He stood before the house with his arms slung over the white fence, beginning to tingle from pinched nerves and blood vessels. In the upstairs window, a woman in a blue-silk night gown sat before a row of bright lights putting on make-up. Her blonde hair was held back from her face with some invisible band. She reminded him of his ex-wife.

The old lady found out, what else could he do but flee? He remembered being backed into that corner of the living room; she bringing to life his nightmares. He swore a daemon had been in that corner, had been in him, had become her. She was yelling, or rather screaming.

“How could you? Our little baby!”

All he kept saying over and over: “She’s not little anymore.”

Their daughter had been thirteen at the time.

“You sick bastard I don’t know what I ever saw in you.” She was no longer forming sentences; they were long vomits of words, all strung together into a super-phrase. “You ever go near her again I’m taking her we’re leaving if you follow I’ll kill you.” Breath. “You hear I’ll kill you.”

She had him leaning against the wall. He was taller but somehow she was over him, forcing him lower until he was crouching. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He nodded. She pounded upstairs, leaving him with the daemon.

The blonde woman stood and came to the window. He was not sure it was the bitch, but would satisfy his urge to rectify the past.