I was painting when I heard the knocking at my front door. Nearly scared the shit out of me, hell I never have people outside at my door. I don't know that many people around here.

I looked out the peep-hole but I didn't see anyone. Curious, against my instincts I unlocked the door and opened it, safety chain still attatched.

No one there.

I started to close the door, but a hand, blistered, cracked, rust colored with dried blood virtually shot into the doorway. I almost peed myself and instantly remembered every horror movie I had seen as a kid, where everyone gets killed and the monster comes back for a sequel.

"Jade," the voice spoke.

And I knew; I knew who it was and I weighed my options.

My options sucked.

I slid the chain lock from the doorjamb. The door creaked open by itself, the first time I had ever found it eerie cause I live on a slope, and that's just it's natural tendency to swing open.

He stood there, well perhaps leaning was more like it, shadow of the man I once knew. He was supporting himself precariously with an old wooden baseball bat. His clothing was in dark tatters and looked better than he did. Still, he grinned like a demon, craggy face easing into a smile while his black eyes betrayed his true nature.

I sighed and lowered the gun.

"Ryan." The name tasted raw, and sounded strange. I hadn't uttered that name in years.

"I need a drink."

He staggered forward and passed out in my arms.