Forget-me-not

Andre looked like he was suddenly very tired.  He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  He headed toward the door, saying, “I’ll look into it,” as he passed.

“That’s just you blowing this off!” Jon called after him.  The door shut quietly, and Jon was once again alone.

He sat in the empty apartment, swirling the last sip of scotch around in his glass and studying the messy scrawl.

“Sophie,” he muttered.  “I have enough problems, Sophie.  Go haunt someone else.”

*                             *                             *

Jon spent the remainder of the day trying to fix the painting.  It was tedious work, and he wasn’t pleased with the result.  He was also displeased with the idea that there was apparently some woman named Sophie who used to live in his apartment, and she might decide to mess it up all over again.

But the work kept this mind off the pain in his leg and head, and kept his thoughts from turning too dark.  Jon’s memories were something he tried to avoid at all costs.

He decided to sleep in his bed that night.  He’d accepted the idea of a ghost – perhaps because it was easier than believing that he had finally gone completely insane – and that knowledge made the notion of sitting in front of the already ruined painting all night seem rather pointless.

Besides, the chair made his damaged body ache even more than usual.

As his insomnia finally gave way, he said a silent prayer for a dreamless sleep.

But, as usual, his prayers went unanswered.  The dreams came, as they always did.

The beautiful woman who rotted and deteriorated, collapsing into a pile of putrid flesh when he reached out to touch her.  The room of people with dead eyes and no mouths, carving into him with knives and nails and wicked tools.

The beautiful, serene garden where a blood-curdling scream tore through the sweet-smelling air.  No matter how hard he looked, he could never find the person who was shrieking.

That was always the dream that woke him, shaking and sweating, his stomach twisted into knots.  This time, when he jerked awake, it was still dark outside.  A soft drizzle fell outside, and when he moved, he could feel the pain of the storm in his bad knee.  Jon rubbed at his injured bones and muscles futilely – nothing stopped the pain.

He was still shaking from his nightmares.  His body ached for rest, but he’d never get back to sleep after that.

A gray light filtered into the room, casting eerie shadows on the wall.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw something odd on the ceiling.  He peered at it, then let out an angry curse.

Sophie.

Jon sat up painfully and looked around the room – anger mixing with fear.

Everywhere he looked, the name was written.  On the ceiling, the walls, the floor…

Across the window, on the door, the mirror…

In small letters, huge letters, in red and yellow and green and blue…

In chaotic mixtures of color…

Everywhere.  On everything.

Sophie.

Jon climbed clumsily out of bed and staggered out into the living quarters.  The words filled this room, and across the small fridge and kitchen cabinets, he could see more of the same.