The Journal 6 (Patreon)

The grate covering the vent dangles. Like the rest of the room, it looks too clean. No dust, no grime. The vent itself is a small, rectangle or darkness. I stare. It calls to me. But, that fear! Something deep within me does not want to know what's in there. Where it will lead. 

I find myself standing. I walk across and climb onto the bed. No. Stop. Why am I doing this? But I am no longer in control. I reach up and into the dark space. At first, I touch only cold metal. I sigh with relief. Nothing. I can-- wait. My fingers touch something. It feels like the edge of a piece of-- paper? I let me fingers crawl over the edge, feel the surface. It has texture, ridges. I pause, struggling both curious and still consumed with a perplexing terror.

I slide the object toward me and pull it out- a business card. It reads "Forbidden" in cursive letters. There is an address, but no phone number.

What could this be? What does it mean? I turn the card over, and I see-- my name? How? I recognize the feminine handwriting-- it's the same from the later entries in the journal.

A message. For me, I decide, looking at the card, turning it over.  Could Mike have left this for me to find? But, that is not his handwriting. It does not belong to a man, not to a man like Mike. It isn't possible. The girl he mentions in the poems? 

I go back to the journal, and as I sit I realize I have begun to perspire. I pull my trust handkerchief from my pocket. I wipe my brow. I read the next poem:

Roving hands, caress

Branded by blazing kisses

I scream. He enters.