White Lies by Jeremy Bates

did they not have expiry dates as well? They used to, when they became impotent. But now with Viagra—well, look at Hugh Hefner.
    She set the wine aside, ruminating on that. Her eyes eventually drifted up to the black rectangle hovering in the wall above and beyond her, where the window was situated. As far as bathrooms went, it was fairly large, fitted with a regular pane of glass rather than glass brick or some other such design that offered more privacy. She knew she would have to get a curtain for it at some point, but she didn’t feel there was any rush, considering she had no immediate neighbors.
    She picked up her novel, mindless of her wet fingers, and began to read.
    The phantom moon floated in the black-water sky, a cosmic eye that seemed to be watching Zach as he took the skullcap out of his pocket and tugged it down over his head so it covered his ears and hid his eyebrows. He pressed himself tighter against Katrina’s Honda Civic. His heart was knocking against his rib cage, and he became aware of the fact he was not so much frightened as he was excited. His eyes never left the brightly lit front bay window.
    He could scarcely believe he was here again, doing what he wasabout to do. Maybe it was how gamblers felt when they found themselves at the blackjack table the night after losing their daughter’s graduation savings, or heroin addicts chasing the dragon the first day out of rehab. He knew he should turn around right then, call it quits while he was ahead—which in this case meant not in jail—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get the memories of the previous night out of his head. They had consumed him all day. The erotic thrill he’d experienced, the knife-sharp adrenaline rush, the satisfying knowledge he was getting a one-up on Katrina, a twisted kind of power trip. And then all of a sudden—he didn’t know when it happened, just that at some point it
did
happen— he was no longer reminiscing but planning.
    For tonight.
    Right now.
    Nevertheless, as the minutes slugged by, and Katrina had yet to appear in the window, Zach became increasingly anxious. He was going to miss her again.
Do it then. Go. Now
.
    He pushed away from the car and darted across the front lawn, beneath the heavy branches that blotted out much of the sky. He slowed when he reached the wall he’d skirted the night before. A light was on in one of the windows. He crept silently forward and stopped when he was adjacent to it. He was unable to bring himself to look inside.
    What if Katrina saw him?
    No—that wasn’t possible. Who sat at their window, staring out into the night? Maybe crazies in the state insane asylum who were doped up on medication and who rocked back and forth in their rockers. But he imagined Katrina had better things to do. Besides, even if she did randomly glance out, the glare from the lights inside would only allow her to catch her own reflection.
    Zach peered inside.
    Two nylon suitcases stacked against an unadorned wall. A jug of Brita filtered water on the hardwood floor, next to an empty glass. Clothes in a messy heap in one corner. The only sign it wasn’t home to a squatter was a neatly made futon mattress doused with an assortment of colorful pillows.
    Living room—strike. Bedroom—strike. So where was she? In the kitchen baking cookies? He hoped the hell not. He moved on and reached the far corner of the bungalow. Looked around it. There were two more lighted windows along the back wall. The closest was the north-facing bedroom window. The other was the one he’d approached seconds too late the night before.
    This time he didn’t hesitate. He hurried forward and peered in.
    It was the bathroom.
    Several candles were burning, creating soft pools of yellow light. Shadows jittered as if frightened by the very flames that had created them. Directly in Zach’s line of sight was the bathtub. Katrina was in it. She was submerged up to