Work Text:
I flickered on before dawn. He needed my light to thread the thin metal key through the front door’s keyhole, locking it tight.
Pre-dawn, but the spring air was already warm and fragrant from the lemon tree in the front garden.
He hesitated on the path, plucking a lemon from the tree simply to hold the solid weight of it in his hand. His other hand jangled the keys in his coat pocket.
He nearly turned back.
And then, a small smiled crossed his lips – a memory – a wish. He tugged the brim of his fedora and stepped forward, resolute.
I heard the click of the front gate's latch and the roar of the police car’s engine as it turned over and pulled away from the curb.
Some time later, I swore I saw the tip of plane's wing in the far distance, glimmering in the morning sunlight.
No one returned to turn me off.
The postman noticed for the first few days, then grew used to my new state of being.
After a few weeks, a woman in a brown tweed skirt and sturdy shoes arrived to hang a “for let” sign on the door beneath me. But the summer was a difficult one, after the crash. There were no takers.
By the autumn my bulb burned out. It was no surprise. I wasn’t designed for continuous use.
A cabbie come by to pick up the mail took note. “Oi, we should fix that,” he called to his mate. “Add it to the list. Before they get back.”
“Get back,” I echoed with relief, although no one could hear me. What good is a porchlight that doesn’t light? How could I properly stand sentry over the cottage of a detective gone missing?
In the end the mate was tardy with the new bulb, but it was no matter.
The detective arrived home in broad afternoon daylight, his adventuring partner at his side. They kissed beneath me, like I was some sort of mistletoe of metal and dusty glass. They opened the door and crossed the threshold.