Mark of Jack

The Mark of Jack

Jacki was in an apartment. An apartment overlooking the river. She was
high up and the view from the big plate window was breathtaking. The
apartment wasn't so hot though. Clothes thrown over chair backs,
overflowing ashtrays and ugh a coffee cup that had decided to
grow.

She felt light-headed, almost as though she was floating. Where was
she? How did she get here? There was a blue coat on the floor, was it
her coat? She wasn't sure, couldn't seem to focus her thoughts into
telling her if she owned a blue coat or not. And if she did possess a
blue coat was it one with an ugly dark stain that looked horrendously
like blood soaked into it?

She followed the sound of running water. Her movements leaden and her
brain slow and sluggish. Down a corridor. Such a long corridor in such
a small apartment. 'The water, must follow the water she
thought.'

A man was showering. His slim body clearly visible through the opaque
glass. He showered aggressively, scrubbing at himself with a sponge
suds flying onto the glass and hanging for a moment before slipping in
a foamy white trail down to the shower basin. 'Who was this man? What
was she doing in his apartment?' She asked herself again. Nothing
seemed to make sense, she stared at the man, as she stood hesitantly on
the threshold of his bathroom and she sunk frustratingly into her
confusion.

Movement. Frenzied movement. It was behind her. No not it HE. He was
behind her. She watched helpless as he stormed into the bathroom.

"What the ?" began the man, flinging open the shower door. Jacki saw
his eyes. All she saw were his eyes. They were wide with fear, but more
than that, something else. Just to the side of the pupils a red
triangle seemed to blink for a second in the light. A red triangle 'The
Mark of Jack' she found herself thinking. There was no hope for him.
Not since he was marked out.

"Hey?" said the naked man, but that was as far as he got. HE began to
slash at the man. White became red, and the red became a curtain, a
thick velvet curtain that gradually came down over her vision. Leaving
only the drowning darkness.

"The mark" She screamed as she sat bolt upright in her bed. She was
soaked in a sheen of perspiration. Another nightmare. Oh god when was
it going to end? What did it all mean?

She knew there would be no more sleep for her tonight so she padded
into the kitchen to make a cup of hot milk for herself. Maybe she'd add
a healthy slug of Brandy, just to steady her nerves. She tried to
remember what the dream was about but it was gone. "The mark" she said
to herself, but it meant nothing to her.

She took the mug out of the microwave and began to stir in the brandy.
A flashback rocked a convulsion through her body. She felt as though a
bolt of lightening had hit her. She was in a room, an untidy room. A
Mug. There was a coffee mug on the floor beside a dingy brown armchair.
Mould, there was a skin of mould cultivating on the top of the mug. And
then she was back in her kitchen. The more she tried to remember the
nightmare the more it slipped from her grasp. She gave up and let it
fall over the cliff of her subconscious.

She turned the TV on, and sat on the edge of the sofa sipping her milk.
Her body was taught and she couldn't relax into the soft yielding
cushions. A news report was just ending. Night Stalker would be on now.
Sometimes it was good, and more and more often she had been awoken in
the night lately. She was becoming night-time TV's biggest fan.

"Get on with it" she told the newscaster irritably. The warmth of the
hot milk had eased the shivers, but she still felt het up and hyper.
The sleek newsman was as good a person as any to scream at.

"?.This evening ? One a.m. ?murdered ?.brutal attack ?defenceless ?
police ?urging ?with information?come forward"

The young man in the photo looked pleasant. Woodward, aged twenty six.
Jacki's heart stopped beating for enough beats to remind her to
breathe, or at least that's the way it felt to her. A reporter with a
big furry microphone was standing in front of the river looking up at
the block of apartments as she picked up the phone. She rang nine one
one.

The phone was ringing. He reached one hand out from under the bedding
and grabbed the handset, while simultaneously attempting the grand feat
of opening one eye and checking the time. 4:03 am?
"Jesus!" he muttered "Hello Mitch Robins. This'd better be good." There
was a woman on the phone rambling incoherently.

"Hello who is this please? Are you alright miss"

"I was there. I saw it. Saw the man getting murdered. Oh god send the
police I was there"

Mitch was alert. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite
place it.
"Whoa who is this? What's going on"

"This is Jacki Burgen. I need emergency services. Are you the police? I
rang 911. I've just witnessed a murder."

"Jacki? Jacki who jumps out in front of busses? Well Hi there Jacki "
He said sarcastically "I don't mean to sound rude here, but What the
hells going on and how did you get my number?"

"I rang 911. I rang 911" She kept repeating as tears streamed down her
face. This must still be the nightmare. That was it she was still
dreaming.

"This isn't real you know" she said with a harsh hysterical laugh

"Jacki, I don't know what the hell is going on but give me your address
and I'll come right over."