My Darkest Rose

Chapter 16

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Present Day...

Jack slammed the front door and turned the deadbolt. The sound of the creature- that terrible choking noise- lingered over him like a veil. He feared that if he heard it again, he might go insane.

As he pressed his forehead against the warm wood, he could feel his mind slipping into panic, like a clam on a hot beach, cooking in its shell, unable to escape.

He felt trapped, not only in the house, but inside his very being. He wanted to run madly through the woods, to fall into one of the Moonwood sinkholes and disappear.

He slammed his fist against the door. Once, twice, again, until the pain penetrated the fear that choked him. The blood on his knuckles was warm, distracting. As his breathing slowed and he felt more in control of himself, he noticed a new sound.

Just on the other side of the door, he could hear gravel crunching, like someone was walking up to the door, slow, not wanting to be heard.

He took a step back.

"Jack?"

It was Rose's voice on the other side of the door.

He stood frozen, waiting, needing to hear it again but certain it was a trick, a lure of some sort, to get him to open the door. He knew that if he did, the creature would be there. It's dark horror revealed in daylight.

There was a banging on the door, but he still didn't move. He waited. If it wanted inside, it could get in, he knew that. What could he do? Hit it? With what?

There had to be something in the house he could use.

He went into the kitchen to search for a knife, a hammer, anything to defend himself, when a shadow fell over the kitchen floor.

He turned to run just as he heard his name again. Mandy stood on the other side of the door. She knocked on the glass. "Jack?"

He walked forward, unsteady, blood coursing through his veins as his heart tried to catch up with his brain. Mandy looked concerned. Her hand hovered near the gun at her hip.

"Jack, open the door."

He did as she asked, glancing at the forest behind her as she came inside. He closed and locked the door behind her.

"Were you just at the front door?" he asked.

"Yes. I heard you pounding on the door and thought..." She looked down at his hand. Blood dripped from a split knuckle onto the floor. "Jeez, Jack."

"Oh," he said, cradling his hand and walking over to the sink. He turned on the faucet and ran water over the cut. The sting helped clear his mind and calm his heart.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I punched the door," he said.

"I guessed that much. Why?"

"I ran into Hernandez. He still knows how to get under my skin."

"Detectives are good at that," she said. She lowered her hand from the holster. "But he's a good cop."

"If you say so." He turned off the water and grabbed a paper towel to wrap around his knuckles.

She leaned against the door and folded her arms over her chest. "Chet Baker said he told you about the kid."

"That the old man in the truck?"

She nodded. "It's Eric Holstetter. The sixteen-year-old I asked you about."