I opened my eyes. The night's sleep was leaving my body and I was returning to consciousness. With a contented sigh I pulled the covers up beneath my chin and turned on my side. A glance at the small clock on the nightstand told me it was 10 p.m. A good night's sleep without strange, incoherent dreams was a luxury I didn't get to enjoy very often. I hadn't felt so rested in weeks, maybe even months.
Enjoying the feel of the soft sheets I felt like staying in bed all day, but my growling stomach demanded food. Throwing back the covers, I got up and pulled on a pair of jeans I had left on the floor, then went to the bathroom. After I had washed up, I thought I'd go down to the bakery on the corner and get some fresh bread. Grabbing my wallet and keys I went to the door and opened it. I took out the key and was about to put it in the lock when my hand paused mid-motion.
Another one.
There was a red rose, with a card tied to it, taped to the door beneath the peephole. The fourth one this month. Every week, a new rose, and a card with only one single word on it: "Soulmate", "Forever", "Beautiful". Nothing more. No name or anything. Just one word.
Stepping back inside the apartment, I closed the door and looked at the card attached to the rose. My mouth fell open when I saw the word written on it.
What the hell...?
It wasn't the word itself ("Waiting") that unnerved me, but what it was written
with
. The other cards had been written in black ink with a calligraphy pen, but this one was written with what was unmistakeably... blood. Really. Not red ink or anything. Blood.
I stared at the card. It seriously creeped me out. I marched straight into the kitchen and threw it in the trash, then I cut the rose up in two pieces with a pair of scissors and threw it away as well. The other roses were wilted; I had thrown the last one away only yesterday.
I sat down at the kitchen table to eat a bowl of cereal instead of going down to the bakery. The sense of peace I had felt only a few minutes ago had faded. As I thought about it, I realized that the roses must have been delivered in person, and the thought of that just made me even more uneasy.
Whoever it was, it definitely wasn't a fan. Sometimes the company would forward fan mail to me, and granted, they could be pretty damn weird, but a fan had never gone to so much trouble as to seek me out in person and leave flowers anonymously. The notes didn't even refer to my work; they seemed more intimately meant.
There was only one person I knew that would do something like this, but it was definitely not him. He was safely locked away and wouldn't be going anywhere soon. So... who? Who was this person?
* * * * * *
I suppose I should tell you a few things about myself. As long as I can remember, I've loved art in all its forms. I've spent innumerable hours of my life with a sketchbook in front of me, oblivious to anything but the images in my head and trying to make them come alive on paper. In my teens I put my sketches on a personal website, and at sixteen I was contacted by a company who were impressed with my art and wanted to use it.
The company was called Grave Dirt. They produced t-shirts and posters with dark, mostly gothic designs and my style suited them. I started making illustrations for their products, and within just a few years my art was in high demand. I was able to pay for my own education, and sometimes I was contacted by music bands and book publishers who wanted me to do illustrations for them as well.
Now, at age 23, I was still a very popular illustrator and I was able to fully support myself on it. I worked mostly from home. My apartment had an extra room that I used as my work space. I had a good drawing table and good lighting, which was all I needed to be able to work comfortably.
I guess you could say that professionally, I was very happy. I made a living doing what I loved more than anything. On a more personal note, however, I had issues. Major issues.
I had my reasons for that, though. I've never really had any friends, but when it comes to my family I'll make a long story short and just say that my mother abandoned me when I was twelve and my father later cut me out of his life for "being a damn queer and a constant source of disappointment and embarrassment." Those were his exact words.
And also, I'd had really bad luck regarding my love life. I'd had four real relationships, each one a bigger fiasco than the other. My first three boyfriends were cheaters, and the fourth one was violent and abusive. After I escaped that last relationship I built up invisible walls around myself. I could project an air of confidence if I wanted to, but on the inside I was nervous and messed up. Sometimes I would bring guys home for a one-nighter, but that was it. I allowed no one to get closer than that.
Ever since that nightmare of a relationship I'd also had a problem with actual nightmares. I'd had them periodically for about two years. They would plague me for weeks on end, then they'd disappear for a month or two only to start again. I was almost beginning to accept that I would never really be free of them.
That was my life at the time. Far from perfect, but my work made me happy and so I was content enough.
* * * * * *
Later that afternoon, I had managed to put the 'secret admirer' out of my head. Thinking I'd get some work done, I went into my workroom and sat down at my drawing table with a sketchbook. The people at Grave Dirt had recently asked me to do a series of zombie themed illustrations. Closing my eyes, I relaxed and an image floated up in my head. Smiling, I began sketching.
A goth boy and girl are sitting on a bench, making out. A full moon shines brightly in the sky. Directly behind them is a wrought iron fence, and a graveyard. The moon illuminates the graveyard, in which the dead are coming alive and are in the process of escaping their graves. Rotten-looking skeletal hands are bursting through the soil, and the living dead are all approaching the fence, casting long shadows on the ground in the moonlight. One of the zombies is right by the fence, reaching through the iron bars towards the oblivious couple.
I stopped drawing and looked at it. It was a very good start. With good, subtle coloring it would be perfect. And when I was done with it I had several more ideas. I licked my lips.
Maybe I should sketch them out right now, while I'm on a roll.
I turned the page. As if on cue, my phone started ringing in the other room. Swearing to myself, I reluctantly put my pencil down and went to answer it.
"Ash! How's it going?"
It was my friend Jeff.
"Can't complain," I replied.
"Great. Listen, you're still hanging out with us tonight, right?"
"Huh?"
I heard Jeff sigh.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten? It's Matt's birthday. You said you'd go out drinking with us tonight."
"Oh, right! Right, I'll be there, but are you sure you two don't want to be alone?"
"No, I've made plans for just us later. Tonight he wants to be with his friends. So, you'll meet us at the restaurant in an hour?"
"Okay, see you then."
Jeff and Matt were, except for one other person, the only two people I could really count as friends. I had met them through Tim, my last boyfriend. They were pretty good friends of his, but when they found out that he'd been beating me up they took my side and helped me. Tim ended up in prison, not just for what he did to me, but a whole lot of other shit, too. I'm not ashamed to admit I hope he drops his soap in the shower.
Without the support of Jeff and Matt, I don't know what would have happened to me. I owe them a lot. They are such good guys with warm, open personalities. They have been a couple for more than five years, but they keep acting like they're newly in love. It's cute... in a slightly sickly-sweet way.
* * * * * *
An hour later I was approaching our regular restaurant, Matt's birthday present tucked under my arm. As I crossed the street, I could see Matt and Jeff outside the restaurant, talking to a third guy. As I began walking towards them, the guy hugged Matt and patted Jeff on the arm, then walked down the street in my direction.
My eyes met his as we were about to pass each other and I stopped. It was Kenji. He stopped as well. His lips parted slightly, but he didn't say anything for a few seconds, he just looked at me. Then he smiled and said hello.
