A Dream for Winter

Chapter 9

Having slept with one eye open, Carlie woke up the next morning feeling even worse than when she'd gone to bed. She couldn't stop worrying about the guy who'd taken the brutal beating. She couldn't help but feel the need to find him and make sure he was okay.

Restless and at her wit's end, she got herself up and dressed. She cracked open her door and peeked into the hall. It was still early, only six o'clock in the morning, and no one was about. She then gasped at the evidence of last night's violence, so obvious on the floor just outside her door. A trail of blood splatters led all the way into the stairwell.

She couldn't help herself as she followed the telltale droplets of blood around the corner. Strange, she thought, observing that the blood trail did not continue down the steps, but instead led to a door that she'd never noticed before.

Grasping the doorknob, she stopped and asked herself if she was ready to confront whatever or whoever might be on the other side of that door. Having watched one too many crime dramas, she knew that these situations didn't always turn out for the best. Please let him not be dead... she prayed, cautiously opening the door.

Empty, thank God, she thought with a grateful sigh. Just a broom closet, she realized. But wait a minute... What is that? Dear God, more blood! She reached out and picked up a rogue bloodstained piece of notepaper and turned it over in her hand. Could it be a poem?

Carlie ran back inside her apartment and studied the notepaper again. She'd seen this handwriting somewhere before, but where? A poem or a song, she thought, seeing the little musical notes here and there. Whichever it was, it wasn't a very happy one. No, on the contrary, it was dark and cryptic. It read of murderous visions, of a knife plunging deep into someone's chest. Most of it, she couldn't make out through the blood splatters. Other parts were scratched out beyond recognition. But that handwriting looked so familiar. No... but it couldn't be. No way! It couldn't be him. Not Mr. Dark Roast!

***

Carlie spent the better part of the day thinking about it. If he was indeed Darryl's roommate, it would explain all the bruises and cuts on his face. But how could she have never noticed him around the building before now? No, it couldn't be him. She was jumping to conclusions. She then tucked the note into her purse and headed off to work.

Just to be sure, she had a plan. She would somehow take a good look at him today. If he looked any worse than he did yesterday, she would know it was him. She would sneak a peek at his notebook too, and compare the handwriting to the note she had found in the closet. Soon enough, she would know either way, she thought as she turned onto the main street.

"Hey, there you are," Lori said, greeting her on the front step of the coffee shop with a big hug. "I've been so worried about you. I'm sorry, but I had to tell Spencer."

"Oh, that's all right, I would've told him anyway," Carlie said, eager to get inside, hoping to see Mr. Dark Roast again. "Thanks for listening."

"Well, if that guy gives you anymore grief, just come and stay with me, okay?" Lori said with concern.

"I'm sure he won't bother me again," Carlie said, crossing her fingers.

"Well, all right then, but my offer stands. See you tomorrow, Carlie," Lori said, pulling her hood up over her cropped pink hair.

"Yeah, I'll see you," Carlie said, stepping inside.

"Oh my God, Carlie," Spencer said with an over-dramatic sigh. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Spencer," she said, glancing furtively over the counter.

"Well, you certainly look a lot better than he does," Spencer muttered under his breath, gesturing at Mr. Dark Roast.