by A. I. Nasser
“You seem lively,” she remarked, observing him closely as he smiled like a little boy.
“I’m writing,” he said, the excitement in his eyes mirrored in his voice.
June cocked her head to a side. “You weren’t writing before?”
John shook his head and leaned in, elbows on the counter. “You want to hear a secret?” he whispered. He motioned to her to come closer. “I haven’t written a word in three years. It’s why I’m here.”
June chuckled and started to bag his groceries. “Well, I’m glad Cafeville’s charm is bringing you your muses.”
“A lot more than that,” John nodded. “It’s like I don’t even feel it happening. It’s incredible. For the first time in years, I’m on cruise control, watching the words come out, as if I were simply a vessel.” He took his bags and winked at her. “It’s quite refreshing.”
June smiled and threw in a pack of cigarettes with the rest of his stuff. “It’s on me. Consider it a congratulatory gesture for getting off the bench.”
John thanked her and pushed out of the store, whistling happily as he loaded the car with his groceries and drove off.
***
He was on a roll.
Since the night before, he hadn’t been able to stop. It was everything he had hoped for and more, and by the time he had gone out for groceries, he had finished another seven thousand words.
And the story was still coming.
It was unusual, even for him, especially since he was known for his romance novels. He had never considered a genre change, and he was excited to hear what Derrick would think of it. He would probably have to find a way to throw in a romance scene here and there, keep at least some of his fans satisfied, but he wasn’t sweating it. For now, he was riding the high of seeing words on the screen.
He had smoked through an entire pack of cigarettes in less than four hours. His fingers danced across the keyboard, a smile on his face as his mind raced with more and more ideas, descriptions and characters coming to life at his very fingertips. Never had he felt this rush before. With his previous bestsellers, every word had been pulled out of him painfully and slowly. Maybe he had never been meant to write romance. This was definitely more exciting.
John closed off a chapter, then sat back and looked at his work, admiring how far he had come in only one day. The ten thousand word count at the bottom left corner of his screen made him happier than ever, and it was with a heavy heart that he decided to call it a day.
It will be here when you come back.
John had no idea if that were true, but he decided to trust that little voice in the back of his head on this one.
Standing up tiredly, he stretched and shut down his laptop, grabbing the pack June had given him and making his way downstairs. He had considered buying a TV, but somehow he thought the thing might work more as a distraction than anything else. Besides, he had internet, and YouTube was more than enough for now.
He walked into the kitchen and cringed as the ever-present smell hit him. He had forgotten to call Gina, too caught up in the thrill of writing to really care, and only now did he realize that the smell had escaped past the towel and had made the kitchen unbearable.
Lighting a cigarette, hoping the smoke would distract his nostrils from the scent of rot coming from downstairs, he opened the basement door and turned on the lights.
The smell hit him harder than the day before, and he realized that no one in their right mind would venture down there without an oxygen mask. He tried breathing through his mouth, gagging at the taste of the air, and made his way down the creaking staircase.
The light from the single bulb was scarce, and he quickly found himself wishing he had bought a flashlight. He took a quick look around, silently hoping he would figure out the source of the smell quickly and not have to spend too much time here. When he couldn’t find what was causing the rot, he paced deeper into the basement and kicked a few old boxes aside.
The basement was empty save for the heater and a few shelves collecting dust to one side. He could feel the humidity down there like a heavy blanket. It had probably gotten into the woodwork.
Or maybe something’s buried here.
John laughed the thought away, but his eyes still scanned the floor for any signs that would confirm the thought. When he found nothing out of the ordinary, he made his way to the two basement windows and pushed them open.
He could feel the air inside rush out, as if escaping from a prison, and wondered when the last time this place had been allowed to breathe. Looking about again, making sure he hadn’t missed anything, John dropped his cigarette on the floor, put it out and climbed back upstairs.
It was possible he didn’t need Gina after all.
Chapter 7
John woke up to a knocking at his door.
Groaning, he sat up slowly, confused as to why he had fallen asleep on the couch. He looked at his watch, registered that it was one in the morning, and silently cursed whoever had decided to visit him this late.
He made his way to the front door, switching on the hall lights and frowning as they began to flicker. Deciding to check on them later, he looked out at the front porch through the small side window and felt his heart skip a beat. He opened the door, and Eva quickly ran in, closing the door behind her and laughing.
“Eva, what are you doing here?”
She put a finger to her mouth and quickly turned off the flickering lights. “My father would kill me if he knew I was here.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Sure,” she said, nodding and making her way down the hall, looking around with wide eyes. “I had to wait until they were asleep.”
“You should go,” John said.
Eva turned to him and pouted. “Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of this house.”
“It’ll still be here in the morning,” John said, opening the front door and gesturing for her to leave.
Eva walked up to him and stubbornly closed the door. “My father’s never wanted me near the house, and he’s already given me hell about my last visit. So, this is my only chance.”
John frowned at her, and she grabbed both his hands and hopped lightly in front of him like a little girl. “Please,” she begged. “A quick look around. This place is a legend. I promise it won’t take more than twenty minutes.”
“It’s a big house,” John said.
She giggled again and pulled him down the hall. “Then we’d better hurry.”
***
This is wrong, John thought as he showed Eva around the first floor, barely able to stay awake, annoyed at her excitement.
Whatever it was that made this house so special, it went right over John’s head. He was amused at how many questions she had, most of which he couldn’t answer as he constantly reminded her that he had just moved in and wasn’t the actual owner. That didn’t stop her, though, and she continued to inspect every nook as if she were preparing to write a paper about it.
John felt incredibly uncomfortable, more than ever wanting the blonde to leave, although a small part of him was thriving on the attention. He had had fans come up to him before, flirt with him on several occasions, but none as pretty as Eva. He again wondered why the hell she was still in Cafeville.
A girl like that could have whatever she wants. She could have you.
John shook his head quickly, smiling politely as Eva looked at him in awe after discovering something else in the house that struck her fancy. She moved gracefully across the living room, down the hall, into the kitchen and out, checking everything, opening everything. For a moment, John felt like he was under scrutiny, but her smile each time she discovered something new eased that tension quickly.
“What’s upstairs?” she asked, looking up the staircase, already starting up.
John sighed and followed, knowing well that a simple answer wouldn’t be enough. His eyes dropped on her behind as she raced up, and he quickly looked
away, forcing his eyes down.
Oh, let it go already. There’s no harm in looking.
There was a lot of harm in looking, and John quickly felt for his wedding ring as he waited at the end of the second-floor landing while Eva looked around. He was going to have to call Karen in the morning, hear her voice, reassure that sinking feeling inside him that somehow, in some telepathic, wife-only way, she didn’t suspect anything.
She’s miles away, and she has no idea. Stop beating yourself up.
Only he wasn’t. Something in the back of his head was playing at the chords of infidelity that lingered there, tied down and caged behind bars with no way out. Something was tugging at his inhibitions, and he fought against that urge to smile a little wider, act a little more excited, play along with the blonde’s eagerness until she was inspecting more than the house.
“This is cool!”
John’s mind snapped back to the now, and he frowned, trying to discern where her voice was coming from. He made his way down the hall and caught her staring at his laptop in his bedroom, reading what he had written. He suddenly felt violated.
“Get away from that!” he snapped, rushing forward and slamming the laptop shut.
Eva stepped back, a mix of shock and embarrassment on her face, and a hint of fear manifesting behind a pair of emerald eyes. John ran a hand through his hair and sighed, as confused as she was at his overreaction.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t like people reading my work before it’s done.”
That’s a lie, Johnny-boy. Karen reads your work all the time.
This isn’t Karen.
Oh no, but I bet you’d like her to be.
“It’s okay,” Eva said, forcing a smile. “Are you a writer?”
John nodded, sitting down on his bed, running a hand across his laptop.
“Is that why you’re here?” she asked. “To write?”
“I’ve been having a bit of a dry spell recently,” John explained. “My editor suggested I come out here and clear my mind, kind of find some inspiration.”
Eva looked at him, her eyes admiring, her small smile a bit more genuine. “Is it working?”
John tapped his laptop. “Better than I had imagined,” he said. “Although, I’m not sure how long it will last.”
Eva walked past him, apparently returning to her inspection, leaning into the bathroom as she looked around. “Why?” she asked.
John thought hard about it, wondering how much he was actually willing to share with the girl next door. He hardly knew her, but her curiosity was amusing. He was beginning to think that had a lot to do with being locked up in Cafeville for twenty years.
“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 h
ad 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?”