The Bottom of the Sea

Part 25: Broken Jewels

"Are you ready?"

I took a deep breath. "Ready as I'll ever be."

We stood on the porch of the imposing house. Everything was dark and quiet. I hadn't been back for days, but it was time to leave the refuge of Jake's place and face whatever was in there.

I gave him a quick nod and fished my keys out. Once we were in, I set the alarm again and turned on the hallway light. Everything looked fine. I realized I was holding my breath and I let it out. I could see my breath; it was freezing cold.

While I checked out all the rooms on the first floor, Jake went upstairs. I was just about to let my guard down, when I heard him call. "Sarah? You better come up here and see this." My heart sank. What fresh hell is this?

I walked up the winding, elegant staircase until I got to the landing. Small, brightly-coloured pieces of glass were scattered everywhere like a giant hand had strewn broken jewels all over the floor.

"What the—?" I stooped to pick one up and examine it in the light. It glittered like a shard of ruby.

I stepped into my bedroom, carefully avoiding the debris, and saw what happened. Something or someone had busted the stained-glass window in my bedroom.

"Look at this." He walked over to the shattered window, the curtain floating in the breeze. "The window broke inward."

"Did someone pitch a rock through it?" We looked around the floor but couldn't find anything. "Maybe a branch did it?" I said, hoping for a rational answer, preferably one that didn't involve a ghost or my ex-partner.

Shane. I remembered seeing him at the fair; the dirty bandage, the blood dripping down his face. I scrambled for my phone and pulled up Facebook. The vacation pictures of the luxurious Sun Royalty resort in Cancun were still there, followed by shots of him back in Calgary — face intact. It was proof that Shane couldn't have been at the fair the day before.

I didn't see him at the carnival, it was just my mind playing tricks. The window, however, was a very real problem to be dealt with and I didn't know the first thing about how to fix it.

I sat on my bed, defeated. "I loved that window," I said. "It made a light show on the wall every day when the sun was shining, all different colours like jewels."

"You deserve real jewels, not cheap glass," Jake said, stooping down to gather up the shards before wincing and looking at his hand.

My face was on fire — had I just heard him right? I was flooded with a small, quiet joy. I wasn't used to compliments, especially ones so sweet and sincere. It took me a moment to register that he'd hurt himself.

"Oh, no you've got glass in your hand. Come here."

"Nah, I can get it out," he said, drawing a sharp breath as he flexed his fingers.

"Do you really want to stand here arguing while you bleed to death? Come into the bathroom," I commanded and reluctantly he followed. I was still dazed from what he said to me.

"Here, give it," I said, extending my hand. He put his in mine, palm up and I examined the wound. His hands were large and rough, but warm. A piece of emerald glass the size of a grape was lodged in his palm. Nasty, but treatable.

"Does it hurt?"

"Like a motherfucker," he said, and I laughed, taking out the first aid kit. "Hold still," I said. With the tweezers, I grasped the end of the large glass splinter and gently pulled it out. Despite his noisy protests, I put his hand under the running water. "That's funny. Doesn't seem to be getting hot," I said, twisting and turning the ancient fixtures. I did the best I could with cold water.