Jinx
It was a lucky coincidence for someone's birthday to fall on New Years Day itself, aging on the same day as the world. It was also much luckier for two significant people Edmund and Jean Inks' life to share that birthday. It was less lucky however when they realized that these two people would never celebrate with each other together. They realized on the day Jemma was born that the day would always be bittersweet after losing Xander.
Today was no different.
"Happy birthday Jemma!" Edmund cheered, raising his wine glass to his daughter's reach.
Jean clinked her glass and piqued Jemma to do the same with her bottle of orange juice. The Inks family preferred staying in to going out and decided on an easy birthday dinner and chocolate cake, it was a feeling that felt familiar and comfortable to them instead of the rowdy hoard of people. They enjoyed simple. Jemma had no complaints indulging in her favorite cake, she had stuffed herself with so much cake that her parents were worried that she might throw up. Edmund appreciated moments like this where his daughter could be happy and Jean was around to see it, she had spent much less time with Jemma than both of them liked, but that was the downfall for working in a growing church community. But Jean wasn't focused on her daughter, she was staring at a picture frame that they always placed on the table on this exact day before the hourly chime broke her thoughts.
"I think it's time for Jemma to sleep," Jean suggested after glancing at the clock.
It was exactly nine and past a now four-year-old Jemma's bedtime.
Jemma sat on her bed, as usual, waiting for her father to tuck her in. Edmund walked over and knelt down, face to face with her.
"I hope you enjoyed your birthday, sweetie," Edmund said.
"I did, but..." Jemma replied, stifling a yawn.
"What's wrong sweetie?" Edmund asked.
"Who is the other man on the table?" Jemma answered.
Edmund knew what she was talking about, the man in the picture frame that they only brought from their room during her birthday. He was at a loss for word. How do you explain a death to someone you never met? To someone who has never experienced the loss of a person? Much less to his four-year-old daughter?
"He was your mom and I's friend, but he's away now." He spoke finally.
"Where is he?"
"He's gone, he isn't coming back," Edmund said, his voice tight.
"Why?"
"It's time you go to sleep, okay honey? Edmund mumbled, avoiding the question.
Jemma nodded, her eyelids drooping and her head falling to her side instantaneously. Edmund kissed her on the forehead before quietly going back into the kitchen dining room. Jean was still sitting on the table with her drink still unfinished and holding onto the picture frame, he sat next to her and she registered his presence by putting the frame down and picking up her wine glass to another toast. Edmund had read her movements perfectly and raised his own.
"To Xander," they chanted.
Edmund stared at Jean as he always does. He always noticed her. At the side of the church hall. The front of the classroom. The corner of the library. She also always next to Xander. She was inexplicably close to him too. How it ended up with himself marrying her and their best friend ripped away from their lives made him wonder if he had anything to do with it. The lingering question always haunted his mind. Reading his expression, she turned away. Jean never liked people reading her, even if the person shared her same thoughts.
"Can you clean the dishes? I think I'm going to shower first." She said, picking up the picture frame.
"Alright, honey." Edmund obliged, standing up and stacking the plates and carrying into the sink.
He heard her footsteps retreat into the master bedroom before hearing a shattering noise followed by a scowl. He turned instinctively and rushed down the hall and saw Jean crouching on the floor picking up shards of glass accompanied by their cat, Azazel who was suspiciously sniffing the frame. Edmund quickly walked back to the kitchen to grab a dustpan and broom and returned back. Jean was standing up this time holding up the picture of them and Xander, but a dark line had traced down her forearm. She had accidentally cut herself. The blood as slowly dripping onto the ceramic floor and formed a dark pool next to the fragments of glass.
"Go fix yourself I'll handle this," Edmund said.
He placed the dustpan on the floor and began sweeping in front of him while his wife took a big step and went into the master bedroom, he carefully moved forward, sweeping the rose tinted glass. He placed the broom on the floor and turned back into the kitchen to get a cloth to clean the tiny pool of blood. Once he turned back into the hallway, he realized that Azazel was playing with the hairs of the broom and the once pool of blood had turned into splotches of red onto the floor. It reminded him of the artwork that Jemma had done with paint with her palm and finger marks on the paper. He heaved a sigh before walking forward and seizing Azazel with his hand gripping its elbow so the cat could not escape and bringing him into the kitchen sink. He groaned once he realized that he hadn't finished washing the plates and manoeuvred the plates onto the table while still having a tight grip on Azazel. Much to the cat's dismay and constant hissing, he turned on the tap and he forced Azazel's paw into the stream of water. The water changed into a faint pink each time he washed a paw. He remembered his family cat, a fluffy white ragamuffin that was the complete opposite of what Azazel was, pure black and short-haired. Azazel was a nightmare compared to his previous cat. He dried Azazel's four paws with paper towels and placed him in Jemma's room before going back into the corridor cleaning up the mess. Once he was finished with everything, he trudged his way back into his room where Jean was sitting on the bed, having showered and bandaged her hand. She was still holding onto the picture of Xander which appeared to have been stained on the side with her blood. She hadn't noticed her husband either.
"Are you okay?" Edmund asked.
Jean was startled. She lowered the picture and looked up at Edmund with a grateful smile.
"The cut is okay, it doesn't hurt anymore. Thank you for cleaning up," she said.
"That's not what I meant," Edmund said, pointing to the picture.
Jean's expression darkened and stared back at him with pleading eyes. Edmund knew what this meant. The same look she gave every time during this time of year. He gave a simple nod before going to the bathroom to shower.
Edmund walked out of the warm embrace of the shower and was hit by a gust of cold wind. He stood in front of the sink and wiped away the mist on the mirror and stared at himself. It somehow felt even colder. A lanky man with burly arms with hazel brown eyes. He always despised himself for it. He immediately remembered Xander next to him in the school washroom, of how he hated how he looked but Xander comforted him in a way that made him feel genuine, the same way that Jean made him feel. He knew that Xander was conventionally more attractive than him but he still never made him feel inferior. He snapped out of his memory, ruffled his jet black hair with a towel before heading back into the room in his pyjamas. Jean, much to her husband's relief, had set aside the picture and was waiting intently for her husband to come out, Edmund gave a cheeky smile while turning off the lights. Jean took off her gold cross necklace that she wore every day and placed it in the drawer of the nightstand, along with the picture of Xander and switched off the lamp. The necklace had "FAITH" engraved onto the cross and was a present that her father had given her the first day she stepped into the church when she was nine. Edmund grabbed the blanket as Jean rolled over to her side of the bed, covered her and planted a kiss on her forehead.
"Goodnight," they said automatically.
Edmund continued to stare at his wife, taking in every delicate feature of hers, the ageless face and ocean eyes that appeared even more exuberant in the moonlight. She returned his stare with a smile that made him grin and they both closed their eyes. Breathing rhythmically with each other, they both fell into a slumber.
A piercing snarl woke Edmund up, his eye flung open and was staring at the wall. A slow growl came from his left, he twisted his body around but realized that he couldn't will himself to move, as if gravity was pulling him down into the bed. He chest grew light and he was choking for air, his neck turned to stone as he forced his head to turn. The growling grew louder as he felt a faint rush of air by his neck. He attempted to swing his arm to the side to wake Jean up but he was glued to the bed, another gust of cold air brushed his face, his body turned weak and his voice failed him. His panic breath continued and he felt as if spikes were entering his brain, his mustered his will once more and tried to get up but it was futile, his body wasn't responding. His mind screamed for Jean and he resisted even more until he realized that the growling had stopped, slowly he paced his breath. His heart was dipped in ice as an inkling of pure blackness entered the corner of his eye. The hair on his hands stood up and his face felt as if he had frostbite. The blackness had grown into a hooded figure, it hovered by the side of the bed and sauntered right next to him. It seemed as if his entire body was wired and electricity was flowing through him, his body turned from ice into an uncomfortable warming sensation. The darkness hovered next to him as if it was staring directly at Edmund and his body tensed up again. The blackness seemed to be darker than anything imaginable, it was the pure absence of light and was voided of anything else. A meow sounded through the room and in an instant, Edmund flicked his eyes open once again and threw himself upright on the bed gasping for air. He turned his head around and fixated on the room, everything was normal. He stared intently at the side of the nightstand, where the shadowy figure was. It was a dream, he told himself, until a nauseous wave hit him as he realized that the drawer was open.
He glanced around the what now felt like a colder room once more before taking a deep breath and getting out of the bed. He cautiously investigated the drawer and peeked into its content, through the dim moonlight he managed to make out everything in the drawer. The notebook, the wet wipes, Jean's necklace. Nothing seemed missing, but still, nothing made sense. The meowing resumed and Edmund got up from the bed and walked into the corridor and towards Jemma's room. The scratching and knocking became apparent as he walked closer. Having a cat makes the noise more normal but it still didn't explain what he felt, Edmund thought. He opened the door and Azazel came scrawling out and gave what sounded like a purr and ran off to the kitchen.
Edmund walked over towards the bed and looked at her daughter longingly, making sure she was alright and looked at her raw features like her round ears, and her grayer green eyes that she inherited from her grandparents which were still open. Edmund blinked twice after realizing that his daughter still wasn't asleep but instead staring back at him too.
"Did I wake you?" Edmund asked.
"No, the cat did," Jemma replied.
"The cat's not in the room anymore, you can go back to sleep,"
"It's... really cold." Jemma was shivering.
"I'll take the extra blanket,"
He walked over to the closet, pushing aside Jemma's stuffed toys on the floor that was blocking the door and opened it. Bending down, he picked up a blanket before something a piece of paper fell out, he picked it up and realized it wasn't just a piece of paper, it was the picture of Xander.
Goosebumps trailed his body, he suddenly remembered watching Jean put it in the drawer along with her necklace. He got up and walked back to Jemma who was clutching the folds of her blanket and asked.
"Was anyone in this room?" Edmund asked.
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"The man in the picture, he was here."
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Edmund's whole body froze. Xander was dead. He killed himself the day after they graduated. Jemma reached out to grab the blanket in her father's hands. Edmund was paralyzed with fear.
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"Are you sure you weren't dreaming?" Edmund mumbled.
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Jemma shrugged. He sat on the edge of the bed, flipping the picture around, attempting to find any clue to why it suddenly transported to Jemma's closet but it was the same as it was before, except for the red stain of Jean's blood on the side from earlier. His eyes fixed on Xander's, which eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
He remembered the day well. It was their graduation. He closed his eyes and the memories of the three of them celebrating echoed through his mind. It was the second best day of their lives. The ceremony. The party. The afterparty. The news the day after. The faint sound of the hourly chime broke his thoughts.
He looked over at Jemma who was now fast asleep. He planted a kiss on his daughters forehead before heading back to the master bedroom still holding onto the photograph.
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He put the photograph back into the drawer and climbed onto bed next to a still sleeping Jean.
Exhaustion flooded his body and any thoughts about the events that occurred was dismissed as his head met his pillow, closed his eyes and fell asleep.