by A. I. Nasser
“Don’t you go to college or something?” he asked, watching her inspect the walk-in closet, her shirt riding a bit as she reached and clicked the single bulb. “Are you on spring break or something?”
“I’m taking my degree online,” she said, smiling at him. “My father’s a bit overprotective. Doubts that he could trust me.”
“I can’t imagine why,” John teased.
Eva laughed and continued her inspection of the bedroom, closing the drapes carefully so she wouldn’t be seen through the window. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“About?”
“The inspiration,” she said, moving back towards the bedroom door. “Why wouldn’t it last?”
John shrugged. “Experience, I guess,” he said. “I’ve found that my bouts of writing are further apart than I’d like.”
He frowned as Eva closed and locked the bedroom door, turning to lean against it. She smiled at him, a smile he knew well, and his heart began to race in his chest.
Don’t you dare stop this! Let it happen!
He was about to say something when Eva pulled her shirt off and threw it to the ground. His eyes immediately fell to her bare chest, the blonde standing on full display in front of him. He looked up into her eyes and saw the twinkle in them he had noticed the other day, and he knew that if he didn’t stop this right now, there would be no turning back.
You want this. You know you do. Let it happen, Johnny-boy.
Eva turned off the lights, the only illumination in the room now coming from outside, faint, barely enough for him to see more than her silhouette. She walked right up to where he sat, gently pushed him down on his back and climbed on top of him.
Leaning in, her face inches from his, Eva whispered, “Then we’ll have to make sure you stay inspired, don’t we?”
The voice in his head laughed in delight.
Chapter 8
Eva was gone when he woke up.
John had gotten out of bed with a pounding in his head and a heavy weight on his shoulders that threatened to drive him mad. Flashes of last night flickered in front of his eyes, and he tried his best to shut them out, push them out of his mind, delete the last ten hours of his life and start over.
He couldn’t, though, and the realization of what he had done hit him hard. He was mentally beating himself up for being so weak, for giving in when he knew he shouldn’t have. How he had been so naïve was beyond him. He shouldn’t have let her in to start with.
Oh, come on. You LIKED it, Johnny-boy. You enjoyed every second of it!
“Shut up!” he hissed to the empty room.
I say relax, enjoy the memory, and let’s get back to work.
John looked at his laptop, the screen up and his word document open to where he had stopped the previous night. Had she taken a look at it while he was sleeping? How did she get the password?
Who cares, Johnny-boy? Let’s rock and roll!
John squeezed his eyes shut, dismissing the voice that seemed a lot clearer in his mind, pushing it to the back of his subconscious where he hoped it would find a corner and die. He got up slowly, pulled on his boxers and staggered into the bathroom. Turning on the lights, he groaned at his image in the mirror and turned on the faucet in hopes of drowning out his guilt.
By the time he sat down to work, his mind was on overdrive, and he stared at the screen with dread when the words didn’t come.
There you go, doubting yourself again.
“I can’t think right now,” John said to no one in particular, annoyed at his sudden habit of talking to himself.
Then stop thinking and just write.
John sighed heavily, this time allowing the voice in his head to lead the way. He shook his head, set his fingers on the keyboard, and watched in amazement as his fingers flashed across the keys and words materialized in front of him.
After about an hour and three thousand words, John had forgotten all about Eva and was lost in his bubble of words, smiling.
***
Karen called in the afternoon, probably during her break, and he ignored it completely, unable to muster the confidence to talk to her. He had no idea if he would be able to hide the guilt he was feeling, and Karen was good at picking up on when he felt odd.
He sent her a quick message after her second call, letting her know that he was on a writing roll and didn’t want to stop, and that he’d get back to her later. He didn’t mention when later would be, and when she replied with a kiss and a thumbs-up, he felt a pang in his chest that made him instantly shut down the laptop and pace his room in anger.
Get some air, Johnny-boy.
It was a good idea; he needed it desperately and he couldn’t sit around alone in the house letting the voices in his head drive him up the wall. He grabbed his coat and spent ten minutes looking for his keys before finally finding them on the kitchen table. Making a mental note of the smell still coming up strong from the basement, he raced out of the house, got into his car and drove off.
He drove into town, choosing streets at random as he maneuvered his way around the old houses and barren shops. Cafeville seemed a lot homier during the day, especially when it wasn’t raining, and he soon found himself parking in front of June’s supermarket. He thought about going inside, engaging in some small town conversation with the only person he had gotten to know.
You’re forgetting Eva, buddy. You got to know her real good.
John slammed his fists on the steering wheel and stepped out of the car, abandoning his first choice and opting for a leisurely stroll of window shopping. A small breeze had picked up, gently blowing through his hair, whistling softly in his ear as he zipped up his coat and pushed his hands into his pockets. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact, barely looking at the display windows he passed by.
He stopped in front of a hardware store, his eye falling on a sign that promised a discount home inspection with every hundred-dollar purchase. Thinking he might find some help with the stench coming from the basement, he pushed his way inside.
He instantly recognized the man behind the counter as the Good Samaritan from his first night at June’s. The man’s face was buried in a beard, the cap on his head slightly askew, his hands fiddling with what looked like an old microwave. John lightly rapped on the counter and raised his eyebrows in greeting when the man looked up at him, squinting.
“I saw the sign in your window,” John said, pointing behind him. “I was wondering if I could get a paid inspection.”
The man stared at John for a while before his eyes widened and he smiled in recognition. “You’re that writer fella, aren’t cha?” he asked. “From the supermarket. I helped you with your bags.”
John smiled as he took the man’s hand and shook firmly. “John Krik.”
“Hank Pollard,” he said, adjusting the cap on his head. “What can I do you for, John?”
“I have a smell coming from the basement of the house I’m staying at.”
“The old Dean house, eh?”
John’s smile faded. “Excuse me?”
“Aw, don’t worry about it,” Hank chuckled. “It’s a small town. June told me where you were stayin’.”
John nodded, his mind trying to discern what he had just heard.
Did he say Dean?
“You okay, buddy?”
John blinked twice and shook his head. “Yeah, sorry, my mind blanked there for a second.”
“It’s the weather,” Hank nodded. “Damn rain’ll do that to ya.”
“I guess so,” John said, frowning as he tried to recollect his thoughts. “What was I saying?”
“Stench from the basement.”
“Right, yeah, well, it’s stinking up the house. I went down there yesterday and couldn’t find the source. I even left the windows open, but it isn’t helping.”
“Might be the sheetrock,” Hank said, playing with his beard as he stared off in thought. “Maybe a mouse dead in the walls or somethin’.”
“Am
I going to need an exterminator?”
“Nah, they won’t help much,” Hank said. “I can pass by tomorrow, give it a look myself. Sometime in the afternoon sound good for ya?”
John smiled at the man and nodded. “Perfect.”
***
“I was beginning to forget what your dead zone was like.”
John sat clumsily at his desk, nestling his phone between his ear and shoulder, tapping away at his keyboard as he listened to Karen. Half of what she said went unnoticed, and his replies came in short one syllable words he knew were beginning to annoy her.
Probably for the best. We don’t want to slip up and tell her about our little one night stand, do we, Johnny-boy?
“Are you even listening to me?” Karen asked.
“I’m sorry, baby,” John said, sighing as he swiveled in his chair and gave his back to the laptop, shutting out the voices in his head. “I haven’t been writing this well in years, and it’s really flowing.”
Karen chuckled on the other end, but he could hear how tired she was. Apparently she was finally feeling the downsides of upper management, and balancing her job with her duties at home, especially without him around, must have been taking their toll on her.
“At least you’re writing,” she said. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, honey,” he replied, his eyes falling on his bed, flashes of his night with Eva popping up in his mind. “Listen,” he said quickly, closing his eyes. “You sound tired, and I’m almost done here. How about we call it a night and I’ll call you in the morning?”
“Good idea, Panda,” Karen said, yawning. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, sweetheart.”
He hung up and sighed heavily, covering his face with both hands as he tried to decide on what to do.
I say get back to work, and let the world heal itself.
John nodded in agreement and turned back around.
He fell asleep at his computer.
***
He woke up later that night to the sounds of running feet above his head.
His head snapped up, suddenly alert as he listened to the noise carefully. For a few seconds there was nothing, and then he heard it again. Feet, definitely feet. Children’s feet. Racing around above him.
John jumped up, quickly opening the door to his bedroom and following the sounds. The running was coming from the attic, and he made his way down the second-floor landing to the small ladder that led upwards. He hadn’t gone up to the attic since he had moved in, Gina herself telling him that cleaning it out would be a waste of her time and his money.
Guess the old bird was wrong. She was probably scared of whoever’s running around up there.
“There’s no one up there,” John whispered. “It’s probably a rat.”
You sure, Johnny-boy? Wanna bet on that?
John stared up at the attic door, listening carefully as the sound above his head started and stopped, changing directions, moving further away from him, then back. He grabbed onto one of the ladder rungs, ready to climb up, when the attic door suddenly lifted up and crashed back down.
John fell back screaming, his heart pounding so hard it threatened to burst out of his chest. He scrambled away for the attic door, his back pressed against the wall as he stared upwards. The door lifted a few inches and crashed down again, this time harder.
That’s one helluva rat, Johnny-boy.
John pushed himself slowly to his feet, his eyes following the sound of scrambling feet above. His breathing came in gasps, and he listened to the sounds above his head in horror, frozen in place. Then, as suddenly as they had started, they stopped.
John listened carefully, waiting. He stood as still as possible, scared that any movement he’d make would send the feet scurrying about again. He held his breath, his hands shaking by his side, his eyes scanning the ceiling as if he could see through the boards and into the attic.
I don’t know about you, buddy, but if whatever’s up there comes down, I’ll be fine. You, not so much.
John didn’t need to be coaxed any further. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted across the hall and into his bedroom, half expecting the attic door to suddenly fly open and whatever was up there to come flying out, all fangs and claws, reaching out for him.
Nothing happened, though, and he quickly locked his bedroom door and crawled up in the furthest corner from it. He kept his eyes on the door, waiting, listening, his heart racing. When nothing else happened and the sounds didn’t return, he crawled into bed, tired and wasted, and quickly fell asleep.
Chapter 9
“I have to say, I’m a bit surprised.”
John sat quietly as he listened to Derrick Fern talk about his submission. He had spent the whole day fleshing out the storyline, pushing his protagonist in different directions, his story growing darker and darker the more he wrote. At one point he had even surprised himself with what was coming out of his head and making its way onto the digital pages. And still, he had kept writing.
“This is a completely different direction, John,” Derrick said, the crisp sound of turning pages clearly audible across the line. “Completely different.”
“Is it bad?” John asked, cutting to the chase.
“No, not at all,” Derrick chuckled. “Actually, it’s better than anything you’ve written before. It’s not what fans would expect from John Krik.”
“Then let’s change those expectations.”
There was a long silence on the other end as he could hear Derrick weighing out the costs and benefits of going along with this new project.
“Come on, Derrick, you said it yourself, the work’s good,” John coaxed. “Give it a chance. This might be a new cash cow for you.”
Derrick laughed, but John could hear dollar signs clinging in the background. The man was no idiot, and he knew a good manuscript when he saw it. The real question was how they’d market it. It was like they’d be wading into new waters, unsure of whether or not they could swim in the currents.
“I’m not your first thriller author, Derrick.”
“No, you’re not,” the man replied. “You’re my first romance author to write a thriller, though.”
“And you can’t handle that?” John teased, knowing that Fern could never say no to a challenge.
“You insult me, John,” Derrick replied. “It hurts when you doubt me.”
He definitely sounds hurt.
John waited for a few more seconds before he finally heard the words he had wanted to hear. “Fine, let’s do this.”
“Great!” John smiled, slapping his knee in excitement.
“You’re sure about this?” Derrick asked.
“Definitely,” John said. “I’m already another seven thousand words in. I think I might get this book done in a month.”
“What the hell’s that place doing to you?” Derrick chuckled, his uneasiness slipping through the laughter. “Never thought you had this much darkness inside you. It’s a little worrying.”
“As long as it keeps the money rolling and my advance in my pocket, I really don’t care,” John said, and he hung up.
***
Hank clicked his tongue as he stood in the middle of the basement, hand covering his nose, eyes squinting into the corners of the basement. John watched him work, first inspecting the furnace, then knocking on various parts of the wall.
The stench had gotten worse, the open windows apparently useless against whatever it was that was causing the smell. John felt that if he stayed down here any longer, he might melt from the sheer toxicity of it. He fought the urge to ask Hank to hurry up, hoping the man could finally find a solution to the mess. However, it didn’t look promising.
Hank took another quick look around before turning to John and shrugging. He pointed upstairs and John sighed in relief, leading the man into the kitchen and quickly closing the door. He grabbed the towel, soaked it and replaced it in the space under the door.
“I don’t know, but it seems to me yo
u’re gonna have to tear the walls down, replace the insulation,” Hank was saying. “Whatever’s causin’ that stink, it must be comin’ from there.”
“You think something died in there?”
Hank wrinkled his nose and shook his head in dismay. “I really can’t tell, buddy, sorry,” he said. “All I know for sure, that towel there ain’t gonna keep the smell out forever.”
“Tell me about it,” John sighed. “So, exterminator it is.”
“Sorry, brother,” Hank said. “I really thought I could help. Out of my league, this one. Never smelled anythin’ like it before.”
John waved away the apology. “It’s just as well,” he said. “I hear rats in the attic. I need to get that checked as well.”
Hank packed his tools away, pulled his cap off to scratch his head, and replaced it. “If you ask me, this whole place needs to go. Might as well sell it off to the Greens. They’ve been after it for years.”
“It’s not mine to sell,” John said.
“Then ask whoever gave you the keys,” Hank suggested. “Get out and don’t spend a single dime on this place, if y’ask me.”
We’re not asking him, are we? Tell this fool to get out.
John shook the voice away and smiled at Hank, leading him down the hall and to the front door. “Thanks anyway,” he said.
When he opened the door, both men stopped at the sight of Eva Green standing on the front porch. John felt his heart sink, a part of him hoping he had seen the last of the girl.
Looks like little Miss Green is back for more, Johnny-boy.
“Hello, Hank,” Eva said with a smile, her eyes on John.
Hank tipped his cap and tried his best to hide his scowl. “Miss Green,” he greeted, albeit a little too harshly. “See y’around, John. Let me know what the exterminators say.”
“Thanks again, Hank,” John called after him, both he and Eva watching the man climb into his truck and pull out.
