I stood alone in the cold stark room clutching myself. Holding my arms around me in a feeble attempt to give myself some measure of comfort. I couldn't remember how I'd found myself here, I only knew I had fled from the dark figure who was once someone that claimed to love me. My former love.
I now found myself in this dark ballroom, the marble floors cold and hard, the pillars rising to the sky holding the elegantly designed and painted ceiling. The ceiling… I raised my face to the ceiling and gazed open mouth at the images. It was the scene of a fierce battle, Angels with drawn golden swords clashing against their erstwhile brothers. The artist had painted them all so beautifully, for it has always been said that Angels are indeed beautiful. So excellent was the artist, that you were able to see the fallen Angels from the others. Their features were slightly twisted, their eyes were lustful and angry, and they had a meanness in them that wasn't in the holy ones.
While I examined the carnage above me, the images seemed to shift, moving slowly. The swords gleamed as metal struck metal, red spilled from the wounds, dripped from the ceiling and splashing down onto my face. I could feel the blood sliding down my cheeks from where it landed on my forehead. I raised a trembling hand to the spot, could this be? I touched the wetness on my face and then brought my hand before my eyes…red. Wet, sticky, thick...red.
My mouth began making sounds I didn't quite recognize, little sharp breaths that told me they were too rapid for my own good. The images continued in the undulations and frenzy of battle. A beast I hadn't noticed began moving into the mêlée. The beast…struck fear into my heart. The head of the beast, its eyes burning a fiery red, turned toward me and smiled.
"Jack!" I cried out.
"River." A voice sounded softly behind me, a hand touched my shoulder. The voice was so familiar, so kind. I turned, daring not to hope, but hoping all the same. And there, standing in front of me, was my dear lost friend Jack. I hadn't seen Jack in over 10 years and I hardly cared to ask him why he was here. I was just so glad to know I shared a space with another living being. Glad for a smiling face, glad for breaking the spell the ceiling had cast down on me.
"Jack," I breathed, relief escaping my lips in the soft and breathless sound of his name. I glanced at my bloody hand only to see it was no longer bloody and quick peek at the ceiling confirmed that the images were nothing more than a well painted scene.
Jack smiled at me softly, sadly. I pulled him to me and held him long, breathing him in. Jack had always been the only safe man I had ever known. The gentleness about him, his soft brown eyes, and the way his fingers moved as he made music on his guitar. Those little things told me he would never harm another, never harm me. Perhaps that was why I called for him in my moment of fear, because having just fled from the psycho who had shared my bed, I needed the comfort of a man who I could trust and feel safe with. Jack was like a brother.
He took my hand and led me around the perimeter of the ballroom. I held the crook of his arm and rested my head on his shoulder while I listened to him talk. I couldn't quite understand the words he was saying to me, but I seem to understand the message. He talked about how he'd missed me all these years, the tragic turn his life took after I went away. He quickly quieted my alarm to assure me he was ok now. He then told me something important, but the words didn't make sense to me. The message was being garbled. He leaned in to kiss my forehead and then walked from me.
I stood rooted in place, watching him leave me. I didn't want to lose him again, I had missed him so much. So I moved to follow, slow as molasses I walked behind him. He approached the grand staircase that led up and out, I followed him and reached the landing as he did. I reached for his hand, I felt his thin warm fingers wrap around mine, and then he started to lead me to a door that opened into sunlight. But something was wrong.
"Jack?" I asked.
Jack, who was now a few feet in front of me, turned slowly to face me. I stifled a scream, my hand pressed to my mouth. For now, where the soft comforting features once had been, was nothing. His face was utterly gone.
"Jack…" I said, shaking my head despairingly and slowly backing down the stairs away from him, back into the lonely ballroom.
Jack followed me, and as he moved away, back toward the stariway and the cold empty ballroom, his face reappeared.
"Jack?" I asked, leveling a confused and frightened stare at him.
He sat me down on the steps of the grand stairway, overlooking the marbled floor and gleaming pillars, and talked to me earnestly. Helping me to understand what was happening. He told me that he and I could only travel together to places we had been together before, and since we had been in this ballroom before during an event long ago, we could exist there. But since we hadn't arrived together or left together, we could not ever leave together. That was just how it worked.
I didn't understand this, but then the sad smile returned to his face and suddenly awareness soaked into me, awareness spilled from my eyes and came from my mouth in great big tears and racking sobs. For I now understood how he had come when I had called. Jack had died. Jack was dead...had been dead for a few years now. These memories came running back into my head while the tears ran down my face. Jack nodded sadly and wiped away my tears.
"I never said goodbye. I never told you how much I loved you" I whispered.
Jack smiled and nodded again, assuring me he knew, had alway known. He hugged me one last time, kissing me on the cheek and left me there on the stairway, alone.
Anyone want to suggest a better title?
