Alone by Brian Keene

 
     
     
    ONE

    D aniel Miller woke up alone; something he hadn’t done since he and Jerry had moved in together after buying this house six years ago.
    The first thing he was aware of when he woke each morning was Jerry’s presence. Dan could always sense his partner, even without opening his eyes. He could always hear Jerry breathing, smell his scent, feel his weight on the mattress, or the sheets shifting as Jerry stirred. But there was none of that this morning. There was no gentle snoring or faint hint of yesterday’s cologne or rustling of their flannel sheets. The bedroom was silent and Jerry was gone. Dan listened for the telltale sounds of his partner making coffee downstairs, or fixing breakfast for Danielle, their adoptive daughter (named after him), or maybe the sound of the shower running, or Jerry bustling around getting ready for work, but there was only more silence.
    Yawning, Dan opened his eyes. He rubbed sleep from them, scratched, and yawned again. Something felt ... off . He lay there for a minute, trying to figure out what it was, and then it dawned on him. The light in the room was different this morning. Gray murk had replaced the usual sunlight that filtered through the closed curtains and blinds. The bedroom was quiet. No, not just quiet. ‘Still’ seemed a more apt description, Dan thought. It almost felt as if he’d gone deaf. Surely there should have been a noise from somewhere in the house, or from the street? Wondering what time it was, he turned to the nightstand and squinted at the alarm clock.
    “Shit.”
    The digital clock’s face was blank. Dan assumed that the power must have gone out sometime in the night. He fumbled for his Rolex watch on the nightstand. It was a gift from Jerry for their fifth anniversary. Although he could have afforded one, Dan would have never purchased such an expensive watch on his own. He accidentally knocked his wallet and keys to the floor in the process of grabbing the watch. The keys made a curiously muted sound as they hit the uncarpeted wood floor. Dan held the watch up and squinted again. The watch had stopped running too; its hands frozen at 1:46 am.
    “Keeps on ticking, my ass.”
    He wondered why he bothered to still rely on the Rolex. His cell phone displayed the time whenever he needed it. The watch was more decorative and sentimental, than anything.
    “I don’t need you anymore,” he said to the Rolex. “The only reason I keep you around is because I’m a softie. Settling down does that to a man, I guess.”
    Yawning again, he seized the alarm clock again, and shook it, thinking perhaps it had an electrical short. Despite the shaking, the display still didn’t light up. All he succeeded in doing was yanking the cord from the outlet.  
    “Damn it.”
    Angered, Dan flung the clock across the room and stumbled out of bed. He had a flash of annoyance when the clock hit the wall with a dull thud, rather than the destructive crash he’d been hoping for. With the annoyance came shame that he had acted so thoughtlessly and impulsively. Sure, he was successful now, but he’d grown up poor. Had he really become one of those guys who simply broke things in fits of anger and then went out and bought a replacement? He hoped not. But still—he didn’t like being late. Today was going to be a busy one, and this wasn’t a good start. And where the hell were Jerry and Danielle?
    “Jerry?” His shout was garbled, hoarse. He’d quit smoking three years earlier, after the doctor had warned him about his heart, but the tobacco’s effects lingered. He cleared his throat and tried again.
    “Hey, Jerry? Hon? The power’s out! What time is it?”
    There was no answer. His words hung in the air like balloons.
    “Jerry?”
    Barefoot and clad only in a pair of black, worn-out silk boxer shorts, Dan shuffled into the hall. His ears rang in the silence.
    “Helloooooo!”
    Dan scratched beneath his waistband and peeked into Danielle’s room. The bed