She remembered her milk, all forgotten in the kitchen and probably burnt now. Julia hated burned milk, it got that crust on the top and it reminded her of...unpleasant things. She'd rather not think about those and she tried, she really did, to make sure she never burned hers. But this occurrence had distracted her.
She turned the stove off, but she wasn't really there. She was still holding the note in one hand and without much thought, she left the milk and the kitchen and her house and went into the hallway and up to the attic.
If this was his idea of a joke, it was grossly misguided. It would simply not do to leave it at that, because then, he might try again. And she was most afraid of that, because what if she couldn't resist the next time?
God forbid she actually go out and see him.
But there was nobody there, she knocked. The strong rat-a-tat of the self-righteous, but it was all in vain, for nothing seemed to shift inside the house and nobody answered.
She even called. 'Mr Andrews? Mr Andrews!'
Nothing. She walked down the steps, less sure of herself then when she'd come up . She sat in the kitchen, drinking her cold milk (she boiled it because of germs) and thought about decisions.
It was decided then , she'd just have to go to the appointed place, at the appointed hour. It would be the only way to find out who was the culprit.
On the other side of the silent door, Steven Andrews stood, motionless, staring through the peephole at her scrunched up face. Ah, the little lunatic, she didn't have a clue what was coming to her. He smiled and once she was gone, allowed himself to kiss the cold wood of the door.
'Ah, my sweet. Soon, all this childish behavior will be forgotten. You'll leave behind your silly god and come see some reason.'
Steven Andrews was never one to turn down a challenge, and he felt he'd found the perfect one in Julia.
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