Subject: Arthur Penkins - Part Two

Arthur woke up from his tormenting memories. Twenty years since that horrible episode. Since his father mutilated and killed his mother. At least that's what the cops said. That's what he had been telling himself since then.
He got up and went to take a shower. He had a good life. Writer, successful, an amazing apartment on a skyscraper in New York, a different girl each night, loads of money...Dream life.
But nightmares inside. Arthur, due to trauma, didn't remember what happened, except the darkness. His house, had the lights on every hour, with spare generators, and a closet full of lamps. He learned to sleep under bright lights. No, he would never fall asleep in the dark. But as a consequence, he would see the same darkness forever. No light could put it out.
He entered the shower and put it in massage mode. Sandra, the girl from last night, or at least he thought her name was Sandra, had left already. He had been seeing her for a while. But their relation was practically over, they only saw each other at night, and their relation was...mostly physical. He didn't care, he didn't loved her, and she didn't love him. They mutually despised each other, yet staid together like two sheep who were separated from the flock. He, with his paranoia, and her....well, he didn't know her reasons, but he really didn't care. Perhaps he would be considered a bastard, but he also didn't care. The famous writer with his Light House, or at least what the paper called it. " The one point on earth were there it's never night" said the Times Magazine, and they were right. But Arthur didn't care.
Half an hour later, Arthur was walking to his brand new black BMW. All shinning, and waxed. with brown leather, soft, silky, simply delicious. That car was the perfect way to ensure the manliness of any man. That car transpired masculinity. Arthur sat on his terrific car and started his terrific motor. He looked at the mirror just to stare back at his green eyes. Boy, ain't I lucky? He asked himself that question several times a...What was that?
While admiring himself, he saw something on the back through the review mirror, outside the car. "It's nothing, calm down". But he couldn't avoid grabbing his arm, were several years ago his father, supposedly, broke his arm and partially ripped a muscle.
"I'd better check"
He got out, slowly, and rounded the car. Behind the car, right under the license plate, was a dark burnt like spot, as if someone had lit a fire there. Maybe some teen vandals. "Stupid kids, unnecessary, expensive and useless bags of meat! If they ever lay a finger in his BMW...". Arthur finally drove off to the magazine, were he wrote a certain chronic called "Urban Pathfinder" for fun.
No traffic. How could this day get any better?
He arrived, parked in his reserved spot, grabbed his suitcase and with his chin pointing the sky and a smile at the corner of his mouth. The big building was essentially white and glass.
When Arthur went to reach the door, his heart stopped a beat.
A "do not cross" yellow strip was blocking the entrance...