"It’s 2:22."
"I don't care."
"I can't help you."
"I know."
"I wish I could."
"I know..."
He sighed. "I think ... if you speak any softer ..."
Her finger came across his mouth. He didn't know how she'd found it so swiftly in the dark.
"Don’t worry ... I’m leaving ..." And there was a small black shifting.
"No ..."
The shifting stopped. Her breath must have been terribly soft, but he could still feel it as though it was right by his ear.
"You’ll see me again," she whispered.
His heart shuddered, slowed, stilled, stopped as though by magic.