A cab brings James home. He stumbles into bed, mind blissfully numbed by alcohol as sleep takes him swiftly.
—-
It's dark and there's a humidity to the staunch air the makes breathing a chore. James feels his muscles burning, the exertion of running taking its toll on him as he rounds another corner into an alleyway. The scent of trash and piss burn at his nostrils but he keeps running.
He doesn't know why. He's not running from anything, there are no footsteps thundering behind him, yet he runs like his life depends on it, as if the hounds if hell are barking for his blood and nipping at his heels. So he runs. His feet taking him to a place that he doesn't know.
Deep in the consciousness of his mind there is a map. Lines overlap, cross, bend, and twist, some stop at a certain point others end right in the middle. The map looks eerily like an eye. Like the eye at the bar, like the eye over five dead bodies. His destination is the pupil, the pinpoint of deep black.
His running slows, he's entering an old, broken down neighborhood. Most of the houses are empty, far spaces in between each house littered with trash, James knows this place; James remembers the countless arrests he's done here. When he first started his job it was a hotspot for drugs, prostitution, and the like. Suddenly law enforcement cracked down, reducing a once bustling area of crime to a hollow sparsely inhabited shell.
He's passing houses on his left and right, before he comes to a halt in front of a slumped in house with shattered windows. The loud chirping of cicadas and his labored breathing provide the only background noise in the dead night. He feels weightless as he walks forward, like an ephemeral phantom.
The door opens with a groan, floorboards creaking with his every step. He hears shuffling above him. His blood turns cold, a heavy weight of molten iron coils in the pit of his stomach, his breath slithers out unevenly. He's not alone. James finds fear sinking into his bones fast, the fear of the unknown he realizes as he climbs the stairs, may just be the most terrifying thing he's ever faced in his life.
A gaping doorway greets him at the top of the stairs leading into an empty hallway. James stops at the first door on his left. This is it. This is what he's here for.
Pushing the door open he steps into the moonlit room, a single rocking chair is placed in the middle of the room, directly in front of massive windows which overlook the front yard. The rocking chair is not empty; there is a body in it, slowly rocking back and forth.
James's airways are cut as he approaches the chair. The woman, for the body most definitely is a female, doesn't cease her rocking, in fact she continues as if she cannot hear James at all. Legs like lead James slowly rounds the chair, slightly bending down to face the woman.
She's not what James is expecting. James expected an older man, maybe in his late thirties, semi burly, unwashed. James even prepared himself to come face to face with a rotting corpse. James did not expect to find himself face to face with a well washed, well dressed, beautiful young woman, possibly a year or two older than himself. Her skin is smooth, flawless, pale, contrasting well with her long, wavy, deep brown hair. Her build is lissome, well-toned with the soft curves expected of a young woman. It's her arrogant expression however that get James, her red lips are lifted in a haughty smirk, slim jaw line proud and slightly upturned, dark brows shadowing the most defining features on her face. Her eyes contain a crazed psychotic glint deep within the dark chestnut brown orbs. As James continues to stare at the woman he notices the pupils grow in size, nearly overcoming her irises. Her smirk widens into a cracked grin, she looks maddeningly gleeful.
