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He turned the lock and pushed the door open. Looking around, he frowned at the quiet emptiness of the apartment as he kicked the door closed and strolled toward the kitchen. Setting the six-pack on the counter, he took a deep breath and sauntered into the living room.
"Daniel?"
No answer. He hadn't really expected one, but it never hurt to try. If Daniel's car was parked downstairs, where was Daniel? Had he gone for a walk? Was he crashed in the bedroom, dead to the world?
"Anybody home?" he sing-songed, heading toward the bedroom, sparing only a glance at the bathroom door. It hung open a crack, and the bathroom light was off. That, combined with the complete silence, told him Daniel wasn't in the bathroom.
If Daniel were asleep, maybe he should just let him sleep. But then again, Daniel was depressed, and depressed people tended to sleep a lot, so maybe sleep was the last thing Daniel needed.
Maybe the best thing for Daniel would be to get his ass outside and inhale some fresh Colorado air.
He pushed open the bedroom door and peeked inside. The room was dim, the bed neatly made. His frown deepened.
Okay, so no Daniel. Well, Jack supposed he could just pop open a beer, turn on the television, and wait for Daniel to return from wherever it was he'd gone off to.
But first, he had to take a leak.
Jack whistled to himself as he spun on his heels and headed back toward the bathroom. He pushed the door open, his hand already reaching for the switch on the wall as light spilled faintly in from the from the short hall, when a shock of dark red against white froze him in mid-step.
"Oh, God." He blinked, his chest suddenly tight. He couldn't breathe.
God! No. No. No. His hand slapped the switch, and light flooded the room, bringing to life the gory details of the scene in front of him. Daniel lay in the tub, his face corpse-white. One arm dangled over the side, and his eyelids hung open a slit, revealing a hint of dull blue beneath. A half-filled bottle of Vodka rested on the rim of the porcelain. Red water covered him to his chest. There was also red on the sides of the tub, dripping down like paint on a white canvas and pooling on the floor. At the edge of the bulk of the puddle lay a bloodied razor.
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