217 Babel Street | Apartment 17
3:24.Natalie stirred. The music came softly to her as she lay there next to her husband. Strands of dream logic fluttered in her mind for a few seconds and she reached out to grasp at them, too late, too late. The darkness folded in.
She was fully awake now. The sounds drifted in from the next-door flat, a gentle music, soothing. It was not always so quiet, but Simon always slept through it anyway, sure in the morning that no such music had ever been played. But Natalie was easily affected by such things. It was her training, to be aware at all times of her immediate surroundings.
Now she slid out from under the duvet and walked through into the living room. She placed the side of her head against the wall and listened. The melody seemed to be calling to her. She imagined the brass instrument, the silver gleam of it lit by a single lamp; she pictured the notes forming in the air like vapour. The wall felt sticky and warm against her ear as the music came closer, louder. She pressed the fingers of one hand against the paintwork and kept on pressing until her hand started to push through into the wall itself.
Natalie was suddenly aware of her circumstances. She asked herself to remember this moment on waking: that on the other side of a thin layer of dust and pigment a saxophone was playing for her, breathing notes.