Perfect Nightmare

Chapter Four

I think perhaps I’ve found her at last!

I can’t be sure, of course — not yet.

But when I first got the alert on my computer this morning, I felt a tingling in my belly.

The same kind of tingling I used to feel whenever she was near: a tightening in my groin, and cold fear in my belly.

Though it wasn’t strong, it was enough to make my fingers almost vibrate as I typed the keystrokes that took me to the listing.

But not just one listing! No! This morning there were two! My heart beat faster as I went to the first listing, but as the image of the house came onto the screen, the tingling began to fade. It was an ugly house — a kind of squat, shapeless bungalow. Not at all the kind of home I like.

But then I saw the other house, and my heart started to pound, and when I took the virtual tour, my excitement only grew. It may be the house.

I am almost sure it is the house!

A teenage girl lives there, and something inside me tells me she is perfect for me.

I know it. I know it!

I could tell from the first moment I saw the pictures of her room, but I had to be sure. But now I am sure, because I’ve gone over the photographs so many times that I have every detail memorized. Even as I write these words, I can see the room — her room — as clearly in my mind as if I were standing in it.

Touching it.

Smelling it.

Oh, yes — she is the one.

But I mustn’t be hasty, mustn’t let my hopes get too high. After all, I’ve had these thoughts before, and been so often disappointed.

This time, I won’t get ahead of myself.

No, this time I’ll hold some part of myself aloof, and force myself to wait. After all, the address won’t be posted until the house goes into the Multiple Listing Service, and I’ll just have to contain my excitement until then. But it’s so hard — I am so tempted to get into the car and drive around, and keep driving until I find the house.

The perfect house.

Her house.

I know the idea is ridiculous. I could drive for weeks and never run across it — never find her — yet the feeling is almost overwhelming.

It is as if the house itself — and the girl who lives in it — are drawing me like filings to a magnet.

Yet I have to be patient. After all, it will only be a few days.

In a few days, I shall get the address.

And in a few days, she will still be there…

Still, I’m not used to being patient.

I hate being patient.

But soon… soon I shall see her, and touch her, and smell her.

And she will know all the feelings I knew so long ago.

But this time it will be different.

This time all the feelings will go on forever.