Dumbly, Johnny stood in the middle of the room. The door shut, and though it didn’t, it felt like she’d slammed it. The sound of the latch catching rang in his ears like a bomb. She’d really walked out.
“What the fuck.” He said at the wood, knowing it wouldn’t be able to supply any kind of answer, but hoping anyway.
He knew that he should run after her, run and trace her steps, catch up, make her stay. Pull her back into the small basement apartment and make her talk about this. Or at least make her stay and let him go somewhere else. He could sleep upstairs in the bar, in one of the booths. They hadn’t seen any signs of the supernatural on this world, but there were still people. People were more fucked up than monsters, she’d said that.