'Why won’t it open?' Sarah tugged on the drawer again. Not hard enough to break anything, but with enough fervor to let the armoire know she meant business. She was unpacking her things, having finally made the big move into her boyfriend’s house. 'My God, I’ve only known him for 6 weeks!' She gave one last disappointed jerk on the handle and prepared to declare defeat at the hands of the almighty two-by-ten inch drawer. She daydreamed briefly about her brief courting with David. She’d actually met him at his grandmother’s funeral, and he was so passionate when he talked to Sarah about caring for the ailing widow that she’d found herself falling for him before they’d even left the funeral home. While her friends and family had raised an eyebrow at the premature act of “moving in,” she had felt it wasn’t soon enough.
“Having trouble, love?” Sara jumped guiltily, then forced her heart down from her throat as she turned around to find David in the doorway. He had an odd look in his eyes, very different from the usual love and admiration she found there.
“Hey, baby,” she finally found her voice. “This drawer is stuck, and it would be perfect for some of my jewelry.” Her eyes flitted across a picture on the mirror. It looked like his grandmother, but decades younger. It was in excellent shape for a picture that must have been 50 years old.
“Oh, that drawer has never opened. It’s been locked since I got the furniture from my grandmother eons ago.” His voice seemed distant, even hesitant. He was probably just still missing his grandmother a bit.
“How weird.” Sarah pulled out a nail file and began poking at the lock. “I can jimmy it open for you in a flash,” she said laughingly. “Maybe there’s Microsoft stock in there, and we’ll be rich beyond our wildest…”
“STOP!” It was part command, part scream of desperation. “You can’t open it, it’s not time…” David’s voice trailed off. He’d said more than he meant to.
Sarah felt a bit indignant. She jabbed a bit harder at the lock, wondering what could change her lover’s mood so quickly. She certainly wasn’t doing anything to anger him, and if they were going to be living together, secrets were not going to be allowed. 'Time for what?' She blocked out his nagging voice and avoided looking at him (she never could seem to tell him no once he caught her gaze), and finally the lock gave way with a grating click. She started to slide the drawer open triumphantly, looking down to see… locks of hair? The drawer had about a half-dozen curls of ribbon-tied hair, in varying color shades. Sara was so puzzled that she almost didn’t hear David’s footsteps pounding towards her.
“I told you NO!” His voice rasped as he pushed her hard into the armoire, bouncing her head painfully off the mirror. “I wanted to keep you for a few years before… but you want to know about the drawer so badly, then FINE!”
Dazed, Sarah tried to twist around and get away. To her horror, she felt David’s hands close in a vise-like grip around her neck, choking her from behind. As she struggled feebly, she found herself staring at the picture she’d noticed earlier. She clearly saw a date stamp no more than 4 years ago, yet the woman who was thirty-ish in the picture had looked well over eighty at the funeral. Running out of air, she stopped puzzling as her vision blurred into black spotlights and she slipped into unconsciousness.
David stood for a moment; letting his gaze wander longingly over the young beauty slumped across the top of the armoire. He dressed her in a modest nightgown and laid her gently on the bed, then produced a set of bejeweled scissors and cut a small lock of hair, tying it with a length of ribbon. Muttering Latin phrases engraved on the scissors, he gingerly placed the hair with the other locks, then finished his chant and reverently slid the drawer closed.
After a brief pause, he looked at himself in the mirror. A slight grin flashed across his face as the traces of grey left his hair. He flipped though his cell phone numbers until he found the entry for Wendy (a cute redhead he’d recently met). Wendy was home, and he worked out the details of their next date while he waited for the rasping breath of the wrinkled, leathery hump on the bed to slow to a stop in a dry fit of coughing. He hung up with Wendy and took just enough time to pull the blanket over the wispy, grey-haired head before he dialed the local coroner’s office to tell them of his great-aunt’s passing.