Each day that passes lets Riley put the strange happening further behind her. Maybe the scag was laced with something, it wouldn't have been the first time. In her head she tells herself she's over it, but when it's time for her next fix she instead takes it home.
When she gets back in to her apartment she draws the thin curtains closed, deadbolts her doors and windows and double checks the house. Of course she wasn't looking for the angel that showed up randomly, she's just being cautious about using junk in her own apartment. After she's content that no one is waiting for her, she puts on some Portishead and settles down in to her bean bag chair.
Twice a week at scheduled times. Every time she shoots up she tells herself she's not really an addict. Even when she looks at collapsed veins and searches for new ones. She is more of a long term subscriber, really. She lets go of the band around her arm as the heroin flows through her veins, sending her off to her own personal Eden.
It was happening again.
The bolt on the door spun slowly, the sounds of metal spinning were grating and ominous like those of the close-ups in horror movies. It opens at last, and again the same figure stands under the threshold, exactly as he had stood at the House. He invites himself in, closes behind him and joins the girl on her seat, wrapping his arm around her and leaning her closer to him.
"Do you really want to keep me out?" he whispers to her teasingly, followed by a brief and playful chuckle. The voice was masculine. At least that much she learned of the nature of her visitor.
The girl breathes in deeply, heavily, catching the scent that followed the figure. Even with his arms around her she couldn't do anything but lie still, barely twitching with the needle in her veins. It was enough to make a sane person go straight.
No more smack after this. Even as she thinks it, she knows she won't follow through.
He again takes the needle carefully and lays it aside, trying to avoid her hurting herself while struggling. He nuzzles and brushes her hair with his hands, more like a father than a lover. Caring, rather than passionate.
"I brought a gift for you. A small note." he says, producing it from his pocket and resting her on her lap.
"A little thing I wrote while I was thinking about you. It might help you believe that you are not losing your mind. I am very real, and I want you. I can show you a life like you cannot imagine. But you have to want it."
He stands up and brushes a bit of the lint it may have picked up, before heading back to the door and out. Locking again from the outside.
"I'll see you again soon."
It's worse than sleep paralysis. While her body was still under the influence of the drug, she was stuck mentally screaming. Maybe she will really quit this time. It is too much. As soon as she can move properly again she grabs the note that was left behind, lifting herself up to read it.
'Withering, my rose. I'll take you from this contemptible garden and keep you perfect until this earth withers.'
It was penned by hand with elegant calligraphy and black ink.
Other than the note, there was no other trace that the presence had been in the room at all. Other than the strange lingering scent of fragrant herbs and oils in her hair.
When she first reads the note, Riley only gives it a puzzled thought. She puts it on the coffee table, face down. Out of sight, out of mind. As the effect of the heroin wanes, she goes on about the rest of her evening. Laundry, calling contacts to get some new work done and some money in her pockets. Life as usual.