Prologue Two

As a child, I was terribly lonely. I grew up in a small farm town, and there were only two other children my own age. One was Adam Durry, the vicar's son. He was a quiet boy, often just as lonely as I was.
The other was Thomas Kern, a downright mean bully. His father owned a big farm, and when someone had annoyed Thom, he would often escort them there and either set the hounds on them, or push them over in the dunghill. Or both. We learned quick enough not to cross Thom and tried our best to just stay out of his way.
My sister had many friends, but being four years older than me she saw me as a nuisance and asked me to let her be. Said she didn't want me to embarrass her in front of her friends.
So, I kept to myself and hoped better days would come. Sometimes, I would go for long walks with Adam, and he would tell me about God and Jesus and all the things his dad would preach on Sundays. It was interesting, but a little loony in my opinion. I was never a woman of faith. Or, at least not a woman of the Church.

The summer after I had turned 10 years old my family moved. My father said it would be easier to live closer to a bigger town, better for us children.
I remember it was a very hot summers day. We had packed up every little thing and packed them onto a truck my uncle had lent from a neighbour. Uncle Rob was going to drive the truck, and we left ahead of him in our car.
Still today, I get the same feeling when I walk up the path to the front door as I did that first time. It's a mix of excitement and fear, but I do not know why.
It was a big, yellow brick house, the curtain-less windows gaped like big shadowy eyes in it's facade. Dad opened the front door and swept us inside.
"Have a look around, girls," he said. "Find a room each, for your own."
Mary dashed forward, excited, but I couldn't shake the slightly uneasy feeling the house gave me. Sweat pearls trickled down my neck as I stood there, looking around at this new strange house which would become my home. I could head my sisters triumphant yell from upstairs, as she'd for certain found herself a room she liked. A little hesitant, I started to climb the stairs to the second floor. The first door on the right was wide open and I could hear Mary humming happily from inside. I caught a glimpse of yellow wallpaper and a lush peach-coloured carpet before moving forward. There was no use in looking, the room was already off-limits.
At the end of the landing, a small door with pealing paint caught my eye. There was a small scratch above the handle, and when looking closer, I realised it was the letter J, carved into the wood.
A little surprised, I slowly opened the door and peered inside. Sunshine filtered in through the dirty window, and danced over the fine rose-printed walls. Unlike in the other rooms, the floor here was dark wood boards, polished and varnished. Though the room was small, it was perfect to me. And pleasantly cool, compared to the rest of the house.
Then I heard Mary gasp from behind me.
"Ooh, I want this room!" she called. "It's lovely!"
I turned around and looked at her, and I could feel my mouth curve slightly .
"Too bad you already chose one then," I said.

Prologue One

Hello.
My name is Jenny, Jenny Maroone.
Some would call me bleak, and some would even say I pass by unnoticed.
I am the kind of woman you bump into at the supermarket; the woman who drops all her groceries, and fumbles to pick them up while assuring you no harm is done, and ten minutes later you won't remember it even happened.
Everything about me is very normal. My pale green eyes, my dark-blond hair, my worn leather purse and my walking shoes. I was raised in a very normal family, my father being a postman and my mother a neat and tidy housewife. Unlike me, my sister Mary grew up to walk in our mother's footsteps. She got herself a husband and two children, and she's very comfortable in her moderately happy everyday life. She's very moderate, my sister. And so am I.

I live in an apartment complex in a suburban area just outside Bristol. I like it here, it's pretty quiet. Nothing much happens, beside the usual unusual behaviour of my neighbours.
On the first floor lives Catwoman. She's not really a woman anymore, since she's somewhere between the age of sixtyfive and death. It's hard to tell because she wears a wig and a horrendous amount of make-up.
The reason she owned herself the nickname I gave her, is that she owns seven cats - I know because she told me - and they're all named after old movie stars. My favourite is Marilyn, a white, long-haired cat with grey markings around the eyes which makes it look like she wears a lot of eyeliner.
On the second floor there's a family with two small children, and on the third floor lives a young man. He is extremely colourful, I believe he might be... how to put it, fruity?
He is an inspiring artist, and everything that comes with that line of work. I can hear him through my floor all the night, working on some new masterpiece, dropping his wine glass and listening to jazz music with the volume turned up way too loud.
I don't mind it though, I don't own a stereo myself.
Me, I live on the top floor. It's a pretty small apartment, this. Only a kitchen, a small bedroom and a combined hallway and sitting room. I don't need much more, mind, it's more than enough for me and Mr. Gray.
Mr. Gray is my tabby cat, quite the character too. He is very picky with his food, and he doesn't like men, which is one of the reasons I am still unmarried.
The other reason would be my job. I work as a librarian, a quiet, never-changing job, which suits me very fine. It doesn't present you with many dating opportunities though, and I suspect I will die the way I entered this world.
Quite, and completely, alone.