Page 4 of Jack of All Trades

After the window was back up and he saw Graves rushing back into his warehouse, Jack mumbled, “Make sure you go fuck yourself. Prick.”

He backed the truck out of the drive, and as he got to the street, he looked up to see Graves glaring at him from up in his high loft. Lofty heights, that was him, looking down on the whole world.

Jack settled his mind right then. He’d fix the roof, but there was no way in hell he’d let the guy fuck him. If that was part of the bargain, he’d quit and work street corners.

Chapter Two

The wind calmed anhour after he got on the roof and started the job. Thankfully, Jack saw little of Graves. The problem was, he’d have to converse with the asshole. The job was bigger than he first thought. Sure, the hole wasn’t huge, but the snow caused hidden and bigger structural issues that he’d have to fix, or else the entire thing would cave in on his precious cars.

After the sun fell, he climbed down the ladder carefully, wondering if Graves wanted Jack to tell him he was leaving or not, but he figured he’d better give him a heads up on the extra work that was needed.

Once he was in the warehouse, he walked steadily but slowly so he could get a better look at the cars and trucks. There was an old ’55 GMC pickup painted sun yellow. The chrome was shining like it had seven spotlights on it. He wanted to touch it, but knew Graves would know, probably sensing fingerprints.

Speaking of sensing things, he wondered if Graves was a supe. He looked to be only around thirty, so he either came from money or his career had taken off early to give him the means for all the classic cars. One alone was over a hundred grand, but all of them, there had to be millions of dollars on rubber in that warehouse.

Up the stairs and to the double doors where he knocked, though the metal hurt his knuckles. When Graves opened, his scowl was evident again. “Yes?”

“It’s too dark to work, so I’ll be back tomorrow, but…I hate to tell you, more needs done than just the hole. Most of the roof needs to be fixed.”

He glared like he hated Jack, but that glowing red was there again. That kind of glare reminded him of his family when they were ready to throw a hex at someone. Suddenly, thinking Graves was a witch made Jack uneasy.

“If I find that you tore it up to keep working, I’ll…” He seemed to think better of the threat. “Just do what you need to,” he said, before slamming the door with a heavy thud.

“Well, okay then,” he said between gritted teeth. “Thanks so much, and I’ll be back bright and early,” he said sarcastically to the metal door.

Home was a studio apartment with two sets of bunk beds for the occupants. His bunk was the top one next to the only window in the place, and he spent an hour staring out of it once he was back. His roommates were gone, off on dates or respective jobs. It was rare that he was alone in the studio, but for some reason, that evening, he hated it.

The place was too quiet. It allowed random thoughts to move through his head. Jobs, men, hopes and dreams that he had no prospects of reaching. No actual goals had ever come to him, mostly because he didn’t have faith they’d ever be reached.

He was all looks. Sure, he was handsome. He had those blond good looks that he’d seen in movie stars and models. He kept up his appearance by working out daily, and walking everywhere didn’t hurt, well, except his feet.

Depressed, Jack stared out of the window that needed a good cleaning to see the city.

Growing into a love/hate feeling for the city was possibly the worst of it. Yes, he loved the city because he could disappear and become invisible.

The skyline was nothing but a shadow with the lights on in the thousand windows making it seem like the sky had fallen, but the stars refused not to shine. Behind each of those lights lay people of every kind, and most likely, people who had real powers.

If he was powerful, like his family, he’d have millions of dollars and he’d tell men like Maltin Graves exactly where he could shove his shitty…beautiful face.

Pouting like a kid, Jack stared off at the skyline until his eyelids were so heavy they fell and led him into a sleep that was filled with nightmarish images.

That was the thing. Jack rarely dreamed. At least, he didn’t remember them if he had them. This was one he’d never in his life forget.

Through a fog, he walked deep in some forest with trees that towered over the world. It was night and the cool wind blew through the fog, stirring it like someone would walk through any second. The swirls of the fog were ominous, but he didn’t feel fear. Not exactly.

At least, not his own fear.

A growl sounded in the night, and he looked around for the source. All he saw, however, was that damn fog and those towering trees. There were no animals in that forest, no flap of wings, no scurrying of rodents. Only the fog and that was silent.

The crunching of leaves was under his feet. The growling was so close, like he could almost feel the hot breath of whatever made it on his neck. A house came into view, a small cottage in a clearing with a wooden picket fence that had long ago lost its whitewash, and the gate hung open and off its hinges.

That was where Jack was headed. He was sure of it. A dim light showed in one window that became apparent the closer Jack got to the cottage. Someone was home. That made his heart pound, and the growling grew louder, drowning out the thumping of his heart. So close…

The house was there in front of him, and he moved faster to the rounded wooden door with the tiny window, for the occupant to look out of and see who could be visiting.

To the door he went, but once there, instead of knocking, he raised what he thought was a hand, but it wasn’t. And instead of knocking, he scratched. With his claws.

One long swipe of those claws on the wood dug deep grooves in the wood and from inside of the cottage, a scream came, a desperate sound of sorrow and pain. It was that scream he heard as he woke, covered in sweat, a scream of his own caught in his throat.

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