11-13-2013, 04:24 PM
'John:
I'll take you up on your offer. Also, we should probably talk soon. Something happened
-Jensen'.
With a press of a finger, the message was sent to John, and Jensen bolted the door on his studio apartment with one last glance at the false wall that covered his folded-up bed. He thought about the young lady he met in the basements while maneuvering the second suitcase down the narrow flights of stairs. At the last minute, he'd left his things on the main floor and went on down to the room where they'd met. He was a silhouette in the door thrown open illuminating the room before him. However he did not flip on the light nor pass the threshold. "I'm leaving,"
he spoke to the emptiness, hoping the creature that haunted the space would simply follow him and leave the innocents in this building alone. With that, he was gone.
It was hard to argue with both John Smith and divine messengers in dreams. That night, Jensen did end up skipping work, but only because he spent the hours gathering all his personal belongings - the stuff that actually meant something to him, which wasn't a lot, he wasn't too attached to mismatched silverware after all - and hauling it all back to John's loft.
He'd probably be fired for skipping. His job wasn't great, but there were a hundred other men the company could hire to replace him in a heartbeat. Despite all his flaws, he was uncomfortable with the idea of lying about being too sick to work, but dodging his wife who was flying to Moscow for reunion he was fine with. Priorities, right?
As promised, John had left word with the building's management so he must have gotten the message or else anticipated Jensen's decision better than Jensen had himself. The doormen gave him a long, curious look, but nobody stopped him coming and going with a pair of suitcases - he didn't have a large wardrobe either and it certainly didn't fit in in this neighborhood. Though he'd worn his best shirt and jacket for the meeting with John that morning, he still drew a few judged looks from those passing by on the sidewalk. Particularly anyone walking a dog: the smaller the dog, the worse the look too.
It was later that night when Jensen was alone in the loft that he finally had a few minutes to sit and think. All evening he'd been so focused on moving out of his place that he hadn't the chance to actually absorb what was going on.
A suitcase was unzipped nearby, but the lid was only popped up. He had yet to actually unpack it. The lights were all off, but a perk of being in the top floor of a building capped with a loft apartment was an enormous wall of and ceiling of windows arching overhead. The city lights were enough to illuminate the room. That and the glow of an old laptop screen and visual acuity was not half bad.
He logged into their account information for the first time in four years. He'd avoided doing so all this time to keep his trail cold, but now that Jessika knew where he was, there was no point any more. It was only luck that the password questions and answers were the same as before, and that he actually remembered his mother-in-law's birthday.
From the account information, he found her ticket purchases. There was only one flight out of Dallas to Moscow on the airline, and only a couple minutes searching told him she could be in Moscow as early as thirteen hours after they spoke. Which meant she could be here in as little as four hours from now. And knowing her, she'd not so much as go to an airport, but try to go straight to his place. His old place. After dark. A tiny beautiful blonde walking around lost in Zamoskvoreche with a little wheely suitcase.
He grabbed a jacket and practically flew out the door. He was not going to let anything happen to her.
I'll take you up on your offer. Also, we should probably talk soon. Something happened
-Jensen'.
With a press of a finger, the message was sent to John, and Jensen bolted the door on his studio apartment with one last glance at the false wall that covered his folded-up bed. He thought about the young lady he met in the basements while maneuvering the second suitcase down the narrow flights of stairs. At the last minute, he'd left his things on the main floor and went on down to the room where they'd met. He was a silhouette in the door thrown open illuminating the room before him. However he did not flip on the light nor pass the threshold. "I'm leaving,"
he spoke to the emptiness, hoping the creature that haunted the space would simply follow him and leave the innocents in this building alone. With that, he was gone.
It was hard to argue with both John Smith and divine messengers in dreams. That night, Jensen did end up skipping work, but only because he spent the hours gathering all his personal belongings - the stuff that actually meant something to him, which wasn't a lot, he wasn't too attached to mismatched silverware after all - and hauling it all back to John's loft.
He'd probably be fired for skipping. His job wasn't great, but there were a hundred other men the company could hire to replace him in a heartbeat. Despite all his flaws, he was uncomfortable with the idea of lying about being too sick to work, but dodging his wife who was flying to Moscow for reunion he was fine with. Priorities, right?
As promised, John had left word with the building's management so he must have gotten the message or else anticipated Jensen's decision better than Jensen had himself. The doormen gave him a long, curious look, but nobody stopped him coming and going with a pair of suitcases - he didn't have a large wardrobe either and it certainly didn't fit in in this neighborhood. Though he'd worn his best shirt and jacket for the meeting with John that morning, he still drew a few judged looks from those passing by on the sidewalk. Particularly anyone walking a dog: the smaller the dog, the worse the look too.
It was later that night when Jensen was alone in the loft that he finally had a few minutes to sit and think. All evening he'd been so focused on moving out of his place that he hadn't the chance to actually absorb what was going on.
A suitcase was unzipped nearby, but the lid was only popped up. He had yet to actually unpack it. The lights were all off, but a perk of being in the top floor of a building capped with a loft apartment was an enormous wall of and ceiling of windows arching overhead. The city lights were enough to illuminate the room. That and the glow of an old laptop screen and visual acuity was not half bad.
He logged into their account information for the first time in four years. He'd avoided doing so all this time to keep his trail cold, but now that Jessika knew where he was, there was no point any more. It was only luck that the password questions and answers were the same as before, and that he actually remembered his mother-in-law's birthday.
From the account information, he found her ticket purchases. There was only one flight out of Dallas to Moscow on the airline, and only a couple minutes searching told him she could be in Moscow as early as thirteen hours after they spoke. Which meant she could be here in as little as four hours from now. And knowing her, she'd not so much as go to an airport, but try to go straight to his place. His old place. After dark. A tiny beautiful blonde walking around lost in Zamoskvoreche with a little wheely suitcase.
He grabbed a jacket and practically flew out the door. He was not going to let anything happen to her.