I got a lift from Rowan's brother Nathan the next day to the hospital to go see him, although I was still reeling from the recent events. I got there at 10 o'clock and walked through the reception and up a flight of stairs to find his ward. Nathan left after; he looked in shock and in need of a good night's sleep. His wife looked also like she hadn't slept all night; gaunt and bloodshot eyes, pale skin and unkempt hair. When I entered the room she offered a strained smile.
"They caught the man who did this" she said both triumphantly and nervously. She looked like she was about to collapse at any moment.
"I don't really know you, but Rowan talks about you often, I know it wasn't your fault-" she started.
"No, I made him go. I'll take the blame".
It was at these words that she finally broke, and tears flowed freely down her face. She brought me into a hug, a hug of which I have never had throughout my whole life, apart from perhaps when my mother was still alive. We broke apart, and she sat back down, staring into the face of her husband who had several bruises on his face but was in a stable condition according to the nurses.
"The doctors said he could be okay in just a few weeks" she said weakly.
"Thats great news" I replied, trying to reassure her. In truth, he looked badly beaten up and a full recovery looked unlikely. However, I didn't dare say this to her. I didn't even know her name. She caught me looking at her, so I said "It's just weird, I never knew he had started a family, I haven't seen him for about 3 or 4 years. I don't even know your name" I said.
"It's Melanie" she replied.
"Nice to meet you Melanie" I said, and we laughed nervously despite the situation.
The machine by Rowan's bedside began to make a high pitched alarm, and nurses rushed in. I was forced to leave; even Melanie had to leave and sit in the lounge. I sat with her, attempting to offer some comforting words, and eventually a doctor came over to inform us he was stable again. I said my goodbyes and then left the hospital. It was 3 o'clock, so I got a take out and returned to my flat and watched TV. I took none of it in; my mind was elsewhere.
* * *
The next morning I walked around my flat, contemplating going to visit Rowan in the hospital. One part of me- the cold yet clever part- told me that me being there wouldn't be much help for Rowan, but on the other hand, his wife was all alone in the depressing hospital ward with no company but the nurses.
I decided to return though, getting the bus and then walking. I didn't have a car since I had never done any test, so I relied on public transport to get around. When I arrived, Melanie looked slighlty better than the day before, although she didn't look like she had left the hospital still.
"He was conscious earlier" she said hopefully. I was genuinely surprised by this news.
"He has been completely stable since yesterday," she continued, " he was whispering something though..."
"What did he say?" I asked innocently.
"It sounded like 'He's here' and I think he said your name as well" she said glumly. I guessed that this was because neither her or their child was mentioned.
The chilling message sent waves of anxiety and fear down my spine and I think I physically shivered. I made an excuse to leave and returned to my flat once again.
It was getting dark outside; it was autumn and becoming colder and darker fast. In less than a month it would be winter. The words 'He's here' kept replaying in my head. Who's here? The only man I could think of was his attacker. Then I thought of my attacker... a thick-set man who stood at 6"4 with a wide jaw and a heavy brow. I decided to go and see Rowan's assailant, just to ensure myself that they weren't the same people. I would set off tomorrow and claim that I'm an old friend of his. I would just need a glance to know.
It was while I was pondering my plans when I heard another sound, similar to the one I heard when Rowan was there a couple of days ago. A faint scratching sound coming from the window. Once again I swore I saw a shadow flash past the glass. I broke out in sweat, my stomach in knots; I felt sick. Someone buzzed my room, practically making me jump 10 feet into the air. I stood frozen to the spot, physically unable to move. After a while I gathered the courage to open the door of my flat. No one was there; however, my eyes missed the piece of paper the first time. I picked it up, and in scrawled black ink, it read "I'm here".
* * *
I watched as the piece of paper burned in front of me. I lit it with a lighter I found in one of the drawers in my kitchen and stood just outside my flat watching it burn. It was six o'clock in the morning and as the sun rose the last few remnants of the paper became charred before me. I stepped back inside my flat and turned on the TV. Literally 10 minutes later there was a knock on my door. I was still shaken up from the night before but managed to open the door. It was my neighbour, a woman of about 30 years old who lived beside me. This was the first time she had ever knocked on my door since I practically hadn't existed for the past few years. She looked annoyed at me, but I was still clueless as to what her purpose for being there was.
"Who was that knocking at your door last night?" she asked with a trace of anger in her tone. She was a workaholic I had gathered, always out and always working until late because I could often hear her moving about late at night.
"Knocking? I said, not liking where this was going.
"I heard someone knocking loudly on your door yesterday, I couldn't get to sleep until about 3 last night!" she snapped, "And it seems he got angry and did this!". She gestured to the wall outside our flats. I looked over, dreading what I would see. In large letters, the word 'Soon' was writtin on the wall, though it wasn't exactly written; rather scratched into the wall with a knife. In fact, a knife was dropped halfway down the stairs out of our flats. I picked it up. After a brief examination, I figured it was taken from my apartment. But how?
"Well, what do you have any idea who did this?" she asked.
"No, sorry..." I said meekly and returned into my flat and closed the door. I could hear her muffled voice from inside my flat shout 'Hey! You better do something about that soon!'. It was then that I noticed that the TV had been turned off and the window was wide open. The net curtain billowed in the wind.
Someone had just been in my flat.
YOU ARE READING
It's Never Over
TerrorA man struggles to come to terms with an assault that he suffered from a year before, shutting everyone out of his life. Little does he know, his attacker is not who he seems, and by alienating himself, he becomes much more vulnerable...