Janet was grateful to Vert and Agura for trying to make her feel welcome, but the fact that they were doing it in her own house rather cheapened the effect. A long and largely sleepless night combined with the nervous, jittery day, and the calming buzz of her medication, had left the woman exhausted. With polite goodbyes and a sweet, motherly smile, she showed her son and his girlfriend out. Janet gave her darling little boy a kiss on the cheek and locked the door with a sigh.
The woman laughed. She had survived the awkward family dinner from hell.
"Oh, thank Christ that's over," she groaned, smoothing back her hair. Janet unceremoniously kicked off her shoes and made her way upstairs. Now that those damn kids were gone, she could finally relax. She hit the lights as she went, drowning the house in darkness and shadow. Janet unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off, not caring as the sleeves got turned inside out, and tossed it over her shoulder. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall past her hips, stepping out of it as it hit the floor along with her panties, and did not even look to see where her bra landed. Now that she was free of the constant scrutiny of her doctors and the orderlies, the freedom of making a mess in her own living space with no one to enforce consequences was a sweet victory. About the only thing the tired woman did with any measure of care was put away her jewelry; gingerly she hung the pearls on a stand on her dresser and placed the earrings in a box, but she left her wedding ring on her finger. Once all of that was out of the way, Janet grabbed one of her husband's old t-shirts and pulled it on to sleep in.
As she lazily walked to the bathroom, Janet yawned, stretched, and wondered if she could bear to live here by herself. The big, old house felt so empty now that she was there by herself. She sincerely hoped Jack would be home soon, because if she had to spend more than a few nights alone in this place, she was going to lose it. Again.
Come to think of it, Vert had yet to really explain exactly where Jack had been all this time. What excuse could that man possibly have for disappearing the way he had? Janet had been so desperate to see her husband again that she hadn't questioned it when Vert told her he was coming home, but now that she was alone with her thoughts, it ate away at her. Where did Jack go? Where had he been all this time? When was Jack coming home? Had Vert lied about his return to make her feel better? And even if it was true he was coming home, why had Jack left in the first place? Janet had more questions than answers. Her head was pounding with the effort of trying to figure it out and it was getting late. With an annoyed grumble she shrugged it off and began flossing, because, hey, she was crazy, and she was exhausted, but that was no excuse to give up on dental hygiene!
Janet opened the medicine cabinet to retrieve her toothbrush, but paused when she heard a noise. The noise did not continue, however, nor did it repeat. She figured it was nothing to worry about and closed the cabinet. Suddenly, Janet screamed and whirled to look behind her. There was no one there now, and she was safe, but she could not stop shaking.
In the mirror, she had seen a faceless man in a black suit, the same one she had been seeing for years. But he wasn't looming in the shower, as had been reflected in the glass. And he was not waiting to reach a clawed hand through the mirror and pull her through to another world, as he so often had in her darkest nightmares. He was not there anymore. He was not real. No matter how afraid she was, no matter what she saw or thought she saw, the faceless, featureless man was not really there.
Janet shook her head and took a double dose of her medication, hitting the lights and running to her stereo. She cranked up a Judas Priest album as loud as it would go, allowing the screeching vocals of Rob Halford to wash over her at a soothing ninety-three decibels, and focusing on memories of better times. There was no way she could sleep—how could she, with the specter of some imagined thing mocking her, demanding her soul? The older blonde surrounded herself with the brightest of lights and the loudest of sounds, hoping to stay awake lest she be dead before dawn, acutely aware that her exhaustion could render her helpless at any time—helpless before the outstretched, too long arms of the eerie, silent, slender man who haunted her nightmares.
Maybe he was real, or perhaps he was not, but in either case, Janet was sick and tired of this shit.
"God damn it," she murmured, whining softly and putting her hands over her face. "I was getting better. I'm not supposed to have to do this anymore. Why do I have to live like this? Why can't I be sane? It isn't fair."
Whether she liked it or not, she was Living After Midnight.
Author's note: Ninety-five decibels is about as loud as a jackhammer fifty feet away, and sustained sound in the range of ninety to ninety-five decibels can cause permanent hearing damage. The average rock concert gets to be around eighty-five to one hundred, with the loudest ever recorded at one hundred and thirty-six. Janet loves it LOUD but this is fiction and a real human would eventually go deaf. Fenrir's Daughter does not advocate the potential loss of hearing caused by such speaker volume. She does however wholeheartedly advocate the violent and fantastical themes of heavy metal music. I'm Fenrir's Daughter, and I approve this message. THE END...For now...