Chapter 12

I woke up the following day to filter some sunlight that splashed across my face. Some faint impressions of a dream lingered, like half-formed fingerprints in warm clay. Of course, I Lt had to be a good and warm dream. Very, very warm. He was cute and with some smooth dark eyes and strong hands.

It was the kind of a dream I would always prefer to stay in. But I couldn't, so I slowly opened my eyes, feeling disoriented and sore. My head ached and my throat felt thick and raw.

My mind was mushy as I vainly attempted to process why I felt so bad, and I finally concluded that maybe it was some hangover.

I rolled over and found myself staring at a set of heavy orange drapes. A single thought drifted through my consciousness: who in hell had orange drapes? My muscles complained as I sat up too quickly and my eyes darted around the shabby motel room. I scrabbled through a tumble of memories, but the replay stuttered to a stop when a sharp pain erupted from my shoulder. My hand went to it unconsciously.

The hardened blood felt crisp beneath my fingers, a stiff reminder of the previous night's events. A strange horror gripped me as I gingerly fingered the wound and remembered it all-blooded. Fear, fire, and witches?

While reeling from the memories I jumped out of bed. Miniature clips flashed behind my eyes, encapsulating events in slow motion; A monster chained to the wall, bodies burning, something attacking me.

I forced the thoughts away and moved to the window, my mind in disarray. I jerked the drapes back and stared through the gemmy glass to the world beyond.

The sun, in the last throes of the day, drenched the scene in blood-coloured lights. Cigarette butts littered a dingy sidewalk like crumpled pieces of reality. A random smattering of cars were scattered around the cracked parking lot. Weeds grew at the furthest edges of the pavement where the civilized world dissolved into a dry muttering cornfield. There was simply no room for witches over there.

I pulled the drapes close and clicked the lights on. The only thing that mattered to me at the moment was actually what I was about to do. First, I needed to talk to D and then everything else would fall neatly into their place. But the unfortunate thing was that my eyes skipped around the room, I realized the man I was planning to talk to, wasn't around.

My first reaction was a string of obscenities, but I forced myself to relax. The room was already paid for, so even if D had left already, that wasn't okay still. I needed some food and a ride

I hated the thought of having no money and being completely dependent on someone else, even if that someone was the nanny or my father. That was what family ties meant, but still, I really couldn't.

I fished through my pockets and gave a small cry of triumph when I met a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill. Everything was going to be alright after all. It could not be much, but money was just money: a real, useful, tangible object I could hold in my hand.

I stuffed the money into my pocket and decided to go on and take a shower before I could call anyone.

I paused at the bathroom door, in cases of when D was to be inside, I cleared my throat loudly, and having failed, I called his name. There was no answer still, so I cautiously stuck my head inside. The room was tiny and painted the same boring shade that most of the commercial world used: white enough to be sterile and unimaginative, yet off-white in a failed effort of homey-ness.

The place was tidy, the shower curtain was even pulled shut but he wasn't there, nor his shadow. I decided it was just as well that he was gone. I didn't need him after all, and I began to suspect that the man in my dream looked a lot like him. I wasn't sure that I could look unto him in the eye with that still clinging to my memory.

I paused by the sink and looked in the mirror. My skin was streaked with dirt and traces of blood. My jumper was torn at the shoulder, with threads of frayed yarn slowly unraveling around the edges. My blonde name was still pulled back in a ponytail. The memory of my bathroom and the other day's scrambles to get to work seemed a world far away.

I peeled my jumper off and washed the heavy scan from my shoulder to uncover two slits about an inch apart. D's words returned to my mind yet again: "You have gotten just a small bite."

Pushing away the evil thoughts, I kicked my shoes off and then moved to the bathtub. I jerked the shower curtains open and reached inside to turn the water in. My fingers brushed the knob just as my eyes landed on the contents.

I in a panic cried in a scream!

A man lay in the bathtub. His skin had the ashen, bloodless color of a corpse. Both his eyes and mouth were closed. His hands rested on his chest and stomach, perfectly still. His black hair fell over his shoulders and spread out to fill the space between his head and the chipped white porcelain. He seemed to clearly be dead.

I stared helplessly. I knew that I had to call the police- that was what came to me first, but I had no idea what I had to tell them. Fighting to maintain logic, I chewed my lips thoughtfully and began to pace the tiny room in circles.

I had to do something so quickly. I couldn't just ignore all the shit or could I? I reasoned it out logically. What If I just had to dress and leave? Could anyone find me? Would anyone try to pin the man's death on me? Would anyone believe that I didn't know what had just happened to him, or that I didn't even know him?