Chapter 8 The Trip begins

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That morning, as your eyes fluttered open to the ruffle of luggage being dragged across the floor, you felt a unfamiliar comfort from the house you had spent the past few weeks in.

It wasn't as if your stay was unpleasant before, however it never accrued to you tell recently that you had found a warmth in the beautiful halls and rooms of this large palace.

You sat up from bed and glanced around seeing Jim drag his bag to the doorway.

"Good morning." He announced seeing your sleepy form sit up.

"Morning.." You replied in a small mumble.

You looked around at the now clean room, witch was a bit odd considering how messy it had looked before.

You noticed your bag neatly placed on the small coffee table beside the book shelf. It was small considering your lack of cloths that you had managed to capture from your house.

"I still don't understand why the swim meet has to be all the way in England." You said, rubbing your eyes and beginning to stand.

"It's only a 43 minute plane ride.. Besides you'll like England.. It's nice." He said trying to reassure you.

"By any chance can we stop by London? I have always wanted to see the London eye." You asked hoping for a little more of this trip.

"That would be up to the time planning and the way Jack acts. Hard to go anywhere with him."

He finished stacking your bag with his, hearing the footsteps as Sebastian stomped up the stairs to retrieve the luggage.

"That car will be ready momentarily" sab stated as he picked up each one in his arms.

"Perfect." Jim nodded looking back over to you. The butler narrowed his eyes and sighed.

"Not quite... It seems Jack, is in a bit of a slump." He rolled his eyes as if this was a typical situation that they had to deal with.

"Right... I'll deal with him." He glanced back at you.
"Stay here."

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(Jims POV)
I narrowed a corner and walked heavily down the hall to the red oak door standing strongly at the end.

It had never quite dawned on me how mysterious and creepy the door had seemed.

The black plated door handle, fixed together over a padlock, the red oak, dark and slick almost as if it had been stained with blood.

I stared at the handle, no noise apparent on the other side. Strange to say the least. Everytime I approached his room I could hear the rumble of brass in a symphony. Or the light strum of strings from an opera. From his records or from the Telly. Bac was always his favorite, and partition no.1 was practically his theme song.

The sounds where always of instrumental music or fumbling of books and bored games, his favorite being chess. But today not even the sound of the vent could be heard.
Needless to say I knew a lot about what was normal for him. And this... Was certainly not normal.

I creeked open the door cautiously, it squealed unpleasantly at the slow motion.

A wave of dust and musty air compressed out and washed over me.

I peaked in side to see Jack sprawled out on his gray quilted bed. Not even in the covers, and his shoes had hung off the edge slightly, almost as if he had fallen asleep after getting ready.

"For God sakes Jack." I stated, stepping in and standing in the middle of the room.

"The darkness I had so pleasantly appreciated has not fully developed for me to awaken." He mumbled, his sound muffled by the sheets.

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