Burke, pt. 1

The house was silent. Beautiful silence, Burke thought, his eyes falling on the pendulum of the grandfather clock as it kept time. In his mind’s eye he thought of Chris. So perfect. His eyes narrowed and he smiled softly at the prospect of waking her up at 3 in the morning to re-shoot the scene, framing a vision in his mind’s lens of her body slinking out from under the covers to come to the phone, the camera zooming in on her bare shoulder before she slips the fallen strap back up. Beautiful at any hour, my dear.
His eyes drawn back to the pendulum, he felt a dull heaviness on his shoulders, and for a moment felt his heart beat deep within his chest in perfect harmony with the timepiece. Tick. A glimmer of hope for Chris’ affection reflected is his eyes, but vanished before the pendulum completed its course. Tock.
Slipping his hand inside his coat, his fingers found the crucifix. He held it at arms’ length, his thumb outlining the limp torso of Jesus. “Poor bastard,” he uttered with bated breath, “didn’t even get a final toast”. In an instant, he felt the metal of the crucifix grow cold. The heaviness in his chest returned, and just as he was about to let the crucifix slip from his grasp he heard Regan’s soft voice from the top of the stairs cry out, “Burke…” He turned his head, clutching the crucifix and looking up the stairs. He half-expected to see her standing there before him, as the voice sounded so clear, cutting through the silence in the house. He placed his foot on the stairs and began his ascent.