Fawson’s first impression was the smell – it was just, well, wrong.

​

There was a hint of decay or stagnation in the air. He couldn’t identify it, just found the odour uncomfortable. Also, the air was stale too – the room really needed its windows opening to allow in fresh air...

​

The chamber they entered was roughly square and about fifteen feet across. There was a double bed to the left, with its head against the wall, a chest of drawers beyond it and a wardrobe against the wall opposite the entrance. Windows were set either side of where the wardrobe stood, and through these there pulsed bright neon lights from a sign on an opposite building. A carpet, which might once have been red and patterned, covered the floor; now it was brown and worn-through in many places. More illumination was offered by a naked bulb dangling from a damaged fitting in the ceiling – this lit the room a little better when Valerie clicked the wall-switch. The only other furnishings were a small table in the far right-hand corner and a tatty dresser beside it. One more doorway existed – on the right, presumably leading to the bathroom.

​

“My humble home,” Valerie said, dropping her bag on the floor beside the bed.

​

When she turned and looked back at him, her eyes were wide and beckoning.

​

Fawson felt desire building up inside him, but at the same time his mind was suddenly bubbling with doubts. Even though Melissa had been unfaithful, did he really want to break his marriage vows too? Didn’t he just want to talk to Valerie and find some comfort in her compassion? Wouldn’t he be happy paying what she wanted just to talk for an hour? And this place – filthy, stinking and gloomy – did he really want to be here?

​

However, he almost felt like it would be an insult to Valerie not to give in to her charms. Fawson needed time to think. His mind was still hazy from the alcohol.

​

“D’you mind...” he began, scrambling to form a full sentence, “...if I borrow your bathroom for a moment. I could do with washing my face...”

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The words sounded pathetic to him, but Valerie wasn’t surprised or offended. In fact, she cracked up – beginning with a grin, then a snigger, then full-blown, near-hysterical laughter.

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Fawson just stood there, bewildered.

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She fought the laughter down. “Sorry... Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. You’ll get the joke soon, I’m sure.” The girl gestured towards the right-hand door: “Be my guest, Nigel.”

​

The man was more than merely uncertain now. He paced towards the bathroom door with slow, hesitant steps. Valerie moved behind him and locked her front door.

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“It’s not a great neighbourhood,” she explained. A heavy metal bar was picked up from the floor and set across the door, onto sturdy brackets.

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At least they wouldn’t be interrupted.

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Fawson’s right hand closed about the handle of the other door. He turned it slowly, still looking over his shoulder at the woman.

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“Nigel,” Valerie said, “the overhead light’s dead. There’s a strip-light over the sink on your left, past the bathtub. The toilet’s on the right... Take your time and try to relax, honey. You look nervous enough to give yourself a heart attack.”

​

He grimaced as he opened the door. “I’ve... never done this before.”

​

“Not exactly a shocker,” she chided playfully. “Now, don’t you worry. I promise not to bite.”

 

*     *     *

 

Fawson was wary of what might lay in the bathroom, but he was more wary of what the bedroom held right now. Valerie wasn’t only temptation incarnate – it now seemed she was also a little weird. Unhinged, perhaps? Earlier, the girl had been so elegant and kind. Just now, her strange laughter had disturbed him. What was the joke he’d soon understand? And would he find it funny at all?

​

The sturdy locks on the front door worried him too. He wasn’t just safe from outside intruders; he was also trapped in the apartment too.

​

Get a grip, Fawson told himself, as the door opened to expose the black hole of the bathroom. If she does turn loony on you, you’re bigger and stronger than her. One swat of your hand and she’d be down for the count.

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Still, his odd trepidation remained. He noted that the inside of the door had a bolt-lock. Rather than seeking out the light first, Fawson stepped into the darkness, closed the door and locked it behind him.

​

A faint, strange smell filled his nostrils. It was actually better than the odour in the bedroom – not like mould or something rotten, but chemical. Some kind of cheap disinfectant or toilet cleaner?

​

Beyond the door, Valerie laughed again. She didn’t restrain herself at all this time – she let the cries come out loud and wild.

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“What the fuck?” Fawson whispered to himself.

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It was then that he considered the possibility of someone or several someones being in the bathroom waiting for him. In the dark.

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“Shit...”

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He tensed his hands into fists, stood stone-still and listened.

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His hearing strained for the sound of breathing or motion elsewhere in the room. But, dammit, he could barely hear his own breathing over Valerie’s laughter.

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The light-strip...

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If it really existed.

​

Fawson kept his right hand balled and placed his left flat against the wall which adjoined the bedroom. He started to step carefully to the left.

​

Nothing happened. No one attacked.

​

Valerie’s laughter was beginning to calm down. Fawson heard a creak of old springs as she sat upon the bed.

​

Ten paces and his left fingers reached the corner of the room and penetrated an array of thick, sticky cobwebs. Fawson hurriedly shook his hand free of the mass. He reached forward for the strip-light. His fingertips discovered the smooth surface of a mirror, went up, found the strip-light and traced rightwards. There was a short cord dangling to the right of the appliance. One tug and the light was dazzling his eyes.

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 After a hard blink, he peered quickly about. Fawson was alone. Relieved, the man found himself drawn to look into the mirror at his reflection.

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“Man, I look like dried-up shit,” Fawson hissed.

​

His eyes were red and had an empty appearance. His hair was in disarray – and this shocked him, he had always prided himself on looking immaculate in public. The face frowning at him didn’t seem to really be his own, it was more akin to a faded caricature. The condition of his shirt, tie and suit all suggested he had slept overnight in an alleyway.

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“Thanks, Melissa, I hope you’re so fucking happy.”

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All of a sudden, at the mention of his wife’s name, he wanted to cry. Fawson shook his head and sniffed hard. He was going to turn on the taps when he realised there wasn’t a towel nearby.

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Probably folded over the side of the bath, he guessed.

​

Fawson turned to the bath – and what he saw inside almost made him scream.

​