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“What the hell indeed,” Charlotte snaps, slapping at me. “What’s going on?” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of my bedroom.
Rubbing the spot where she slapped me, I say, “It’s complicated.” I wave my hand to Stephan. “Why are you here?”
His stance is defensive, arms crossed, teeth grinding. “Charlotte called me freaking out, said you were crying, and the neighbor guy was acting weird. What the hell happened to your head?”
My fingertips move up to the cut. It’s tender. “I fell.” I shake my muddled thoughts away. It’s not a lie, I really did fall down last night in more ways than one. I found the center of the storm, within me, the calm, and allowed myself to let it all go, untie the binds of the darkness of my old life and chase the light, the burn, into the new, following my heart.
“Earth to Lizzy.” Charlotte waves her hand in my face.
Huffing, I grab my toothbrush and squirt some paste on it. “He wasn’t acting weird. There’s so much you guys don’t know.” I talk around the brush.
“Then tell us,” Stephan snaps. Unfolding his arms, he clenches his fists, making his stand, and I don’t blame him. She should have never called him.
“You can’t do this, Liz, not after everything.” Charlotte shakes her head vehemently.
“Do what?” I ask, swigging a capful of mouthwash.
“Shut us out, not being forthcoming.” Her face grows red as her eyes get a sheen, making them shine.
Spitting the foam from my mouth, I run the tap, swilling my gums with water. “He’s Jack, Char.”
“What?” She flinches like I struck her, her gaze tracking mine in the mirror.
“Clark is Jack,” I state, turning back to her, swiping my mouth on a towel.
“Oh my god, you’re having a breakdown. You hit your head too hard. This has all been too much for you,” she cries, throwing herself at me. I grunt from the impact of her body against mine, my butt hitting the sink.
“Who the fuck is Jack?” Stephan asks.
“He's someone she lost forever ago. He’s not Jack, Liz. You’re confused. Did he give you drugs?”
“No,” I snap, gently shoving her backward. “I know it sounds crazy.”
“Because it is crazy,” she states.
“Crazier than everything else going on around here?” I snort.
“Am I interrupting?” Jack stands at the entrance of the bathroom, his clothes creased, hair flying off in all directions, and still the best-looking one in the room.
“Yes, actually,” Charlotte growls, hand on her hip. “What the fuck have you filled her head with?” He looks at me, silently begging for help.
“Charlotte, that’s enough,” I retort.
“No, Lizzy, I think it’s a reasonable question. Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?” Stephan demands, a cold, deadly warning in his tone. My stomach flips as he punches out each word.
Stepping into the room, Jack’s size dwarfs all of us, a dark cloak shrouding the calm, beautiful man who now looks more like a hunter seeking out prey. It doesn’t terrify me like it should. It excites me, fragments of his soul soaking into mine, burrowing within.
“Who the fuck are you?” He turns the question on Stephan, jaw flexing, height drowning Stephan’s, forcing him into his shadow.
“Okay, can we stop the cock measuring for a second and go into another room? The smell is going to make me vomit.” Charlotte gags, pinching her nose with her forefinger and thumb.
The awful smell is pungent, making it impossible to breathe without tasting it on your tongue.
“What is that smell?” Stephan asks, squinting his eyes, but keeping them fixed on Jack.
“Death,” Jack announces.
“What?” Charlotte whispers.
“Something’s dead in your drainage pipe. That smell is rotting flesh,” he says so casually, like it’s not hideous. Moving around the room, he checks the toilet, then the sink. We move into the hallway to give him the space his size demands. He frowns down at the bath where the overhead shower drains. “It’s here. There must be a blockage. Do you have a screwdriver or something I can use to get this panel off?”
“That’s why it smells worse when the shower is on.” Charlotte shudders.
“How would something get in there?” I ask, thinking about what he could use. “I have a knife?”
“Oh, yeah, give the weirdo a knife,” Charlotte whisper-yells.
Swiveling his gaze to her, he comes toward us menacingly. Charlotte darts behind me. “If I wanted to kill you, you would have been dead the first day I saw you stumbling home at four a.m. No one would have seen you just vanish from the street into the trunk of my car,” he warns. Moving his hand up to her face, clicking his fingers, he says, “Snap! Just like that, you’re bug food.”
“Jack…” I gasp, a cold hand snaking up my spine.
Frowning, he shakes his head. “I’ll go up and get something from my apartment.”
I watch the muscles flex in his back as his t-shirt pulls tight across his shoulders. As soon as he’s out of sight, Charlotte slaps me again. “Not a weirdo?” she screeches.
