI can stay out here and check that nothing weird happens,” he offers, suddenly every inch the solicitous young gentleman. “If you feel like you’re in danger, you can always come over and find me. I won’t leave.”
    Overwhelmed by his kindness, I move nearer to him, reaching the limit of the gate between our gardens. We’re so close that I can almost feel the warmth of his body next to mine.
    â€œI can’t let you stay out here alone, though,” I say, after the silence has drawn itself out for a few instants.
    â€œOh, I don’t mind,” he reassures me.
    I consider his offer, and then a thought pops into my head.
    â€œTell you what—we could both spend the night out here, until the sun comes up. But I wouldn’t want you to feel that you have to . . .”
    â€œSure,” he answers, without hesitation.
    And so just like that, we find ourselves sitting with our backs propped against the two sides of the gate. The only thing illuminating our surroundings is the gently flickering candle that sits in a little pool of its own hardened wax on one of the stones of the path.
    I can hear him breathing, in and out, and the rhythm of it soothes me to the point that I close my eyes and start to sleep.

    When I wake up, it takes me a few moments to work out where I am. I turn around to check if Avery is still there and, disappointed to find that he’s not, I get up from the ground and brush my hands clean on my jeans.
    â€œHey!” shouts a voice from behind me.
    Somehow I manage to spin around in time to catch the apple that’s flying through the air towards me.
    There he is—Avery, walking this way through the dewy grass, another apple in his hand.
    â€œI did tell you that I wouldn’t leave you,” he says, with a wide smile on his face. “Nice catch, by the way!”
    I return his smile and thank him for the apple, and he takes a bite from his.
    â€œYou seemed pretty concerned last night,” he says as soon as he has finished chewing. “Would you like to talk about it?”
    I reflect for a second and try to straighten out my thoughts, then, finally, let it all out.
    â€œMaybe . . . maybe I’m crazy, but I’m starting to think that Alfred might be drugging me,” I say. “All the things that I see, all the weird things that have been happening to me . . . I can’t explain it, and it just feels natural to blame all of this on him.”
    â€œWhy would he do that, though? I mean, what possible motive could he have? Have you thought about that?” he asks.
    â€œWell, I know that this will sound ridiculous, but I’m scared he might be up to something big.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike, where are the Blooms? You said it yourself—Mrs. Bloom didn’t like the idea of having him around.”
    â€œSo what exactly are you saying?” he asks, sounding intrigued.
    â€œI don’t know what I’m saying,” I admit. “I just . . . I don’t know. That’s why I’m not sleeping. I need to keep my eye on