Marilyn rarely slept much anymore. She would catch maybe a couple of hours, if she was lucky, but that would be about it. Maybe that’s why she woke with a start from the dead sleep; her internal clock had realized that she’d been unconscious for four hours, had known that was a mistake, and had woken her up with a tap on the shoulder. Even before she floated all the way through the black peacefulness of sleep, she knew she was alone. That brought her fully awake in seconds, not out of fear, but out of a deep, angry sadness.
She lay there quietly, listening to the sounds of the apartment, listening for Luke’s blundering around in the kitchen, or in the bathroom.