Short excerpt of my new novel

I know the last excerpts I posted got few answers but this excerpt is much smaller and I hope some of you will lay an eye on it.

The novel is called "The Last Scene".

<span style='font-size:10pt;line-height:100%'>It was a balmy summer evening. Sandy had opened her curtains completely, in order for her large picture window to allow a panoramic view of Monte-Carlo by night. The American girl candidly imagined her own window as a view on to the world, a link to the outside, her room being only one part among the others in the ‘matrix’. In this way, almost an entire façade watched the world: its people, its moves and its vibrations. Urban gleams of the night palpitated in the horizon, easily competing with the stars in the sky, while the evening dusk irradiated inside the apartment, shadowing it with its alleviating veil. From the background, a fuzzy hubbub delicately impregnated the ears.
Sandy turned her back to the night and sat, her chest straight, in front of her huge electronic façade - computers and monitors combined one in to another, entangled with wires and cables. She effortlessly swivelled on her moveable chair and with a sharp move of her foot, positioned her limp body in front of her alarm clock: 10:10PM. The young woman stood up, jaded like never before, and walked closer to her picture window, her right hand resting on her hip, the other one performing a massage of her nape.
She was feeling a little better - despite her busy mind. Sandy let her footsteps carry her to the window and delicately placed the palm of her hand on to the glass. Because of the contact, some mist quickly appeared on the glass pane, evidence that the outside was very cold. The young woman, fascinated, softly opened her mouth and breathed on to the glass, eventually drawing a round halo on the translucent window. Amused for a while, she patiently observed the halo progressively decrease, then vanish totally.
She did the same thing - and walked to her personal bathroom.
The American girl was only wearing a rough, dark-blue t-shirt exposing her navel, and a white, supple track suit bottom, which she had folded to the beginning of her hips, gracing probing eyes with the hollow of her kidneys. Sandy lit the room with a touch of her forefinger: the sudden splendour of the neon lamps assaulted her eyes. The young woman walked up to the sink and put her hands in it. Hair quickly wetted, some soap on her face and presto, here was a bit of toiletry for that night.
Sandy couldn’t help but only do the minimum amount of preening at the moment. A tense pout to her lips, she scanned her own face on the clean surface of the mirror. In the reflection, her bedroom exhibited a genuine jumble. Sometimes a mountain of clothes piled up together, sometimes large and mysterious walls of darkness - ideal shots of scary movies. Sandy dried her hair with a small fleece-lined towel then, placing it around her neck, went back to her room.
In one second, her eyes crossed another person’s, totally motionless outside the picture windows. Her blood instantly froze; she came to a sudden halt, her hair standing up in terror.
On the balcony, there was a woman. How old could she be? Twenty five, at most. She was standing perfectly still, her arms placed along her body. Sandy glanced at her and noticed a few more details: rather tall, pretty cute, the girl was only dressed up in a dark-blue thigh fitting costume - just like one of those female spies in movies - displaying a great cleavage, yet no traces of a bra, and a black, grooved leather belt surrounding her waist.
A halo seemingly enveloped the unknown woman. Blurred behind the thin layer of mist covering the glass, she looked like a divine apparition. Urban, kaleidoscopic reflections painted her body with several pastel colours. She had long, black curled hair - a bit like those of hot sophisticated Italian ladies one could see in Monte-Carlo, all adorned with diamonds, ornaments and whatnots. Her eyes were gazing into a void, doing nothing, looking nowhere, not even inside the room, or at the girl standing in the room, heck, nothing at all! A look utterly devoid, two pits of nothingness.
Sandy hesitated; her lips quivered, yet no words emerged. The mysterious woman very softly laid a hand against the window - first the four fingers all stuck together, then the entire palm and at last the thumb. This simple gesture had Sandy wince again. The unknown girl slowly squatted down, almost in a careful manner, and while the tip of her right hand touched the floor, the other one embraced her forehead for a light massage, just below the first locks. From the look in her eyes, she seemed ready to faint!
Sandy resumed control of herself and glanced back at the door; the idea of calling for help went through her mind. She changed opinion, jumped across her bed, abruptly opened her picture window then, facing gusts of icy wind, shouted:
- Who are you? What the hell are you doing in MY room?
- I-I-I…
The unknown girl raised her eyes, apprehensive like a lamb in front of a wolf, then tried to articulate:
- I-I… me not good, she stammered, slapping her torso with her hand, fingers extended out and drawn apart.
This mere movement seemed like a triumph to her; she displayed a subtle smile in the corner of her lips and adjusted her head. From below, the deafening urban din was making it hard to understand her words.
- Under-stand?... You?... she suddenly added, doing little head moves with each word.
Sandy’s eyes widened, as she felt a cold wave going through her body: this girl was not from here! She couldn’t be from Monaco, not even from France. An Italian girl maybe? Not quite. Each of the words she piteously attempted to enunciate was always accompanied by shaky, uncertain moves. The assumption of her being an Italian girl was having a hard time; it wasn’t very plausible anyway. Or maybe... she could just be ill?... amnesic?... suffering?
- Wait a second! Sandy finally exclaimed, getting herself out of the bittersweet fascination that the vision of the unknown girl had placed her in. Don’t move, OK, stay put, I’m going to inform my parents right away, they’ll certainly know what to do! Don’t move, I’ll be back in a minute.
- No! The woman replied, like stupefied. No, not that… don’t do that.
- But… why not? Sandy breathed in amazement.
- Be merciful… not that.
She had uttered those four words distinctively, stressing each syllable, like a young kid afraid of something, no, not afraid, rather shocked. She blinked several times and then slowly laid down on her side like a wounded animal, her legs drawn against her belly. Next, she fell in to a deep sleep. Sandy, uncertain, moved back her head and put a hand to her mouth, as if she wanted to prevent herself from saying anything.
From a baffling and singular anecdote, the event had just metamorphosed in to a genuine enigma. Sandy looked down at the floor: the girl was truly a beautiful lady, definitely Italian style, whatever her real origins were. She had long curled hair - black as ink - apple-shaped breasts, and a thin waist with round hips. Her cloth clung to the projecting curves of a body gifted with voluptuous assets.
In fact, this woman deeply, strongly, madly looked like a well stacked female Italian all the way, yet voluptuous female Italians in general were not appearing on balconies, dressed up like ‘Cats’ Eyes’, only to fall asleep a few minutes later.
Sandy was puzzled; she let several seconds pass without doing anything, without even knowing what to do anyway. Tiredness coloured her own perception of events. The young woman finally left the balcony, yet without closing the picture window; the coldness of the night was invading the room little by little, like a voracious conqueror. Sandy prepared for some stealthy steps, then walked towards the door of her room, which she discreetly opened a little.
The entrance hall displayed itself, empty, with its yellow wall to wall carpet and its array of lacquered pots of synthetic flowers, placed on low tables all made of grey-blue glass. On the left, gleams of the living room were glistening on the entrance, escaping through the narrow opening of the door. No noise, except the chocked, sordid monolog on TV.
Sandy closed the door with much care and turned back: no girl anymore on the balcony! It was empty! The unknown girl had vanished! A cold wave instantly went through the young American girl. Stupefied, she rushed to her picture window but stopped short a moment after: the mysterious woman had just entered. She had lain down beside the length of the bed, the white blanket covering part of her body, in a sort of camouflage which let to conclude she was afraid of something.
“Who are you exactly? And why did you enter my bedroom?” </span>