Think of the Devil

Seven

Jane startled awake and gasped for air.

She was never one to remember her dreams. The few she did retain were generally nightmares, or dreams so weird they were impossible to forget. Even those would dissipate the moment her head lifted from the pillow, leaving only the crucial images shrouded by mental fog. This nightmare followed the same pattern, leaving only a faint memory of terror and desolation, and one singular image: Matt hanging crucified in Clinton Church in place of the usual depiction.

The moment her head rose from the mattress, a headache pierced her like a dagger. She winced, holding her head still before it began to spin. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, this gnawing pain oh-so familiar, but it still sent her crashing back to the pillow in search of comfort. She didn't find any.

When she could finally open her eyes again, she took a look around her room. It seemed the same as she'd left it, but for some signs of stumbling in. From her bookshelf, a couple books laid on the floor, a few trinkets knocked over. Her pants had been discarded at the foot of her bed rather than the hamper. Her dresser was moved a foot away from its usual location, tilted out instead of flush against the wall. The cause of the disheveled state of her room sat on her nightstand, glaring at her. Light from the gaps in her window shade glinted off the bottle, taunting her even further.

Jane groaned, pushing herself up and onto her hands. Her head pounded, her stomach churned. She paused there as the spins attempted to start again. Scooby laid at the end of the bed, tucked up into a loaf, seemingly judging her. When she evened out she moved to sit up completely, throwing her legs over the side, minding the cat. Her entire body was sore, like every system held a grudge for the hangover it was facing now. She figured she sort of deserved it, knowing she must've gone overboard the night before.

The night before. Matt had been there. They'd argued about him giving up his real life. He ran away from her again. She mused that it must be the reason she drank so much, but it made her question whether the encounter had happened at all. Maybe drinking was what made her imagine the entire ordeal. Had it been a scene in her dreams? It felt distant, like the few memories of dreams she had. Could she have made all of that up? If I did, she thought, why couldn't I have imagined a better ending?

She stood up, her body creaking as she tried to stretch. She grabbed the vodka bottle, which was missing almost a third of its contents, and carried it as she walked out of her room and towards the kitchen. All she could think of now was coffee and aspirin. Scooby meowed at her as she passed, getting up to trail behind her.

As she stepped out of the hallway, she shut her eyes again and covered them with her hand. The sunshine from the otherwise lovely afternoon felt like a blinding spotlight to her. She wandered over to her kitchen counter, setting the bottle there before reaching for the curtains above her sink window. When she felt a breeze, her eyes opened again in shock.

It took a moment to adjust to the light, but when she did she realized her window was open. Glancing down, she saw the empty glass and original vodka bottle from the night before, complete with a cigarette butt. She flipped around to face the opposite corner, her stomach flipping too, and found that window wide open as well.

Jane forgot how to breathe for a long moment. Matt had been there last night. They did argue. He did run away again.

She leaned against the counter and her mind raced as she tried to remember what she could from the night before. Through the haze of her hangover, she could distantly recall what had occurred after Alberto and Angélica left: being surprised by his presence, the revelation that he would've died for Elektra, finding out he intended to stay dead to his friends. When she thought of her brazen move to hold his hand, to prove her loyalty, a chill ran through her. What had she been thinking? It could've gone so much worse if she hadn't started drinking or if he wasn't concentrating enough. After their arguing and their emotions running wild, it could've knocked her on her ass again.