It's morning, you think. No, it's not morning.
The inner side of your eyelids were saturated in red. Wherever the light was coming from, it wasn't natural. Nothing natural is that bright.
"Take that garish lamp off her now."
"She's riding on a wave of China White. Trust me, this is the only wake she'll wake up..."
It's Sally's voice, echoing off the walls inside your head. But you couldn't decipher the words because she was too far away - miles away.
Your eyelids fluttered, it was Sunday, you stood on the altar, with Luke to your left. Your parents in the front row, their proud faces were lit in a prism of light from the stainglass windows. You glanced at the hymn book in your hands, preparing to sing as the chiming of the organ began filling the small church. You were always nervous in this memory, because you were a dancer, not a singer. It was vivid behind your eyes, but not real. Your brow furrowed and you choked on the saliva that had coiled in your throat.
"There." Sally sneered "It'll leave me alone now right?"
The light was removed, leaving you in darkness.
"For the moment. Until the next time I require your assistance. You are dismissed Sally..."
Your eyes opened slowly, the voices - so much closer now - stirring you into consciousness. You couldn't move, because the room was ebbing and swaying like the ocean, and you were adrift.
The first thing you saw was John Lowe. His empty eyes watched you from the armchair across the room. The lamplight merged with the red walls surrounding you, lit him in a nervous orange glow. He sat there, as still as a statue, with a glass of clear liquid suspended low in his hand. There was a shift, movement nearby. You craned your head to it, but the room continued to spin.
Your heart was like the beating wings of a butterfly inside your chest, but you were exquisitely calm. No, you were in ecstacy.
"There she is." a voice purred by your feet "my little seraph, my starlit sonnet."
James took the soft, mid-part of your bare foot in a gentle grasp. That's when you felt your body, for the first time since you'd been roused. You were aware you were laying on your side, on the cool leather of a sofa. His fingertips trailed up to your ankle, and then further up your calf.
"You're obsessed with the kid" John murmered, in a tone that hinted disapproval, but his eyes were as dead as wood. He stood then, moved towards you in the red lounge, and set the glass he'd been holding down on the floor below your head.
"I merely have an artist's appreciation for miss Y/N. You will learn to discern the best from the rest my dear boy, what is killing if not art?" James' cool touch disappeared from you then "water darling, drink it."
The room peeled back as his ghoulish face became clear in your vision. You blinked a few times, trying to determine if this was all real.
You felt so warm here, so comfortable, but as soon as you laid eyes on him you wanted to move. Not because his eyes were almost completely black, creased around the edges and brimmed with an ill red, or because of the menacing smile he wore as he loomed down over you. But because you wanted to be closer to him.
"Didn't I tell you she's a marvel John? Didn't I!" he sang, voice rich with bravado.
"James" you managed, in a breathy hum.
He chuckled at this, reached an arm out to swipe the tip of his finger over your open mouth. He stroked along your bottom lip, pulling it down a fraction.
"Yes" he dragged out the word, licked the bitter scotch from his own lips "I imagine you are feeling quite euphoric right now. I haven't tried opium myself of course, I found much better ways to indulge..."
He straightened up then, crossed the room and took a seat in the gold, velvet armchair opposite your sofa. Sitting in the center of the entryway to the dining room you'd eaten in only hours ago. He settled back into the seat and wrapped his lips around the slender cigarette holder - breathing a puff of smoke into the air.
He flicked his finger once at you "come."
It was impossible not to respond, with the husk of his voice so inviting. It was hard to stir your limbs into action at first, as heavy as they were. You saw the room upside down for a moment as you sat upright. You looked down to your legs, as if willing them to carry you to him. They were luminous and bare in the light. You realised you were wearing only your silk pyjama shorts and cami now. You remembered staggering to your room, stripping your clothes off in an unbearable heat. At some point you must have gotten cold and put on your nightwear. You couldn't remember how you'd ended up here, or what you'd been so upset about. It seemed ridiculous to have ever been upset about anything at all now.
You stumbled across the rug, and James held his cigarette up and away from him.
As you neared, he kicked your ankle lightly with the polished toe of his shoe. You landed in his lap and he used one arm to easily shift you into sitting on his thigh. Out the side of your hazy vision, John looked away.
James didn't feel cold as he usually did. He felt deliciously warm. Everything did. You turned in his lap, brought your legs up and folded them over his other thigh, and ducked your head under his chin. Every texture of his clothing stimulated your skin. He smelled like Italian bergamot and sage, and you drank it in.
"Such a good little thing" he crooned, lips against the mouth of your ear.
Though he kept both arms on the armrests, you clung to him like a koala.
"Did I fall asleep after our dance?" you sighed into his shoulder.
"No dear, you met that ghastly addict on your way to your room...and you took a shot from her! Tut tut. I knew that woman would be a bad influence on you..."
"I don't do drugs" you mumbled.
"Well I thought that myself until ten minutes ago..."
A soreness flared up in your arm for a second, long enough to furrow your brow, before you were pulled under by another wave of drug-induced bliss
Your name was spoken through water.
Both rough hands on your body now, one gripping your thigh and the other snaking into the back of your hair. Tugging on it hard, James tipped your face heavenward.
He leaned over you, his face aligned perfectly with yours, a blur of black against stark white as he pressed the tip of his nose to your own. The whiskey was strong on his breath, it coated your sinuses as he frowned, bared his teeth at you.
"No no dear, stay awake." he growled.
John rose from his chair then, ignoring you both as he treaded past you and through to the dining room.
Your eyelids shuddered once more, and two long fingers pinched your chin, jerked you back to reality.
The officer returned with something held to his chest, it was large and he held it like a precious vase, coveting it. He sat back on the sofa you'd been comatosed on, facing you, but his eyes were glued to the object in his arms.
With a harsh flick of his wrist, James turned your face in John's direction. His lips pressed to your ear. "He did this in obedience to all the laws written in the scroll that the priest had found... in the LORD's Temple."
Two Kings, chapter twenty three. You had read it out loud at Sunday school once.
The mysterious object in John's lap took form. The room seemed to unfold around it, fade out until all that was left was a speck of light - shining off the glass.
You squinted at the jar, the wet, pink contents were alien to you at first. Socks hanging off a washboard. In one, horrific moment, you realised they weren't socks. They were tongues.
You yelped, struggled yourself out of James' arms. You landed hard on the floor, a pile of impotent bones. Hands gripping the tired threads of carpet, pushing onto your knees. Your heart beat in your chest in time with the drums of laughter. A cold sweat on your neck.
The air breathed - 'thou shalt not bear false witness'.
John didn't react, he was still cradling the jar, fixated on it, as though he'd never even notice you start. Blood, that hadn't been there three seconds ago, now soaked his white shirt.
You forced yourself to stand, found the strength, you stared wildly at him.
It's John. He's the killer.
Head rush. You turned to the door, and in that split second, James caught you hard and fast. His arms wound around your torso, slamming your arms flat to your sides. He pinned your back to his chest.
"Ah, ah not so fast" he hissed against your hair.
Gasping for air, you tried desperately to find the door again but your eyes show you something else. The patterns on the wallpaper slithered free like snakes, deep-red diamonds moving across the carpet as if from a projection light. John's shadow crouched before you , unattached, moving independently, it grew larger. It wasn't his shadow. It was his aura. Black and hungry. So much like James'.
You realised it was James holding you. A microsecond of comfort. Your hands, low by your hip, tried to grab him, grasping at air. Your fingers found purchase on the hem of his blazer. You tried to ground yourself. It was okay, because none of this could be real. John was a cop, and James wouldn't hurt you.
But the cage of his arms squeezed at that moment. So tightly around you that you couldn't breathe, he crushed your ribs within them. With your heart straining in your chest, you fell into darkness.