Nick closed the door behind him and turned to face the large quarters that had been designated as his for the weekend. Neglecting the lights, he navigated his way to the bed by moonlight and tossed his bag onto the bed. He was surprised there was enough moonlight filtering in at all to make the navigation of the bedroom easy. The thick vines that had crept up the exterior walls of the mansion seemed to have choked the very windows, but the full moon seemed quite as insistent in breaking through nature's curtains to pierce the room inside.
Fumbling with a small pocket in his bag, Nick pulled out a carton of cigarettes and his book of matches. He knew he was an old-fashioned guy, choosing matches over the ever popular lighter, but there was something calming about striking the match and watching it burn down. He tore one out and struck it, holding the fragile flame up to the end of a cigarette until it lit. He flicked the match out as he inhaled the sweet smoke. He normally didn't smoke inside, especially in other's people's houses, but he didn't think Steve would mind. The house was coming down in a few months anyways, and he most certainly wasn't going to go outside just for a smoke. He tossed the carton and the matches back on the bed and moved over to the window, peering between the dead greenery to the city lights in the distance.
Heedless of whatever was contained within the many walls of this massive mansion, the traffic on the freeway just beyond the boundary of Rose Red moved just as it always had. Nick exhaled a cloud of smoke and wondered, rather morbidly, if they were all to die this night, would anyone traversing that freeway even care. Would they even know? Rose Red had a habit of swallowing its occupants with barely any trace of them ever being found again. Would anyone come looking for them? How many people knew they were here? Annie's parents knew for sure and so did Professor Miller and that Bollinger kid. In fact, evidence supported Bollinger's presence in the house at this present moment, though, where he was, no one could answer. Nick was concerned about Bollinger's whereabouts, but how much could he hope to discover on his own, especially since Joyce didn't seem to care and everyone else had pushed him out of their minds.
Nick shivered, despite the warmth of the room. A sense of uneasiness had taken up residence in his breast since Joyce's first phone call, yet he had chosen to ignore it. He didn't know how or why he knew, but he strongly suspected he wasn't leaving this house alive. Any sane person would have called him crazy to have gone forward with his participation in this project, knowing, or, at the very least, sensing, what he did, but he had committed himself to it. Maybe he was a little crazy, but the choice had been made and he was here now.
He sighed. He truly was old-fashioned and he silently cursed his sense of chivalry. He was a sucker for a damsel in distress and, while none of the "damsels" in the house were currently in distress, he knew it wouldn't be long until they were.
Snuffing out the spent cigarette on the windowsill, he looked around for a trash can, but, finding none, he placed the butt carefully on the sill. He would take it downstairs in the morning. While he didn't feel the least bit tired, he figured he should attempt to get some sleep, as there was really nothing else to do. Attempting to investigate the house in the dead of the night sounded like the paramount of stupid ideas. Dragging his bag off of the bed, he dropped it into a chair. Forsaking a change of clothing into something more comfortable for sleeping, he just dropped right onto the bed, not even taking the time to slip under the covers. Sleep was still a long time in coming and was anything but restful.