Jesus, this is weird.
“Stop,” Jack said to the driver. “I want you to turn here.”
The driver tried to explain that Ubers didn’t work like taxis, but then he shut up and started driving. Whatever Jack did to him, the man simply obeyed. It was unnerving how Jack could control everyone around him.
“Not everyone,” he muttered, staring ahead with an intense gaze.
I knew he meant me, but that wasn’t true. So far, I’d done everything he asked.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“I recognize this street.”
I tried not to think of the cuff in my bag that could explain why the street felt familiar. I tried not to think of my sick attachment to this man.
“There. That house.” Jack pointed up the winding street.
I looked out the window at an imposing blue Victorian, with purple and green turrets, perched atop the hill overlooking a small ocean of rooftops and the Golden Gate Bridge off in the distance.
The sun was just coming up, but the fog and drizzle gave the home an unwelcoming vibe. The dark windows seemed too dark, like the glass was painted black on the inside. The air around it seemed coated in heavy shadows. Even the pristine red roses in the front seemed wicked with their huge jutting thorns.
A chill crawled up my spine as the car parked at the curb, just at the end of the walkway leading to the enormous stained-glass front door.
Jack got out of the car. “Wait here,” he told the driver.
I got out, too, but stayed near the car on the sidewalk. Suddenly, my feet were freezing. No, not cold. Freezing. Like standing barefoot on ice.
I’d experienced the same dark energy back in the warehouse. Only, this place was much worse.
Shivering, I got back in the car and waited while Jack rang the doorbell. Whoever lived here must’ve recently put a lot of money into restoring the place. The paint was perfect, each detail in the woodwork highlighted with a contrast of white, green or purple, like a real live dollhouse. The scalloped woodwork under the eaves reminded me of fine lace.
Jack didn’t have any success with the doorbell, so he went around the side and disappeared.
Fearless. But what was there to fear when you couldn’t die? Or you can make people do anything you want.
Ten minutes later, Jack reappeared and started walking toward the car. He got in but didn’t say a word. His face was red, so I couldn’t tell if he was angry or something else.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He stared blankly toward the windshield.
“Jack?” I touched the sleeve of his long black coat. It was cold, like he’d just come out of a freezer.
I pulled my hand away. Whatever had happened, Jack was in shock or something.
“Um, could you take us to our hotel now?” I asked the driver. I didn’t know what else to do.
The man nodded, and we got moving right as the rain started coming down. I was beginning to think the weather was no coincidence. This storm seemed to follow us everywhere, like nature was trying to tell us something.
When we arrived at the small hotel, Jack exited the car and went inside without a word. He didn’t even grab our bags. It unnerved me, because if something could bother Jack, it had to be bad.
I thanked the driver and closed out the ride on my app. I grabbed my duffel bag and Jack’s suitcase and went in, finding he’d already been given a key. He was heading toward the elevator, not bothering to wait for me.
“Hey, Jack!” I called out and caught up with him right as the elevator doors slid open. “What happened back there?”
“Go to the corner store and buy me a bottle of Scotch.” He stepped inside the elevator.
I followed. “No. Tell me what you saw.”
His angular jaw ticked away beneath a thick layer of inky black stubble, but he didn’t speak.
“Okay. At least let me go put these bags down. Then I’ll go find whatever you want.”
“I changed my mind. You should not return here today. Come back tomorrow.”
The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. He stepped out, and I followed.
A mistake.
As soon as I was out in the hallway, he grabbed me by the neck and slammed me against the wall.
I gasped. More from the shock than from fear. I could kill him just by willing it.
“You’re catching on,” he said in a low predatory voice, piercing me with his narrowed eyes. “Except for the part that you must kill me first, and you are far too slow. Now leave.” He released me.
I had no clue what had happened behind that house, but it must’ve been something horrible if it had rattled a man like him.
“I’ll go downstairs and get another room.” I hadn’t planned to stay with him anyway. Or maybe I had. I didn’t know anymore, and I fucking hated myself for it. I hated that I didn’t mind him putting his hands on me just now. Maybe because I knew I should be scared of him, and I wasn’t. He was quickly becoming my dark addiction—a puzzle I wanted to solve, a puzzle I hoped would lead to my own answers.
“Find me in the morning.” I dropped his suitcase in the middle of the hall and headed for the stairwell. I needed to sleep. I needed to stew over everything that had just happened.
I got to the reception desk and asked about a room. “Nothing?”
“Check-in isn’t until three p.m.,” said the woman.
“But that man who just…never mind.” Jack did things his way.
“Would you like a room for tonight?”
I wasn’t sure. “How much are they?”
“Four hundred.”
That was probably about all I had left in my checking account. I still wasn’t sure how I’d be getting home. My next and final paycheck wouldn’t come in for another week. My credit card was probably maxed out, too, if Jack had purchased plane tickets with it.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll find other accommodations.” With my red duffel bag hung over my purple coat, I went outside, sticking underneath the overhang.
This is not good. The rain was coming down in buckets, but I didn’t dare go back up to Jack’s room. Something had triggered him, and I needed to find out what.
I pulled out my phone and ordered another ride.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The car dropped me off in front of the ominous blue Victorian with blacked-out windows. This time, I had the distinct feeling that someone, or something, was inside watching from the windows.
What the hell is this place? My eyes scanned the pitched roofline, noting how the dull gray sunlight peeking through the storm clouds seemed repelled by the property. Maybe it was a portal to hell and Jack really was the devil.
Dripping wet, I took the walkway to the front door. With each step, my feet got colder, the ground sucking the warmth from my body through my boots. My coat was no match for this Arctic hellhole.
I hugged my coat and approached the front door. Honestly, the home was even more impressive up close. The woodwork looked brand new, including the white wooden railing around the front porch.
I stepped up to the stained-glass front door and rang the bell, but like before, no one answered. Meanwhile, the air just kept getting colder. Hands down, this house was one scary-ass slice of horror.
I made my way around the rosebushes to a tall iron gate that reminded me of something from medieval days, complete with wooden slats for privacy. I pushed down on the long handle until I heard a click. The gate swung open under its own weight.