Joan's lovely mind

The door opens after a considerable amount of force. It’s been a while, but everything is familiar. Joan pushes through into the apartment. Everything is exactly as it always was, although something didn’t seem quite right – something in the air had changed.

‘I’ve got some whisky, darling,’ she said, allowing her voice to project through the rooms. The sweetness was discordant with the dank air. Did Jack ever open windows anymore? Joan moved towards the view of the apartment, watching the city alive in the darkness. The click of heels and hum of traffic was only audible after the window had creaked from its hinges. The fresh night air would do some good, she thought.

A bang turned her attention to the bedroom. It sounded quite heavy.

‘Jack,’ Joan called. There was no reply. For some reason, she wasn’t disheartened. Pushing the door to, not much was visible in the dark, but one thing was for certain. With the curtains closed, the light of the moon and the streetlights created dim visibility, but it was enough. Her heart dropped and she walked over to him. Some sort of confirmation was needed. She kicked something out the way, a bottle of unknown origin.

No pulse. His slender skin was underneath her delicate hand, so warm, still so full of life. Joan reached over his body and embraced him. From deep within her something stirred. It’s not weird until he’s cold. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense.