Random Sequence

He waited half an hour before opening the closet door, and grimaced as it squeaked. He moved toward the bedroom in slow motion, letting each foot land softly on the carpet, shifting his weight to it, then taking another step. He reached the foot of the bed and looked down. The woman's unconscious face was familiar: It was Shelly -- an older version of Shelly with platinum blonde hair. He was unable to move for several seconds. Then he reached down and grabbed her toe.

Shelly's eyes flicked open and focused on him. Then she began to wail, loudly, like a police siren. He suddenly realized why. He still had the knife in his hand.
--from "Long Lost" (by me), originally published in Think