When Caroline got back to her empty apartment around half an hour later, she fastened the deadbolt and leaned up against the heavy front door and shut her heavy eyes for a moment. Recounting the details of not only the murder, but her relationship as well took the microscopic amount of energy she had out of her. She tossed her purse and keys on the island in the kitchen and walked over towards the Bluetooth speaker to turn on some music. She had resorted to almost constantly having it playing, the louder the better, thinking that it would somehow scare off whatever had been lurking in her home. Not a good plan, she knew, but she decided comfort over logic would work best for her until she found out the answers to the questions she had.

Shitty Future by The Bronx filled the quiet house as she slid her long black dress off and walked towards the bedroom. She unclasped her black lace bra, threw it on the floor in the living room, and looked through Keith’s t-shirt drawer. Once she found the soft gray t shirt she wanted, she pulled it over her head and headed back to the kitchen. The cold, black granite felt glorious on her bare skin as she climbed up onto the island, knocked her purse on the floor, and lit a joint as she laid down. A cloud of white, milky smoke formed above her, and she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. This was the best she had felt in weeks.

As the song ended, Caroline heard something shatter in the bedroom and immediately sprang up from her relaxed position – one leg bent with her foot resting the other, making a sort of triangle, with one hand under her head and another holding the paraphernalia. She licked her fingers to put out the lit joint and swung her legs over the edge of the island trying not to make a noise. After she hopped down, she turned off the speaker before it could start another song and tip-toed slowly towards her room. The familiar feeling of goosebumps crashed over her as she neared the doorway, and she immediately identified where the noise had come from. She ran over to the corner of her bedroom and picked up a large frame holding shatter glass that sat face down a few feet away from the wall, as if it’d be knocked off the wall forcefully. The picture that it held was from her and Keith’s wedding day. She had worn a flowing, beige, and beaded dress the clung to her curves, and Keith wore a dark gray tux. They had looked so happy in the picture that it always made Caroline wonder what had changed. 

She noticed blood dripping from her finger as she held the wooden frame and set it down gently. She cursed quietly, stuck the finger in her mouth, and sucked on the metallic taste as she scurried to the bathroom. She stopped in front of the sink, staring at herself in only a large t-shirt, her hair flowing in every direction, and her finger in her mouth. The sight made her smile briefly. She took the finger out of her mouth and ran it under the water, then found a band-aid under the sink, wrapping it delicately around the slice. She heard a loud [b]thump[/b] that she recognized instantly to be her bedroom door, closing her eyes tightly hoping that she would wake up in bed instead of having to deal with this any longer. After three seconds, she opened her eyes to see her reflection again in the mirror. “Damn it,” she mumbled as she walked over to the door slowly.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she repeated nearly with each step she took. Her hand reached out for the lever-style door knob, and as she attempted to open it, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. It was locked. But how? It locked from the inside, and it was open. Caroline placed both of her small hands on the door knob and began to jiggle it up and down. That wasn’t working. Caroline jiggled the lever up and down [i]and[/i] used her body weight to try to pull the door open. That didn’t work either. She began to feel nauseous at the thought of being locked in the room with whatever had been knocking things around in her apartment. She took deep, exaggerated breaths as she felt herself slip in and out of panic. After about a half an hour of trying to open the stubborn door and screaming curses that echoed against the walls, she grabbed her phone and scrolled down the contact list. Caroline’s least favorite role to play was a damsel in distress, but the situation was something she didn’t know how to deal with, and that trumped her pride momentarily.

The trilling seemed to go on for hours until a familiar voice greeted her on the other end. “Long time no see, Mr. Blackgate, or, uh, Thomas,” she said in a whisper. “Seems the malevolent forces want me to stay put for the night. My bedroom door is jammed. I’m stuck in here.” She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. She was trying her hardest to keep her shaking body from effecting her voice, but she began to hear her voice wavering. “I have a key underneath the plant outside. Could you please come help me?”

Normally, she’d just call a friend to come help her out, but she really didn’t feel like trying to explain that something invisible had locked her in her room. They had already made her feel crazy enough with what she chose to share with them that the thought of her trying to explain her house being haunted was horrifying. But, she knew that no one could handle the current situation like Thomas. No matter how unconventional he was. That was what she hired him for, right? 

Before he arrived, she scrambled to make herself decent. She remembered that she left her bra and dress out on the floor near the doorway, and the apartment probably [i]stunk[/i] of pot. [i]”He’s going to think I’m fucking nuts,”[/i] she thought to herself as she sat on the foot of her bed, still on edge and head swiveling about as if to watch out for any uninvited guests. She couldn’t put up with this fear anymore. Maybe she should stay at a hotel. Maybe she should call a priest to come bless the house. Maybe she [i]was[/i] fucking nuts. She wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. All she knew at that moment was that the air felt heavy on her body, as if someone was sitting on top of her making it hard to breathe. The minutes began to feel like hours.