My Darkest Rose

Chapter Six

It's On the Balcony

It was dark by the time he closed his laptop. He went out on the balcony and smoked. The wind was picking up and the smell of rain was in the air.

After putting his cigarette butt in the metal tin he kept by the door, he picked up Theodore and went inside. He closed the sliding door and locked it.

"Bedtime," he said and walked into the kitchen to fill the cat bowl. His laptop was still on the counter. He wanted to look at the painting again, but knew if he did, he might not stop. He might never stop.

He was exhausted but too on edge to sleep. He decided to take a shower instead.

In the bathroom, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hair stood in sideways peaks. When was the last time he washed it? He wasn't sure.

What the hell had he done the past few days? Work on a single drawing? How many versions of Rose on the porch had he made? Twenty? Fifty?

How many hours had he spent staring out at the lake and remembering the way Rose's hair had looked in the evening sunlight?

He had the sudden urge to smash his face into the mirror. What would happen after that? How would it feel? Would he still be thinking about Rose as the blood dripped down his face? What would it take to get her out of his head and was he willing to do it?

He feared that he would have to do something drastic, like cut his skin, peel it off like a banana peel and walk around just muscle and bone until a new, thicker skin grew. A new Jack entirely.

He pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his jeans then stuffed his clothes in the hamper. It was nearly full of crusty towels and washrags. He could still smell Annie's perfume on the shirt that was now somewhere in the middle of the pile.

He turned on the water, stepped into the hot shower and washed with a bar of soap until his skin felt raw.

As he was washing his hair, there was a large thud against the wall. He startled and stared at the tile. It sounded as if something had slammed into the wall on the other side.

Wiping his eyes clear of soap, he listened. When there was no more sound he rinsed his hair clean and shut off the water.

Had it been Theodore? Had he run into the wall chasing something?

He shut off the water, but could hear no sound from the apartment. Reaching out of the shower, he grabbed a towel from the stack above the toilet and wrapped it around his waist.

He listened at the door but the apartment was quiet. He opened it, just a hair at first, and called for Theodore.

He didn't come when he was called, but that wasn't out of the ordinary. Most of the time he didn't, in fact.

But the apartment seemed eerily quiet and dark. There was only one light on, a single bulb over the stove in the kitchen.

He stepped out of the bathroom, hesitant. "Theodore?" he called.

Stepping further into the room, he looked around on the floor. A black cat could be anywhere, unseen, but the more he walked around the bed and into the kitchen, the more concerned he became. The cat was nowhere, unless he was under the bed, which was odd. Theodore rarely went under there unless Jack had company. Or if something scared him.

When he walked to the bed, intending to check underneath, something caught his attention out on the balcony. In the corner, near the railing, there was just enough light to see a crouched figure. Someone was out there, watching him through the glass.

But that was impossible. He was seventeen floors off the ground, no one could climb the side of the building. And he was certain the front door was locked.

And yet, something was there. He could see their eyes. They were white and glistening and staring right at him. Dead eyes.

It was here. He didn't know how or why, but the creature from Moonwood was on his balcony.

He began to shiver. The water on his body felt like icy fingers sliding over his skin as he stood there and stared.

From beneath the bed, Theodore hissed, sending a new rush of fear up his spine. Theodore saw it too, so he wasn't imagining it.

He couldn't move. He thought for sure he was going to die, that the creature would come into the apartment and drag him outside and over the balcony.

When it started to move, to slowly stand, he turned and fled toward the kitchen.