Chapter 4

*****

It was dark and quiet as I tried to move, sprawling my arms about to try to feel something, anything. A faint scent of woodsmoke tickled my nostrils. I walked slow and steady, taking one step at a time as I searched for anything to help explain or describe where I was. A low hum vibrated through the darkness, growing louder with each step. I felt my heart beat rapidly as I attempted moving. A chilling whisper slithered through the air. I was scared. There wasn't a single flicker of light and a whift of breeze to help identify if I was outside, in a basement, on a roof top or not.

As thoughts of murderous and gory information scuttled through my head, I felt myself trip-and fall. I fell forward and expected to land on a hard ground, cringing my already face to get ready for the impact. The hard ground wasn't coming, I was still falling. I wanted to shout but my lips were closed shut. The hum grew into a deafening roar, and the scent of smoke intensified, now acrid and burning. So, I stayed, falling and falling till I woke up with a heave.

Frantically, I looked around my surroundings for the darkness but all I saw was my bedroom. The familiar glow-in-the-dark stars I'd stuck to the ceiling swam in my vision, blurred by tears. I felt my eyes blink multiple times as my pre-teen brain tried to process the strange dream I just had. A sharp crackle echoed from downstairs, followed by a muffled shout. I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was no dream. A tendril of smoke snaked under my bedroom door, acrid and suffocating. I scrambled out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. The hallway was filled with a thick, swirling haze, illuminated by the flickering orange glow of flames. "Mom? Dad?" I croaked, my voice raspy with fear.I covered my mouth with my shirt, eyes scanning for any sign of my parents.

I stumbled towards their room, the heat intensifying with each step. The door was closed, but I could see flames licking at the edges. I grabbed the doorknob, but it was searing hot. I yanked my hand back with a cry. "Mom! Dad! Are you in there?" I screamed, pounding on the door with my fists. Silence. Or was it? A faint, muffled sound, like a cough, reached my ears. Desperate, I threw my weight against the door, but it wouldn't budge. Locked. Why would it be locked? "Mom! Dad! Open the door!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face. Still nothing.

Panic set in as I frantically searched for a key or a way to break down the door. The flames seemed to be closing in, the smoke growing thicker. I stumbled backward, desperate for a solution.

And then, the floor gave way beneath me.

I felt a rush of weightlessness, a scream tearing from my throat as I plummeted down a hidden hole. The flames, the smoke, everything disappeared in an instant. I was falling again.*

****

My eyes snapped open, my heart racing like a wild animal. I was drenched in sweat, my sheets tangled around my legs like a snare. The darkness of my room seemed to be closing in on me, suffocating me. But it was the dream that had left me breathless. The one where I was back in the burning house, the flames licking at my skin, the smoke choking the air from my lungs. I could still smell the acrid scent of burning wood, still feel the heat radiating from the walls.

As I lay there, trying to calm my racing heart, the dream began to fade, like embers dying out. I squinted to look at the clock that was placed on my bedside table. It was some minutes past 4am. I managed to sit up on the bed, whilst brush my fingers through my hair. It always happens like that. It was always a dream within a dream. The first time it happened it took me a good thirty minutes to replay everything and come to the realization that I wasn't still in a second dimension or something.

I stifled a laugh at how absurd I'd sound trying to explain them to someone. I would be called crazy. I mean, I already think I'm crazy,hearing it from someone would be like a punch to my guts. And after my whole vendetta at the station and with the Maestro, I don't think my heart could take another 'crazy' comment.

The memories came flooding back like they always did. I was only eleven when it happened. The night that changed everything. The night the flames took away my parents and left me with nothing but ashes and questions.

I remember their bedroom door being locked. I remember the heat from the doorknob searing my palm. I remember screaming their names until my throat was raw.

For years, I'd tried to convince the police that it wasn't an accident. That someone had deliberately set our house on fire. That someone had locked my parents in their room. But no one believed a traumatized little girl. Funny, I didn't believe myself either. I don't still believe myself.

"Just a nightmare," they'd said. "Your mind trying to make sense of everything you've been through."

But I knew what I heard. Those words had been burned into my memory just as surely as the flames had scarred my soul. "The Black Rose." I'd never understood what it meant, but I knew it was important.

I couldn't go back to sleep. Not with those memories swirling in my head. I threw off the covers and padded to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. The person staring back at me in the mirror looked haunted , dark circles under bloodshot eyes, a tightness around the mouth that never seemed to go away anymore.

After a quick shower that did little to wash away the lingering feeling of smoke on my skin, I got dressed and grabbed my keys. It was too early for most places to be open, but I knew one that would be, Ava's bar. She was always open at odd hours, mostly to accommodate people like me who couldn't sleep through the night.

By the time I pushed open the door to Ava's place, a quiet rage was simmering inside me. The kind that had been building for years. The kind that demanded blood. I took deep breathes before walking in to try to calm down a bit. What happened in the police station was a traumatic event or whatever I've been trying to use to justify my actions. It wasn't the first time I'd played fake scenerios in my head to keep me from losing it completely.

The bar was nearly empty, just a couple of night shift workers unwinding after their shifts. The lights were dimmed low, casting everything in a warm, amber glow that didn't match my mood at all.

And there she was ,Ava. Tall, elegant, with a smile that could melt ice but eyes that missed nothing. She spotted me the moment I walked in and raised an eyebrow. It had been weeks since I'd last shown my face here.

"Jude, darling, it's been far too long," Ava purred, her sultry British accent dripping with warmth as she flashed me a playful wink.

"Well, yeah... I was getting my ass kicked I guess," I replied, sliding onto a barstool and running a hand through my still-damp hair.

Ava leaned across the bar, her perfectly manicured fingers drumming lightly on the polished wood. "You look like hell, love. The usual?"

I nodded, watching as she poured a generous measure of whiskey into a glass. No ice, just like I liked it.

"So," she said, sliding the drink towards me. "Want to talk about it, or shall we pretend you're just here for my charming company?"

I took a long sip, letting the alcohol burn a path down my throat. "Bad night."

"Work stuff?" she asked, carefully. Ava knew I was a cop, but we had an unspoken rule, she didn't ask for details, and I didn't offer them.

"Partly," I admitted, staring into my glass. "Dreams too."

She nodded sympathetically. Ava didn't know the details about my past or my parents' death, but she knew enough to understand I carried heavy burdens. "Those the ones that bring you here at this ungodly hour?"

"Usually," I said, my fingers tightening around the glass.

She nodded and topped off my glass without asking. It was one of the things I appreciated about Ava, she knew when to push and when to just let silence do its work.

As I took another sip, that feeling crept up my spine again. The unsettling prickle of being watched. I resisted the urge to turn around, to scan the bar for whoever was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"You seem jumpy tonight," Ava observed, wiping down the counter with a cloth, as she furrowed her dark eyebrows.

I shrugged, trying to appear casual and cringing my face a bit at the burn in my throat from the drink,"Occupational hazard. Cops don't make many friends."

"But they make plenty of enemies," she finished with a knowing look.

"Something like that."

That crawling sensation between my shoulder blades intensified. I couldn't help myself ,I turned, scanning the dimly lit corners of the bar. Nothing but shadows and empty tables.

"What are you looking for?" Ava asked, following my gaze.

"Nothing," I muttered, turning back to my drink. "Just... thought I felt someone watching me."

"Paranoia's another occupational hazard, I'm guessing?"

I managed a weak smile. "You have no idea."

But the feeling wouldn't leave me. It clung to my skin like a cold sweat, making me twitchy and on edge. I'd felt this way before, in the days after the fire, when I was convinced that whoever had killed my parents would come back for me too. That same sense of invisible eyes tracking my every move.

"You know what I think?" Ava said, leaning closer. "I think you need a break. Take a few days off, get out of the city. Clear your head."

"Can't," I replied automatically. "I've got some things to solve."

"In whatever timeline, universe,there would always be things to solve. You look like you're about to snap, Jude."

Maybe she was right. Maybe I was losing it. Seeing threats in shadows, hearing whispers in the wind. The Black Rose. What did it even mean?

I downed the rest of my drink and stood up. "Think I'm going to call it a night."

"It's 5 in the morning, darling. Most people are calling it a morning."

I managed a small smile,winking at her. "You know me. Always been a bit backwards."

As I stood to leave, Ava reached across the bar and touched my arm lightly. "Get some rest, Jude. You look like you need it."

"Thanks for the drink," I said, dropping some cash on the bar. "And the company."

But as I walked out into the pre-dawn light, I couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were still on me. I glanced back at the bar's windows, seeing nothing but my own reflection against the dim interior light. Just shadows playing tricks on me. It had to be.

My uncle's voice echoed in my head as I climbed into my car. His cruel words after the funeral, when he'd taken me in not out of love but obligation.

"You should have died with them," he'd slurred, bourbon on his breath. "Nothing but trouble. Always asking questions. Just like your mother."

I gripped the steering wheel tight, knuckles turning white. He'd never said it outright, but there had been moments ,a look, a half-finished sentence, a drunken rambling, that made me wonder if he knew something about the fire. About The Black Rose.

I will get answers. One way or another. Even if it kills me. Because living with not knowing? That had been killing me slowly for years.

I started the car and pulled away from the curb. The streets were empty, still draped in the blue-gray light of early morning. As I drove, I kept checking my rearview mirror, half-expecting to see headlights following me. But there was nothing. Just my imagination running wild, trying to ruin me.