There is a bloody mess on the ground. "Bloody mess" as in dead body. Blood seeping into the tiled floor. Aiden White. I cannot breathe, terror wrapping its claws around my throat, squeezing.
I am going to be sick. I don't even realize I've crumbled onto the floor until I'm inches away from the dead body. Nausea coats my throat and I scooch away, breathing heavily.
I'm going to vomit cheesecake all over the floor and the staff will have to deal with two messes: cheesecake mixed with alcohol, and the rotting body.
Okay. I need to think. No, I need to call the police first. I rummage through my pocket but then a terrifying thought punches me in the gut. Will they think I murdered him?
Even I don't know the answer. I don't know if my cursing him was a coincidence or if I indirectly plunged a knife into his body and twisted. My hands tremble, but I dial the police anyway. The phone rings and rings and rings and it feels like an eternity when they finally pick up.
"Hello?" a warm voice answers.
I'm encased in ice. I'm frozen, unable to speak because my vocal cords are frozen as well. "Do you need any help?" the person continues.
My voice comes out all grating, when I say, "Um." I smell metallic blood filling the room and feel dizzy. "There's a... there's a dead bo—"
Before the sins can be confessed, the door swings open and I scream. My phone clatters on the floor and I can hear a minuscule voice going, "Ma'am, are you okay? Ma'am, please answer me."
Towering above me like a sinister monster come to life is Jack Lim. If this were a terrible horror movie on a tight budget, there would be overdramatic lightning in the background. "What the hell?" says Jack, staring at the body.
He's trying to figure out what's happening. I recognize the look on his face, eyebrows scrunched, all frowns, mouth turned down, like when someone's made a mistake in the report and he's figuring out the problem.
When Jack finishes his analysis and looks at me, he looks pissed off. "Isla, why is there a dead body in the bathroom?"
Present time:
"What?" the tiny voice from my phone says, alarmed. I almost forget she's there. "A dead body in the bathroom?"
Jack enters the bathroom in three long strides, ending the call with a stab of his finger. He locks the bathroom door and fear melts into my blood. He bestows upon me the Coldest Stare he's ever given and I tremble.
"Well?" he says. "Aren't you going to explain that?"
"Oh, yes," I say calmly, though my mind is panicking. "The thing is—"
"And don't bother lying," Jack interrupts.
He always knows. I bite my lip. "When I opened the door, I saw a dead body." Truth. "So I called the police." Another truth.
Jack's eyes narrow. "Tell me what happened before you came to this bathroom."
Damnit. "Why?" I challenge. I am scared little Red Riding in the face of the Big Bad Wolf.
"Because you have something to do with Aiden's death," Jack declares and I go into a mini breakdown.
How does he know? Was he watching me curse Aiden? No, that's not possible—unless he was watching from the bathroom windows. Jack wouldn't stoop that low. I think.
"What makes you think that?" I ask, a tremble in my voice. "It could've been an accident. He slipped on soap and smack! His head hit the toilet and now he's dead."
"Contrary to popular opinion, Aiden isn't that stupid." Jack folds his arms. "I'm waiting for that explanation, Isla."
"You're like my dad when he was trying to teach me physics back in high school. So scary." When he merely shoots me an unimpressed look, I frown back. "Well, I don't even know if I killed Aiden."
"Give me your explanation, and I'll decide for you," he bites back.
That's not fair. He's obviously going to declare me guilty. He hates me. "I'm waiting," he tells me and I grit my teeth.
I hate this. I hate that I have to confess my sins to this asshole, but I do anyway. I tell him about the bathroom, about the stranger, about the candles and the petty curses and the final curse. Surprisingly, Jack doesn't interrupt.
He just listens, his expression almost kind. When I finish my stilted storytelling, Jack is quiet for a moment. I think of statues in famous museums. He is one of those unreadable statues with blank expressions and neutral body language. I am someone who is analyzing Jack the statue, but I'm getting no hints on what he's thinking.
"You're guilty," he finally says, and my heart sinks. "The timing is much too coincidental."
"Magic isn't real," I say desperately.
Jack doesn't say anything, but his expression does. It is of utter revulsion and disgust, and it makes me shrink back. "Are you an idiot?" Jack hisses. "That person in the bathroom—"
The door handle jiggles, causing Jack's scary gaze to swing away from me. I exhale, visibly relieved. If he glared any longer, I would've collapsed under his gaze. Then my heart seizes up. There is someone outside the bathroom and there is also a dead body in the bathroom.
"Is someone in there?" a feminine voice says, and I don't believe it. It's Irene. "You've been taking a while."
Jack mutters a curse. "Go use the other bathroom," he snaps. "There's a woman's one, no?"
A pause. "Jack?"
"Yes."
"I need to use the restroom and they're cleaning the woman's one, so..." Her voice trails off, and then she resumes with a burst of energy. "Is there a woman with you?"
"What?"
"I thought I heard a woman's voice in there." Irene sounds curious and I would be too. Jack is that person who is untouchable, both at work and in romance. He's so cold, he's scared away any potential relationships.
"That's your imagination," Jack deadpans.
Irene laughs, delighted. "Oh my God, there is a woman."
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose and I watch him, while Irene rambles on about something. He's getting agitated.
"We're roleplaying," he suddenly interrupts.
"What?"
"I said, we're roleplaying. You going to the other bathroom would be much appreciated."
It doesn't sound like her footsteps are going away. She must be in shock. Jack scowls harder at the door, but Irene doesn't leave. Then he does the unexpected.
"Baby, if you don't play along, the police are going to escort you away in handcuffs because you're being a bad girl," Jack says, voice velvety. Chills burst free from my skin. This is terrible to watch. Jack cuts his eyes towards me, sending a telepathic message: play along.
How am I supposed to play along? Irene knows my voice. "No!" I burst out, speaking in a clearly fake high-pitched voice, combined with a terrible British accent. "I only want you to handcuff me."
Jack looks unsettled, as he mouths, What the hell was that? In response, I mouth back, This is all your fault, Jack Lim.
"Oh, is that so?" Right on cue, a slow amusement enters his voice. Irene probably imagines Jack trailing a finger down my cheekbone. In reality, he's looking intensely at the door, willing for her to leave. "I can do that for you. Kneel."
"Okay," I squeak out in the British accent.
Jack's voice is rough and low. "Since we have an audience member, I know you're even more excited—"
Footsteps recede away. Jack and I stare at the door, holding our breaths. When it's clear Irene is not coming back, we exhale in relief. There's an awkward silence, as everything painfully sinks in: Irene thinks Jack does BDSM with a mysterious British woman.
"Let's never mention this again," I say, and Jack agrees with a disgruntled grunt. "Anyways—"
"Anyways, I'm not finished scolding you," Jack cuts in. I hold my tongue. Jack always finds the smallest details to scold me about, but this time, it includes serious factors like a dead body. "Are you an idiot, Isla? Would you not find it a bit strange that—oh, I don't know—a random person approached you to curse your co-worker? And that they had the candles prepared beforehand? It means they walked around, prepared to offer a curse to whichever idiot would fall for their sketchy offer."
I feel the need to defend myself, but even I know my argument is weak. "I thought they felt bad," I mumble and Jack scoffs, raising his eyes to the ceiling.
The unsaid message hangs through the air: What an idiot.
I want to melt into wax so that I can sink into the bathroom floor and disappear forever if only to escape from Jack's disproving frown. "So," I say. "What will you do now?"
He's thrown off. "What?"
I'm ticking everything off on my fingers. "You've seen me get rejected, murder my crush, and pretend I'm into being handcuffed." I feel like crying and it must show because Jack looks alarmed. "I bet you're over the moon by now. You've always wanted to see me humiliated."
"No, that's not—" Jack sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I wouldn't gloat over something like murder."
"Okay," I say dubiously. I don't believe anything he says. I bet he's secretly cackling at my demise. "Well, aren't you going to call the police? You wouldn't want to be seen as my criminal-in-partner."
Jack blinks, before looking down at the phone in his hand. "Right," he says slowly, dialing the emergency number.
It's eternity once more and I hold my breath, as the phone rings. On the third ring, the police answer. "How can I help you?"
Jack doesn't respond. He's looking at the dead body. A few seconds trickle by and I tap on his forearm. "Jack," I hiss. "The phone."
He doesn't pay any attention to me, staring harder at Aiden. I snap a finger in his face. No response. Perhaps the body has caused him to freeze up.
I take the phone from his hand. "Hi," I say. I take a deep breath, before rushing the words out. "There's a dead bo—"
Jack aggressively snatches the phone from me. I scowl, peeved. It's apparent that Jack wants to be the one who ends the final blow, but jeez. Taking the phone from me so aggressively is on another level.
"Sorry," Jack says smoothly. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the final ax to swing down, chopping me into little pieces. "My niece stole the phone and accidentally called the police."
What? I open my eyes a slit. He's not exposing me? "Yes, I'm very sorry," he continues. "I should've kept a better eye on her. Have a lovely day."
He ends the call and silence drenches us. I watch his unreadable expression and a sudden thought occurs to me: Jack could secretly be a murderer and now that I've accidentally murdered someone, I've re-opened up his desire to kill.
He's going to kill me. Right here and now, with no one to hear my piercing screams. When the police arrive, they'll find two dead bodies and Jack will have fled home, calmly watching Coraline while eating caramel-drizzled popcorn.
I wait for him to whip out a knife, but all he does is examine my face. Maybe he's carving my face to memory so that he will remember me after I'm dead. Good. I hope my ghost does a good job haunting him.
"You do match the description," Jack murmurs. What? Has someone ordered for me to be assassinated? I must have voiced that out loud because Jack casts an irritated look. "Of course not. Quit being so dramatic."
Jack continues to scrutinize me until I finally lose it and snap, "What? If you're going to kill me, do it already."
"I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to help you."
I watch him suspiciously. "How?"
"I'll help you hide the dead body but in return, you have to be my girlfriend."
***
author's note: happy friday ya'll! a lot has happened in this chapter so here's my question: how would you describe isla and jack's personality? anyways, i hope you enjoy this week's update!