Possess (5 page)

The Crusty Biscuit

The rest of the week, my routine was very much the same - get up, spend some leisurely time hanging around the apartment, and head in to work. The last few mornings, leisure time meant reading from a stash of romance novels I'd found while cleaning the apartment. One of the previous tenants must have been a fan of breezy blouses and brawny men. Not my taste in literature, but entertaining in its own way nonetheless

Just after noonish each day, I headed to Finley's for the night. I enjoyed working with Aggie and it seemed we were becoming quite the pair, making out  like thieves most evenings, thanks to the overly generous drunken patrons. Just one week in Midtown felt decades away from my old life. I felt happy and comfortable. There hadn’t been any more weird occurences in the apartment, convincing me further that it was all in my head. I was certain I had only been allowing the fear of all that had happened with Jackson to bleed into my new life. It made sense in retrospect.

Thinking I saw a man's shadow in the mirror – I had been thinking about Jackson while I was in the shower. There was nothing wrong with this place, my mind just didn't want to believe things were finally okay. During my first few days in Midtown, I had almost expected to find Jackson waiting for me every time I walked out my front door. He never was, and it was silly to think he would be. Jackson wouldn't know where to find me. I was in some tiny city I’d never heard of, what were the odds he would have?

For my first day off, I planned to get to know my new town a bit better. After a shower, I slipped on a comfortable pair of jeans, a fitted white t-shirt, and a purple cable stitch hooded sweater. The weather had grown cooler since I arrived, it was comfortable for the time, but I made a mental note to pick up a good warm jacket while I was out.

Nolan hadn’t said much to me all week aside from telling me to take today off. After working six days this week I would get a bit of overtime and I was happy to earn some extra money, but I definitely welcomed the day off. I had been itching to explore Midtown, and with my extra tip money from last night, I planned on treating myself to a nice local breakfast. A sense of adventure spread a smile across my lips as I slid my feet into my brown slouchy leather boots. I still could not get over my newly found freedom. Even before I was with Jackson, I always had my mother to answer to.    

 “Ugh, my mother.”

Instant guilt sunk in at the thought of her. Granted, since I’d been with Jackson she barely heard from me as it was, but word would have gotten to her that I skipped town. I needed to let her know I was okay, but I couldn’t risk calling her from here.

I made another mental note to get in touch with her in a couple of days. For now though, I pushed thoughts of her away as I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. A gust of wind hit me the moment I exited the apartment building. I shivered as the cool air seemed to blow right through the knitted fabric of my sweater.
No need to remind myself about that jacket.
I headed a few blocks over, back towards Finley's. I remembered seeing a small bakery nearby.

Sure enough, I found it was the next storefront down from Finley's.
The Crusty Biscuit.
I smiled at the name and the eccentric looking shop front. A wooden board hung over the doorway. On it an old, weathered biscuit wearing a sailor's hat stared into the horizon as he stood at the helm of a ship, his hands gripping wooden wheel. The smell of freshly baked, and undoubtedly
non-crusty,
bread baking lured me inside as I pushed the door open. An older man with graying red hair stood behind the counter watching me, wearing the same expression as the biscuit on the sign out front. I offered a friendly smile as I walked towards the counter and his face instantly lit up into a welcoming, albeit creepy, grin.

“Mornin’, lass. What can ah dae fir ye this lovely mornin’?” A thick Scottish accent asked as his smile grew and deepened the laugh lines around his mouth. My eyes found the menu hanging on the wall behind him and looked over the listed items with varying off-color names such as “Bearded” clams (not a typo) and “S.O.S.- Shit on a Shingle.”

“I'd recommend a Salty Dog Breakfast Biscuit.” A familiar voice whispered in my ear. My shoulders stiffened and I cocked my head to the side to find Nolan leaning toward me. Those striking blue eyes watched me as I slowly relaxed. Before I could ask what he was doing here, the man behind the counter asked for me.

“Aye, whit're ye doin’ here, Irish boy?” The old man hollered at Nolan, his eyes narrowing as his grin turned impish. Nolan only smiled and shook his head at him.

“Two Salty Dog Biscuits, Angus.” Nolan turned to me again.”My treat?”

I only nodded, a bit taken back by his sudden friendliness.     

“Pffft. Ah see yir sissy little Irish tummy is still too tender tae order some of ma’ famous haggis!” The old man, Angus, nearly spit as he laughed.

“I was five when you made me try it.” Nolan sighed, a smile still lingering on his lips.     

“Aye, and ye spewed it all o'er my floor! Didnya?” Angus snorted as he wagged a large finger at Nolan.    

“What's haggis?” I interjected; unsure I even wanted to know.

“Ah've got some cookin’ in the back if ye want a taste, lass.” Angus' smile stretched as he leaned forward, wiggling a bushy eyebrow at me.

“Don't do it, Harley.” Nolan shot me a sideways glance and shook his head with a solemn expression, “it's stuffed sheep organs.”

“Yeck!” My face twisted in disgust and Angus roared with laughter before he disappeared into the kitchen.

I turned back toward Nolan as we waited for our food. He scrubbed a hand over his face in a poor attempt to hide his amusement at my horrified expression.

“Angus is a bit crazy, but his food – aside from the haggis – is pretty good.” Nolan assured me, leaning back against the counter.

“I take it you eat here a lot?” I watched him as he pushed a few light brown curls away from his face.     

“At least once a week, I enjoy insults with my breakfast.” Nolan shrugged. I gave him a slow nod, still unsure of his sudden friendly nature. It was a complete contrast to the introvert that seemed to have been avoiding me for the past week. A few minutes later, Angus returned to the counter with two sandwiches wrapped in paper. Nolan thanked him and handed him cash before returning his attention to me.

“I was going to go for a walk,” he motioned towards the door, watching me with curiosity, “would you like to join me?”

“Really? I mean, sure.” Nolan’s eyebrows pinched together thoughtfully for a second then relaxed as he grabbed the sandwiches and waited for me to follow him to the door. The cold air greeted us as we exited and once again, I let out a shiver.

“You should have worn something warmer.” He said as he handed me a sandwich. It was warm and toasty in my hands and smelled delicious.

“I don’t have anything warmer. It’s on my list of things I need to get today.”

“Well, borrow this until then. It should help a little.” Nolan produced a scarf from his inside his jacket then wrapped it around my neck gently before he continued walking. I couldn’t help but breathe in his clean, soapy scent as the wool of his scarf brushed against my cheek.

“Um...thanks.” I mumbled, even more bemused by his behavior. “Why are you being nice to me? Is this like your non-boss persona, or what?”

He slowed to a stop and glanced over at me with a troubled expression on his face. It quickly turned to stone once more, just like the Nolan I had seen all week.

“I had a lot on my mind this week. I’m sorry if I came across rude.” He apologized and his expression softened. I nodded and offered a sympathetic smile as I unwrapped my sandwich and took a bite. My hands were finally warm, and my stomach was growling.

“Mmm, this
is
good.” I mumbled as I licked my lips.

A small grin pulled at the corners of Nolan’s mouth before he shifted the conversation away from himself. “So how did you end up in Midtown?”

“I just needed a change of scenery.” I shrugged, not wanting to talk about myself any more than Nolan seemed to. What could I say? I left because my fiancé beat the crap out of me?

Nolan nodded, continuing our walk silently for several minutes as we both consumed our breakfast sandwiches and the ambiance of the city morning. Nolan wandered toward an empty bench that sat in a small courtyard off of the main downtown shopping district. I followed and sat down on the opposite end before taking another bite. When I looked toward him again, I found his cool blue eyes already watching me with a puzzled expression.

“What is it?” I raised an eyebrow and quickly looked down at my sweater.
Had I spilled crumbs all over myself?
  He shook his head, his lips forming into a frown.

“Sorry. It’s just, sometimes at first glance ya remind me of someone.” He said softly as his eyes returned to mine

“Oh?” I had no idea how to react. I looked back down at my sandwich as I felt his eyes still intent on me.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” His voice held a tinge of sadness before he quickly resumed his usual stony expression and tone. “I should get back ta the Pub. I need ta be gettin' ready for lunch.”  He stood up and brushed himself off as he avoided my gaze.

“Well, take your scarf.” I attempted to untangle it from my neck unsuccessfully as I stood to follow him.

“Don’t worry about it. Just give it back to me later.” He waved a hand at me before he turned and quickly stalked away.

Frozen

As I headed back towards my apartment later that afternoon, my mind wandered back to Nolan.
What the hell had that been all about?
One minute Nolan was Mr. Social Butterfly and the next he was back to his usual standoffish self. I did my best to block him from my thoughts, despite having to walk right past Finley’s on my way home. Luckily for me, he was nowhere to be seen.
Probably off sulking over something in his office.
I pulled my new jacket tighter around me and picked up my pace.

I had spent the better part of the day exploring Midtown and shopping. The balls of my feet ached with each step I took and I was eager to get home. My biggest splurge had been my new leather jacket. It was a little expensive, but I wasn’t shivering anymore and it was pretty cute. I’d also happened to find a small art store tucked away in a nook off of Park Avenue. For such a small shop it had a wide array of art supplies. I left with a decent bundle of paints, brushes, and a few small canvases.

It had been a while since I had painted anything. Jackson never cared for my art. He told me to “leave the art to the professionals,” meaning the expensive pieces he had hanging around his mansion. Professional or not, it relaxed me, and regardless of what anyone else thought of my art, I happened to like it.

My apartment building came into view as I rounded the corner, filling me with relief my long trek was nearly over. Once inside my apartment I dumped the contents of my art store shopping bag onto the kitchen table, discarding the other two bags on a chair. My fingers itched to use every shade of paint and play with my new brushes. In fact, it sounded like the perfect ending to my night.

I pulled open the fridge and poured myself a tall glass of iced tea. I couldn't leave everything in the south. Sweet iced tea was one addiction I brought with me.

I turned toward the kitchen window, peering out at the city as the sky darkened and the street lights flickered on. As an artist, you never know when inspiration will strike. Sometimes it comes from something life-altering, other times it will just be a nice view from your kitchen window.  I smiled, satisfied with my first subject. After all, this city was my salvation, my escape from my former life. Why not capture it on canvas?

I grabbed my new art supplies then pulled myself onto the counter and propped the canvas against my thighs as I sketched the outlines of the city. The more my hands moved over the canvas, the happier I felt. I stayed in that spot for hours as the picture grew, layer upon layer, from a simple sketch to a colorful city of grays, pinks, oranges, and purples. After a while, it felt as though I wasn’t even in control anymore. My inner muse had grabbed hold of the brush as it swirled splotches of paint into street corners and traffic lights. By the time I finally finished, I realized just how late it was. The clock read a quarter past one in the morning. I didn't need to be up early, but the exhaustion from a busy day about town was finally setting in. My legs ached once again, as did my back from sitting on my kitchen counter hunched over the canvas all night. I carefully placed the painting on the counter then slid down to the floor.

No need to make tea tonight
, I thought as a yawn passed my lips. I was ready to fall asleep. If it weren’t for the paint on my hands, I would have made a bee line straight to the bedroom. I pushed the bathroom door open with my elbow and managed to turn the faucet on in a similar fashion. The acrylic paint washed off easily with soap and gentle scrubbing. I smiled at the sight of paint on my hands once again. Tonight had been a good night. I picked up my toothbrush and dipped the bristles under the flowing stream before squeezing toothpaste over them. Another yawn escaped as I brought my gaze up to the mirror to find myself staring at a pair of green eyes.

 “Shit!” I squeezed my eyes shut.
Not real.
My heart thudded heavily in my chest as my hands gripped the edge of the sink.

You're just tired Harley, everything is fine, nothing is there. It’s just you.

I tried to coax my heartbeat back to a normal rhythm. Slowly my breathing calmed and I chanced opening one eye just in time to see an odd ripple move across the bathroom mirror as my eyes returned to their normal deep blue color.

No, it’s just in your head Harley.
I sucked in a deep breath as I stared down my own reflection-- blue eyes, light bronze skin, wavy black hair.

It’s just me here. Just me.

Gradually, I regained composure, though I no longer felt as ready for sleep as I had earlier. I quickly brushed my teeth and hurried out of the bathroom, making sure to avoid the mirror as I exited. Pulling back the comforter on my bed, I wasted no time burrowing underneath the sheets. I refused to look at the mirror in my bedroom. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone might be watching me from the other side. But that was impossible, right?

 “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The familiar sound of dishes being dunked under a running faucet as they clinked together pulled me from my bed once more.
This has to be a dream.
With a heavy sigh, I slowly rolled out of the comfort of my bed. My feet dragged beneath me as I rounded the corner and walked into the living room. There she stood. Same girl. Same blue eyes. Same black hair. I cursed under my breath as I staggered through the living room, still groggy with sleep as I kept my eyes on her.

Her arms moved in the sink, scrubbing a stack of dishes that were submerged in the soapy water. Her hair covered most of her face and she seemed to be mumbling to herself as she tirelessly scrubbed. Even as I came up behind her, she was still oblivious to my presence. Just like before.

“What the hell are you doing in my kitchen again?” I grumbled, one hand reaching up to rub sleep out of my eyes.  She heard me this time and her constant motion slowed to a halt as her head lifted up slightly, but she didn't answer. “Seriously, what the hell are you doing?”

Without warning her shoulders crumpled forward and her whole body shook with sobs. I gritted my teeth as I watched her crying over the sink.
I don't need to deal with this crap. This is a stupid dream.
She still made no motion to move nor respond to me and, after a minute, I stepped closer, placing my hand on her shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” She didn’t answer, instead her shoulder slacked under my touch as her hand shot up and fingers clamped around my wrist.

“I'm sorry!” Her voice cried out suddenly as she whirled on me. I stumbled backwards, falling onto the floor as I tried to pull my arm free.

“Let go of me!” I tried desperately to pry her fingers from my wrist, but her grip only tightened. I slid back on the parquet floor, my legs poised and ready to kick at this deranged figment of my imagination. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Harley, it's just a dream. Just a stupid dream like last time.

Even as I told myself that, the pressure grew around my wrist and her nails dug into my skin as she pulled herself toward me.

“Did you hear me, honey? I said I’m sorry!”

“I don't know you!” I kicked at her and she fell forward, landing on top of me.

“Will you just look at me, please?” She whimpered quietly as her breath tickled my neck.

Dammit... Maybe if I just do what she says, she will go away.

After a second I looked up at her. Her blue eyes, slightly lighter than my own, peered into mine with a deep forlornness. I stared back, wishing she would just disappear and I would wake up.

“There, I’m looking at you. What the hell do you want from me?”

“I'm sorry, Brody.” Her lips pouted as a few tears trickled from her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Who’s Brody?” I wrinkled my forehead, only further confused as she bent her head down on my chest and let out a huge sob.
Ughhh
.

“It's fine, just stop crying!” I began to plead with her, but her cries were cut short as her body went rigid.
Ugh, what now?
I pried my wrist from her stiffened grip and her body rolled off of me, completely lifeless as she lay face down on the floor. I gently nudged her side with my foot. No movement.

“This isn’t real. You’re not real.”

I shook my head as I squeezed my eyes shut again, but when I opened them, the girl was still laying there, slumped over and unmoving. Taking a deep breath, I leaned forward and pushed her hair away from her neck to check her pulse. Just as my fingers touched the ice cold skin on her neck, her head lulled towards me and the black tresses fell away from her face. Nausea immediately rose from my stomach at the sight of her fogged over pupils.  Her lips were purple, her skin was white with a sickly blue tinge and sunken in around one cheek bone. Her other cheek was smashed in, gaping with raw tissue. Bits of white bone fragments protruded through the gore. The skin around one eye looked like it had been picked at and torn away. I could see animal-like teeth marks in the jagged, torn, flesh and a bloody stump was all that was left of her nose.  I turned away from her, clutching my stomach.

“This isn’t real, Harley! This isn’t real!” I shook my head as I slid myself over the kitchen floor, back against the cabinets. My body convulsed as I reached for the countertop and felt bile rise in my throat. I wanted to get as far away from her as I could, but sickness won over as I fell forward and wretched.

My hand reached for the back of my head as it banged against the cabinet when I awoke. I scrambled to my feet, my eyes frantically searching my kitchen for any signs of the woman’s frozen corpse.
Nothing. Another fucking dream.
I resumed rubbing the back of my head where a small bump was already starting to form.

Did I sleepwalk out here?
I looked around the kitchen once more, but the only thing out of place seemed to be me. No dishes in the sink. My painting still sat on the windowsill, undisturbed where I had left it to dry.  I rubbed my wrists, though they didn't hurt.
They should have with how she held onto them.
I examined them but there were no bruises, just a partial hand print left in dried paint. My breath caught as I stared at it.

No, it was a dream.
You must have missed it when you were washing your hands.
I took a few deep breaths. Dream or not, an uneasy feeling still loomed as I tried to gain my bearings.  My neck ached, as did the rest of my body.
How long had I been sleeping on the floor?
The clock read twelve noon. No time to actually rest before work.
Great
.