House of Sighs
He reached into his lap and picked up his book, pulled it so close to his face he could smell the old, yellowed pages.
“I’ve got all night,” he said. “Do you?”
But Wes didn’t have all night—soon his eyes grew heavy and within an hour he was asleep. The book sat on the end of his nose until he rolled over and Ira Levin ended up on the floor by his slippers. Reggie woke him with her soft snoring at dawn. He rolled onto his back, wiped his eyes and remembered the silent duel from the night before. The ceiling swam into focus and he saw that it was bare. Instead of crickets, there was now birdsong; a sweet sound. He wet his gums and cleared his throat, rolled over and reached for the lamp, bed-s
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