Chapter One
I awoke in a cold sweat just as my alarm went off. The late afternoon sun had barely set over the city’s skyline, and my chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as I tried to regain any sense of awareness. Sweat stained my shirt and pillow, my hair plastered to my forehead. This was the second week in a row I’d had that dream. The same sequence of events right down to the precise detail of her clothing. A red-headed female wandering through crowded villages in the snow, always stopping in front of giant wooden doors, never quite making it inside because of him . He made his presence known every time. Unfortunately, when she’s about to turn around, I wake as if my mind has decided of its own accord not to reveal her or him. I couldn’t understand why it had been happening, but it never failed to return and haunt me, even when I napped.
However, this was the first time I saw the claws and heard her scream.
The shrill sound of her voice left my heart pounding, the vibrations of her vocal cords pulsating my eardrums as if the scream was loud and clear in my room.
Whatever or whoever made her scream left me shaken and unsure of my mental stability, but the most unsettling feeling was not knowing if she survived.
But it was a dream. None of it was real, right?
Right?
I rose from my bed with shaky hands and retrieved the small silver flask from my bedside table. The aroma of cinnamon whiskey rose from the opening as I took a couple long sips. A burning sensation coated my throat, suddenly easing my shaky hands and pounding heart. With a heavy sigh escaping my lips, the tension in my shoulders loosened.
The sudden urge to pee had me leaving the comfort of my bed to trek quietly down the carpeted hallway. My toes sank into the soft material as I reached the bathroom, quietly entering to relieve myself. Once I was done, I unintentionally found myself standing before my grams’ old room. Unwanted familiar smells of bleached sheets and sanitized medical equipment had me spiraling as my hand hovered above the doorknob.
I hadn’t entered the room since her death, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to even turn the knob. An internal battle since I let go of her weakened hand four months to the day, when my mother ushered me out. Her sunken eyes never left mine as the door closed behind me.
Her funeral was only four days later.
I shook the haunting memory and made my way back to my room, downing the rest of the warm liquor from my flask, letting it soak in and relieve me from the terrors of my soul-stirring thoughts. Every taciturn sip I took was one step closer to an early grave, yet the comfort of warmth it brought to ease the anxiety coursing through my veins was enough to continue.
Just enough to quiet the noise and let me breathe deeply for the first time in months.
Hiding it back in the drawer, I walked over to the long, ornate windows in my bedroom and peeked out from behind the white curtain. I was greeted by the New York City lights of the Upper East Side. I peered down to the busy streets and traffic lights, the crowds of people walking from one place to the next, unaware of me watching from above, or so I thought.
My eyes scanned the shops as per usual, mesmerized by customers coming and going, couples holding hands, people walking their dogs, even a small girl on her father’s shoulders in the summer heat. Everything was so mundane, and yet there was an odd factor that stood out from the rest.
I noticed a man tucked in the shadows of an alleyway in between the frozen yogurt shop and Katina’s Boutique. His attire was black as midnight, with jet-black, shoulder-length hair. How he was not sweating in the blistering heat, I couldn’t fathom, but he seemed so out of place in a city like this. He stood with just enough coverage that others were oblivious, and yet through the hustle and bustle of such a busy city, he noticed me . The way his eyes flashed left me a bit breathless, and I leaned closer, almost pressed against the glass, on the edge, waiting for him to move.
Was he waiting for someone? He leaned carelessly against the building, one foot crossed over the other, a perfect statue, as if someone carved him from marble.
Locked in an unbreakable stare, he unsheathed some type of dagger from his hip and placed the blade on his wicked lips.
A warning to keep quiet.
Then, with a wink, he faded backward into the alley, shadows swallowing him whole. I remained frozen, my hand clenching the windowsill, waiting for him to return, but he never reappeared.
Disappointed by his departure, I didn’t realize how hard my forehead was pressed against the glass until I stepped back, my skin sounding like Velcro pulling from the pane.
Rubbing my forehead, I thought of his strange appearance once more, taking one last peek out the window, down the busy streets and sidewalks.
But his absence remained a mystery, just like my dreams.