Chapter Nine
#Jake
After he left and the door clicked shut, I tossed the white robe onto the bed and began dressing in blue jeans, a blue cotton shirt, and a gray wool sweater. Once I finished, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My appearance didn't really matter, but the feeling of lightness—of wearing clothes that were finally "mine"—felt like the first real step I had taken since I arrived. My looks had changed significantly; I was no longer the skinny Jake I used to be. I had gained weight and muscle from working out during my time in prison.
Now that I was ready to head out, the question returned, more urgent this time: Where should I go? It was a difficult question to answer despite its simplicity. But I had to leave; I couldn't stay here like a prisoner. How foolish of me—I had been a prisoner for three years, to the point that I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be free. All I wanted was to see the blue of the sky, feel the sun rays burning my skin, hear the birds chirping in the trees, and return to the city to meet Steve. But I suppose a person isn't only imprisoned within stone walls; the worst kind of prison is being a captive to a painful past, bitter memories, and a guilt that can never be forgiven.
I finally stepped out of that room and walked down the long hotel hallway. When I reached the exit, I noticed the sky was a dull gray. Rain was bound to fall soon. I asked the hotel clerk for an umbrella, which he brought to me within a minute. I got into my car and began driving through the city streets, seeing Steve's ghost at every corner. I don't know how long I spent doing that; I felt like a stranger who didn't know the city's roads, even though I had lived here my entire life. Heavy rain began to pour, and darkness swallowed the city, but even that didn't stop me from wandering through those empty streets.
I was just trying to kill time when I spotted a girl walking under the rain without an umbrella. I thought to myself, She must be crazy. What is she doing out this late in this weather? I pulled over quietly, opened my umbrella, and rushed to her. I held the umbrella over her head to shield her, standing behind her so she couldn't see me. She was wearing light clothes, completely unsuited for this weather—a mid-length brown dress with a very thin black cardigan over it. She stopped abruptly, and I could tell she was frightened.
"Miss," I said, "you shouldn't be walking in this rain without an umbrella, especially at this hour." I wanted to reassure her so she would take the umbrella, but when she turned around, my gaze froze on her green eyes. They reminded me of someone, but I couldn't place who. I tried to look away and said, "Oh, I remember you. You're the florist." I continued, "Come on, I'll drive you home. Please, get in."
It felt strange even as I said it; I hadn't planned on driving her, only giving her the umbrella.
"No, thank you, sir," she replied. "There's no need. My house is nearby, I'll just walk."
I insisted, telling her that the umbrella wouldn't stand a chance against these strong winds. She eventually gave in and got into the car. I noticed how tense she was, her slender frame perched nervously on the seat. I didn't want to say anything to make it worse.
"Yes, miss," I asked, "where is your house? Which way should I go?"
She told me to keep going straight, then added, "I'm sorry for sitting in your car like this, sir." Her clothes were soaking wet, clinging to her body, and damp strands of hair brushed against her flushed cheeks. I kept my eyes on the road and replied, "What are you saying, miss? You never have to apologize. It's just a car. What matters is you."
I realized we had reached Leo Street. I passed the houses, waiting to see Steve's house. Yes, there it was. She asked me to pull over to the right. I was in shock—did she live in Steve's house? She thanked me before getting out, but the words were frozen in my throat. I simply nodded. I watched her to see which house she would enter, and to my disbelief, she stopped in front of the black door—Steve's door. My God. I drove away quickly, my mind racing. Who is she? Steve's wife? Did he marry without me knowing?
Then it hit me. Her eyes were exactly like Steve's. She must be his sister, Julie. He used to talk about her all the time. Should I go back? I wanted to know how Steve lived those years without me, but I had no excuse to tell her my story. Back at the hotel, I noticed a phone on the wet seat. I turned it on; the wallpaper was a photo of Steve and this girl hugging. He was smiling, looking so happy.
Without permission, the tears began to fall.
#Julie
When I entered the house, I realized the power was out again in this godforsaken city. I went to make some tea; the cold had seeped into my very bones. I lit the stove and put the kettle on. I searched for candles but found none. I checked my bag for my phone, but it wasn't there—I must have left it at the flower shop. I went to the bathroom for a quick hot shower, despite the darkness swallowing the house. I relied only on the flashes of lightning to see. I finished quickly, put on my pajamas—blue ones—and wrapped my hair in a towel since I couldn't use the hairdryer without electricity. I was freezing, but I didn't have the strength to light the fireplace or the heater.
I crawled into bed, listening to the howling wind. I felt a cold draft and realized the kitchen window wasn't closed properly, but I couldn't get up yet. I closed my eyes for a moment, waiting for the water to boil. When I tried to rise, dizziness hit me. My head throbbed, and I felt nauseous. I laid back down, waiting for the feeling to pass, and suddenly drifted into sleep.
A loud, violent pounding on the door jolted me awake. I rushed to open it and froze in shock. It couldn't be him. It was impossible. He stood there, dressed entirely in black, staring at me with those malicious eyes. I tried to slam the door, but he shoved it open with his foot.
"Hello, my beauty," he said. "Did you miss me?"
"Never," I snapped. "Get out of here!"
He smiled, revealing teeth like a lion about to pounce on its prey. He stepped inside and locked the door behind him. "So, you're hiding here, my little mouse?"
"Leave! There is nothing between us anymore. What do you want after all these years?"
"My lovely Julie," he replied, "did you forget? Our bond lasts forever. You can't end it."
"I wish I could rip it out by the roots!" I screamed.
His disgusting laughter echoed through the house. He grabbed my arm firmly. "Enough nonsense. You're coming with me now."
I broke free and ran to the kitchen, searching for anything sharp in the dark. He caught me, pinned me against the wall, and began choking me with both hands. I clawed at him, but I couldn't breathe. My lungs were empty. In that moment, I felt Steve's presence. He was standing at the kitchen door, smiling. "Yes, I am coming with you, my dear brother," I thought.
But his image vanished as my hand brushed against a knife on the counter. I gripped it with all my strength and plunged it into his stomach. His grip loosened, and his face turned pale.
"Even if you kill me, Julie," he whispered, "you will never find peace. I promise you."
He collapsed to the floor. I looked at myself—holding a blood-stained knife, my clothes soaked in his blood—and I collapsed onto the floor, losing consciousness