I sit up a little too fast and stare down at my hands, fingers spread. The sleep in my eyes quickly fades as the drumming in my ears rage on. I want to rub at my eyes to see if this is really real, but if this is what I think it is, I don't want to touch my face. Whatever it is, it's all over my palms and fingers, running up my arms. I trace it along my body and I realize I'm naked. But the thick of the red stuff is only on the top of my chest.
Fuck. I've been to plenty of crime scenes to know this is exactly what I think it is. It's fucking blood. And not my own.
My hands touch the sheets again. Shit, it's everywhere. On the sheets, pillows, and comforter. The white material now forever stained. I delicately touch my skin. It's like my clothes kept it from getting all over me, but my contact in the bloody sheets must have left an imprint on my body.
What the hell happened? How did I even get back here like this? I cover my head with my hands, not even caring anymore. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think. Think, Jennifer, think!
The bar. I was at the bar! Oh, and Theo... I met Theo. Oh shit, and I made out with him in the bathroom. But that's all I remember. I can't recall anything after that moment! I suck in a jagged breath, opening my eyes. Is...Is this Theo's blood?
I gag, throwing the sheets back. I rush into the bathroom, racing to the toilet. But in my path, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and freeze. It's just as bad as I thought. Blood is splattered over my face and in my hair, which is thrown into a messy bun. I don't even recognize the blue eyes staring back at me. They're darkened in the red starkness.
I have to get this off. I turn on the facet and try washing my hands but it barely comes off. I bring my face closer to the sink and start scrubbing my face until it feels raw. I check my reflection in the mirror but it's barely gone. Fucking fuck. I turn around and start the shower.
I go over my body and skin at least three times, hoping it'll be gone. How am I supposed to show up at work with blood in my hair and on my hands? Not at all, that's for sure. As I stand under the hot stream of water, I beg the memories of last night to come back but they won't. And if I'm being honest, do I want them to? Do I really want to know what I may have done?
Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a nearby towel around myself. A quick check in the mirror shows me I'm somewhat okay now. But as I go back into my bedroom, I pause in my step at the reminder of what I woke up to. My sheets are a mix of white and red like I had a visit from an eccentric painter. And nearby on the floor is a pile of clothes. Bloody clothes.
I uneasily walk over. Oh shit. Where's my phone? I pat down the jacket but nothing. I check the pants pockets but no phone. It's not here. "Shit!"
I pick up the shirt on the floor with two fingers. I take a deep breath and lean in, going for a sniff. Almost immediately, I get the thick, metallic scent I know all too well and drop the shirt. Shit. Shit!
Just as the shirt hits the floor, I hear a loud buzz. I spin around and hold my breath, hoping I heard someone else's buzzer. But it rings again, and I know someone outside is wanting to talk to me.
It might be Drake. Fuck. I rush over, knowing he'll bust in here if I don't respond. I press the answer button and ask who it is.
"This is your mother," the voice says. I shut my eyes and swear under my breath. "I've been trying to call you. Let me up."
I look back over my shoulder into the room filled with blood. Anytime my mother visits, she likes to snoop and clean up. It isn't out of the realm of possibility for her to go into my bedroom. I turn back and quickly say, "Hang on," before walking away, not buzzing her in yet.
I run back into the room and rip the sheets off the bed. Some parts of it are still wet, so they smack me in the arm as I yank. They hit the floor with a wet thud and I pile the pillowcases and comforter on top. I hurry to the wardrobe and open the doors, shoving in the clothes from the floor and the bedding.
Suddenly, there's a loud knocking at the door. "Jennifer Arlene! Open the door!"
My heart slams into my throat. How did she get up here!? "J-Just a second!" I yell back, trying to stuff the rest of the sheets into the closet, but it's so full. Fuck, they're going to stain my other clothes too. I close the armoire doors and quickly find a pair of sweats and a tank, slipping into them on my way to the door.
I open the door, and there in her morning glory is my mother. Her hair is in a neat bun with sunglasses on her head. She looks at me with frustration. "Why haven't you been answering me?" She asks as she all but shoves her way into my apartment.
I stand with my mouth open for a second before shutting the door. "I was in the shower," I say quickly. "How did you even get upstairs?"
She waves her hand dismissively. "That nice lady downstairs let me in." Her eyes analyze me before moving over the room. "You didn't show up last night. I was worried."
Shit. Our weekly dinner. "Sorry, Mom. I got caught up at work."
"Well," she starts, and I hold my breath, waiting for her usual speech. "You need to pace yourself. You will get too worked up and..."
As she goes on, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. On the carpet is a splotch of blood. My heart falls into my stomach at the thought of her noticing it. It's behind her though. As casually as I can, I walk past her and stand on the other side of the couch, putting my foot over the spot.
Mom pauses and turns around to face me, her brow furrowed. "What's going on with you? Why are you acting so weird?"
She knows. She knows, doesn't she? I shake my head. "Nothing's wrong," I try to lie but my voice hitches. I could never lie to her. Her or Dad.
She purses her lips. "Jennifer."
I sigh. "I'm fine," I say slowly. "I just had a tough day. A big day. We caught the Devil Lake Killer, actually —"
Immediately, she throws her hands up and shouts. "Ah, stop! I don't want to hear about that!" She all but puts her fingers in her ears. "I lived through that once before with your father, and I don't want to go through it again."
I nod. "Of course," How could I forget that the mere mention of the Devil Lake Killer sends her into a tizzy? That's why I never bring it up. But she wants the truth, so what else am I supposed to say? "I'm sorry, Mom."
She steps over to me, and at first, I stiffen. But when she puts her hands on my arms, I feel all of the tension in my shoulders evaporates. "Next time," she says lowly, "call me if you're going to cancel." Then she breaks out into her charming smile.
I smile back and return her embrace. "I will. Love you."
She hums in contentment. "Love you too, sweetie."
"Listen, I have work to do," I add as soon as our hug is over. I lean back and give her an apologetic grimace. "We'll reschedule soon, okay?"
"Alright," she sighs reluctantly. "Soon?"
I nod. "Soon."
I didn't lie to my mother when I said I had to work. I just wasn't planning on going back to the precinct yet. I had somewhere else to be.
I stand in that grey room again, my arms crossed and my eyes trained on the camera in the corner. What if the guard was lying about no audio being recorded? Because what I have to say to this man might get me in trouble or I may get a padded room of my own.
The door of the room buzzes, and again, the guards usher in Jackson. He's much more lucid than before, his eyes finding mine right away. He smiles.
"Ah, Miss Lynne," he says giddily. "You're back."
After the guards cuff him to the table, I nod to the door. "Can we get some privacy?" They silently and expressionlessly exit the room, leaving me with Jackson. It's probably for the best that they don't hear this either.
I sink into the chair opposite of him. "Okay," I say. "I'm ready to listen." Even though I'm not quite sure what I need to hear.
He snickers. "Why? What happened?" His eyes scan me, and I involuntarily shudder. They return to my face and I feel like he's trying to read into me, to see if he can guess what happened. He might as well try because I won't be saying a word. Hell, I don't even know what actually happened. Just that what he said before might have some truth to it.
Some.
"What do you want me to tell you?" He asks with a sigh when he realizes I won't answer him.
I fold my hands and lean across the table. "You said you were...possessed. By a demon."
He nods, and all trace of his silliness is gone. "Yes. I wasn't lying or 'messing' with you. Look at me," he says, only gesturing to himself with his thumbs. "Do I look like a murdering psychopath?"
I tick a brow. "I don't know. People thought Bundy was a normal guy."
Jackson scoffs. "Who gives a shit?" He shakes his head. "You came to me. Do you want to hear about it or not?"
Biting the inside of my lip, I try my best to hold back an eye roll. "Yeah. What can you tell me about this...demon?"
He glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is listening before he lowers his voice slightly. "It feeds on pain and death. It wants to cause as much carnage as possible." He laughs to himself. "Although that could be said about any demon."
"Focus, Jackson."
A clouded look crosses over his eyes as he smirks. "Please, Jennifer. Call me Aaron." When I don't respond, he rolls his eyes. "Fine, fine." He sighs. "At first I didn't know what was wrong with me. I had an accident at work. Hit my head. I had body pain for over a week. Just thought it was from the fall. But then I was hearing voices, even when I was alone. Thought I was going crazy." Jackson grips the chains. "I had this...urge. It was fuckin' strong too. I thought it was the munchies or something. But then I saw her and I knew." He closes his eyes. "Imogen. She was so sweet. So nice to me. I didn't realize what I was doing until my hands were around her throat."
My breath hitches. "Stop." He's getting off on this, isn't he? "What does this have to do with the demon?"
He groans. "Aren't you listening? I said I was hearing voices, actin' differently than normal. I would never hurt anyone. You can check. You can ask people. I was never arrested, not even a speeding ticket."
"I know," I say, folding my hands. "We did ask people; your co-workers. And they said you were weird. They pointed you out. Multiple times."
His nostrils flare before he slams his hands on the table. "I was a nice guy! I am a nice guy!" I even see tears well up in his eyes. "Now I have a fuckin' murder charge against me."
The angrier he gets, the more his southern accent bleeds through. Either this guy is a great actor or he really is innocent. He's sending my radar out of wack. "What happened after you killed Imogen, Aaron?"
Jackson shakes his head. "I woke up in my house. Blood on me. On the floor I was sleeping on. I was just there. Next thing I knew, I saw Imogen on the TV. She was dead. I heard where she was at. I couldn't remember goin' to Devil Lake. But in my head, I saw myself strangling her. And then cutting her —"
I put my hand up. "That's enough." I try to keep my cool, but my heart pounds in my ear. He described almost perfectly what happened to me this morning. But how could he know? He couldn't. Could he?
"The demon wants death, Jennifer." His voice is clear and strong. I meet his eyes and I see no wavering. No hesitation. "And it will use you to kill."
"But why?" I shake my head. I don't understand. "And why did it leave you and enter me? Why me?"
Jackson turns and looks at the door. "Guards! I'm ready to go back to my cell!"
The door opens and the guards enter. "Wait," I say hurriedly, standing when he does. "I need to know —"
He smiles at me as they uncut him from the table. "If you want to know more, bring the case file with you."
I push my brows together. "Why?"
He laughs, and I'm not sure if it's to himself or at me. The guards haul him out of the room and back down the hall. I just stand there for a moment with my hands on my head wondering who I should believe and if I can even trust my gut anymore.
Total word count (as of end of chapter 6): 13,403