New Dawn

Chapter 13 | Wine, cigarettes and jasmine

The soles of his boots clung to the wet street like glue. The dust from the gravel had settled with the rain, yet the moist enhanced the stench, sending poisonous scent molecules soaring through the air. It was incomprehensible, how death and disease could remain in such an unforgiving manor. As tired as he was of the never ending heat, he was equally tired of the rain. Not only did it glue his clothes to his skin, but it brought every memory of pain and suffering to light. It enhanced every smell, it dulled every speck of light and it clouded his mind with dismay.

As he rounded what had once been the corner of a hardware store he realised that he longed for the open plains, the grit and the scorching sun. Or perhaps it was just the change of scenery that was desired. Anything apart from the gaping skeletons of buildings and the from scent of decay seemed preferable at that moment. Especially as an uncanny feeling that he was being watched hung over him like the thick clouds that hovered over the concrete jungle.

Juniper trotted ahead. Her jewel-shaped ears were pricked and her tail did not sway in its usual manor. It was stiff and carried high. It was as if she could sense trouble ahead like a man who saw a storm brewing on the horizon for miles away.

And he had sensed it for weeks. He felt it deep in his bones - the occasional spark of energy through his fingertips reminding him that it was near. The rain was a mere blessing in comparison of what would come, and he knew it all to well... Even as clueless as he were.

He walked with the shadows, somewhat grateful for the murky weather. Juniper blended in nicely; her dense, black coat merely radiating a wet shine every now and then. The cold steel of the Beretta reassured him almost as much as Juniper's vigilance. Even if he knew that his paranoia was not without cause, the morning had been uneventful. It was quiet, the only sound coming from the mild drizzle that pattered against tin and the aggressive ripple that came from the water masses flushing down the sidewalks. No more headlights had broken through the haze and no engine had rumbled between concrete. Everything was as deserted as it had been when he left the pick up by the roadblock.

Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone.

He walked through an alley. The brick building on his left bled orange squares that turned grey in the shadows. He stepped over them with care, careful to not make a noise as he gripped the gun in his pocket a little bit tighter. A giant hole in the side of the wall gaped towards him. It did not reveal much except for the chaos within. The roof had caved in, burying any memory of its former glory beneath.

He turned around, a cascade of rain thrown off a plate roof and into his face. Squinting his eyes he almost thought that he could see the startled expression of Bill Cox by the end of the alley. Once the rain had cleared and his eyes were free of water he found himself staring at nothing but a gloomy street once again.

He followed the path that he had walked so many times before. Across the street crowded by abandoned cars and a lonely stroller that was pushed by the wind. He wandered past a shop with a sign so obscure that it would make any customer turn on their heel. He followed Juniper down the dusty path accompanied by a rusty fence where he thought himself to hear a dog bark somewhere in the distance. It was not until he saw the withered yards and run down facades of old houses that it occurred to him where she had led him.

At the end of the street the two story house towered before him. The yellow paint was flaky and faded and the front yard was even more overgrown than he remembered. The rotten porch had finally surrendered, a mere gaping hole left beneath the front door. The windows had been boarded up, except for the bedroom upstairs that was concealed by old newsprints. When he passed the rusty fence that was in a wild battle with withered thorn bushes it was not his own legs that carried him forward. It was as if a strange force pulled him in. He considered fighting it, resisting the urge to walk any closer, but he knew it was as pointless as complaining about the weather.

Juniper led him around the house and towards the backyard. A plaid blanket in the colours of a passing summer wavered in the wind as it hung over the side of a garden chair. A green parasole guarded the round table that seemed to have been left in a hurry. Wine had stained the wood and shattered glass lay scattered across the ground. There was no trace of the bottle.

The wind tugged and tore at the back door, slamming it against its fragile frame. He met Juniper's convincing gaze, a spark of strength leaping through his body when she bravely walked towards the door. He fingered on the Beretta's handle before he freed it from the coat's pocket while pushing the door aside with the help of his boot.

He felt Juniper's soft fur slip past his leg when he walked inside. It smelled of dust and mold. Even the scent of cheap perfume still lingered in the air. The stairs curved to his right, leading up to what was left of a forgotten life.

He weighed on the first step, but something made him turn his back to the past. Instead he turned around and walked through the living room. The sofa's stuffing poured out from a ripped cushion and the coffee table was overrun with old beer cans and bottles. It was as if the party had never ended.

The kitchen followed. The countertop was surprisingly clean apart from the rest of the house. The door's to the kitchen cabinets stood gaping open, the shelves ransacked to the last crumb. A lonely wine bottle stood next to the sink. The green, frosted glass of its sculpted body sent a shiver down his back. It was as if it sung of pain and sorrow, tuning in with the echo of the rest of the house.

He wondered if it had been the last thing that his mother had done before she had left. Had she sat in the backyard on a late evening, wrapped in her woollen blanket and with a glass of wine in hand? He would like to remember her that way. A sweet smile on her lips as she took in the last leaping sunrays of a summer night. A sip of wine and a warm breeze to stroke her cheek.

He knew that it was as much of a fantasy as any other. But perhaps...

As he walked up the curved stairs he could still feel the cold glass of the wine bottle against his fingertips. Juniper had disappeared, and as much as he wanted to call for her, it felt as if he uttered a word he would disturb the very being of the house. He was not very superstitious, but something told him that it was best to stay quiet. He was merely a lost spirit in a world that had stopped long ago.

The corridor was dark, every room that he passed concealed in shadow. He walked past the guest room that still held a pile of cardboard boxes, the room of Angela Thompson that smelled of cigarettes and jasmine and the bathroom with a cracked mirror. He stopped before the only door that was closed. The only door that had loose splinters in the wood and a hole in the level of his feet.

He pushed it open. The hinges squeaked in protest. Dim light escaped through a tear in one of the newsprints taped over the windows, revealing nothing but bare floorboards. The bed was gone, and so was the drawer that had once held his clothes. It was as if he had never existed.

The shadows still played over the lemon wallpaper, and when he turned around to face the door he found that the wooden clock still hung heavy on the wall. The hands had stopped, freezing time along with them.

A dark shadow slipped inside the room, the barrel of the gun raised with the beat of his heart only to be lowered as his pulse went down. A pair of amber eyes blinked at him as a streak of light fell upon the black Labrador retriever.

"Sorry", he whispered.

And as he broke his vow of silence, the roar of an engine shook the walls of the two story house.