No, not stinking. Nor hot. He smelled of cold. Like when someone came in from the cold outdoors and you could smell the cold on them. They brought it in with them on their clothes and in their hair, clinging to their icy hands.
The dark man was cold. And not a dream. Jarrett lay on the bed, unable to move, unable to do anything but breathe, and knew the man was in the room with him. Marc had brought a lamp in for him, after he’d asked for it in a way that sounded only a tiny bit like a scared child wanting a night-light. But the light didn’t keep the dark man away. He stood in the corner of the room. His breath showed as a gray cloud. His body was a hole in the world.
And Jarrett was awake. He knew he was awake. Which made the dark man real. He wanted the man to come out into the light a
