"Okay. Okay." Leon raised his hands and took a step backward. He watched, confused, as she scrambled off the bed, the diary still clamped to her chest.
She ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
Bam.
The echo of the slam hung in the air while Leon stood there silently. "What has come into her?" he murmured, then walked to the bed, feeling a fatigue that was deeper than physical exhaustion.
He threw himself on the bed, letting the mattress ripple beneath him. He just lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, not bothering to remove his boots.
Shifting glances at the distorted rectangles that seemed to be painted there by leftovers of the afternoon light, his mind replayed the mask, the "CONTAINED" word, and Zoe's terrified eyes.
Leon's eyelids grew heavy, almost as if being pulled by the weight of the day, while the fragments of the reeling scenes swirled, refusing to cohere into sense.
