And the rest, is Johann

Chapter 6. In vino veritas (V)

The first thing she noticed when opening her eyes was the annoying headache, combined with the memories of nightmares that haunted her all night, of endless wastelands, asphyxiating basements, and Johann in the middle of it.

Still under the covers she turned, facing the ceiling, looking at her right all of a sudden, remembering the events of the previous night: the mansion, the absinthe, and above anything, his words.

Where was he?

She remembered him, as she fell asleep, she was sure. Not even drunk and tired was able to properly sleep the night off, it seemed.

Decided to give an end to that headache she got up, ignoring the clock that would put her working schedule to shame. Finding the painkillers required a few minutes of digging on that collection of suitcases that they had been dragging for weeks, along with the absolute certainty that the compulsive shopping, the meaningless sightseeing, had become too much.

It was clear that he had left the room hours before, yet she remained completely silent for some seconds, water bottle between her clasped hands, hoping to register any sound that might hint her his location, anything instead of that imposing silence that the mansion offered.

The same building that had seemed so majestic and hauntingly beautiful the day before left her with a strange feeling that same morning, an empty shell of luxury, like a labyrinth of marble.

Approaching the immense picture window, she was offered a better view of the gardens that, like in a fairy tale castle, spread in all directions making it impossible to estimate the limits of the parcel. The rest of the building was also visible, of rooms and more rooms where one could get lost for an eternity.

So, she gave up that search, hoping that he would be the one to find her. She already had some troubles relocating the kitchen in the mental map she had tried to create last night. It was one floor below, the corridor to the right, then the second door to the left... no?

It was right there, where she remembered, and for a moment she wished she had never found that room, nor the scene he had prepared for her.

Blood... there was blood everywhere.

On the kitchen counter, a red stain had reached the edge and was now dripping down to the floor, a red painting over the wooden drawers, following the shape of their floral details, to turn into a chaos of footprints in all directions, that eventually crossed the room, leading her eyes towards him, who she hadn't seen yet as the blood was all she could focus on.

It had been more than a decade since the last time she had been offered that scenario, of him engaging his cruelest fantasies, the feast of a monster, but her mind converged again to that rainy night and the anger, the fear and his impassibility that kept repeating over and over again like a grotesque theater from which she couldn't escape. And he was there, motionless as a marble statue, sitting on one of the chairs, back against the wall, both arms over his lap and an empty stare that was enough for her to fear the worst.

He had killed again.

"What have you done..." She made a step, just entering the room, yet she found it impossible to move further than that, feeling like fear was gluing her feet to the floor.

He didn't react, letting that image speak for himself, of his white shirt turned red, the wiped stains in his face and neck, his hands. Even flocks of his hair had become red.

And the image of that same hair wet with blood was enough. Her heart was beating so fast she could barely hear, barely think how incredibly close she was to a panic attack, how rapidly everything around her was turning foggy.