Chapter 8 #2
Bile rises up my throat the longer I study what he considered to be extra seasoning.
Two severed fingers, one with bone protruding through the flabby skin.
I turn my face away, disgust leaving a sick feeling in my gut.
Losing my appetite, I push my plate away and his face falls as he looks between us.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He shoves the fingers back in his pocket leaving a little blood behind on the plate and giving me a sheepish smile as he finishes making our iced macchiatos. “I can eat those later. I should have thought things through more. It’s hard now.”
“Why do you keep calling me that? Did you call him that?”
His brows lift. “Call who what?”
“Arkansas.”
His eyes grow more distant, lips twisting into a bow. “The state?” He carries the drinks to the table before rushing back for his food.
I let out a frustrated breath. “The guy you were seeing behind my back.”
His face pales. “Ah . . . I’m not uh . . . I can’t really remember everything from . . .” He looks around, pausing between the table and kitchen counter. “You know, from before. The memories slowly come when least expected.”
“You mean like your more tentative side? You’ve never left bruises on me before.”
“No, but maybe if I did you wouldn’t have grown bored with me.” He closes the distance between him and the table, sitting across from me.
My eyes blink. “I wasn’t. How would you even know?”
“It was the fourth memory I got after first waking up.”
“What was your first?” My words stumble.
His eyes hold mine in place, lips twitching as he says, “You.”
“Me what?” My throat constricts.
“You were my first thought. You’re smile. You’re alluring springy scent. Just you.”
“You’re first thought,” I mock. “The way you say it, it’s like you truly believe you’re you.”
“I am me.” His shoulders roll back.
“And who is me? It can’t be Gareth.”
“I am him.”
“You are Gareth?” I croak out.
He nods, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “I am him, and I’m also not. But you already knew that. You conjured the spell.”
He’s right, but I was still expecting more him, I guess. You know . . . minus the eating people. An innocent man’s life was taken and he’s so damn nonchalant about it.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Will it always be like this?” My words come out thick.
“Like what?” He scoots closer to the edge of his chair. “Didn’t you want this back? Us eating breakfast together again? Me moving around you in the kitchen and filling the cold empty space in the bed I left behind?”
“Yes.”
“You have that, don’t you? Maybe things aren’t exactly how they were before, but how can they be with someone who’s supposed to be dead?”
He’s right. I know he is. But it’s also not every day you walk down to your basement to find your husband eating the mailman. “Okay, but we should have some sort of ground rules.”
“Ground rules? Such as?”
“You not eating any more people who come to the house.”
“What about when I get hungry?”
“This wasn’t in the book.”
“No . . . I’m sure there’s a lot of details that were left out. Not everyone has the same experience, I’m sure.” He pushes his plate toward mine.
“Do you have to be a cannibal?”
He laughs and then mutters something to himself, hitting at the side of his head.
“To keep up with the appearances of the living, I have to eat flesh. It’s what keeps me from decomposing.
It’s more effective when I take my first few bites while they’re alive too.
It means I can go longer without needing to feed the hunger again. ”
“Gareth would never say all this to me so casually.”
“Yeah, Gareth was perfect, I get it. But this is the only way you get to have him back in your life. I have his memories, his experiences, his feelings and—” He brings his fist to his head again. “And a lot of his thoughts.”
“What kind of thoughts?”
“Mostly confused and worried. He doesn’t like what we did last night.”
I want to say I didn’t either, but I wouldn’t completely be telling the truth. Instead, I turn my nose up and say, “Yeah. That can’t happen again. Not like that.”
“This one of your rules?” He cocks his head.
“Yes.”
Running his fingers over his chin, he lets out a drawn-out sigh. “I won’t agree to it.”
My mouth falls open. “You won’t agree to me consenting first?”
“No. It goes against what was promised to me.”
“There are stipulations?” My voice sounds small.
“Not in this situation. Whatever you promise, you must fulfill. You said I could have whatever I wanted. That I could have all of you. So I will, whenever and however I decide to.”
“That . . . I won’t accept that.”
“It’s too late for that. Normally, I wouldn’t waste my time with humans this long, but the more he talks about you and thinks of past moments you shared, the more enticed I become. The more of you I have to have. And like I said before, I’ll have you whenever the hell I want to.”
Hell. That’s what I’m in right now. He’s my punishment for going against nature.
But whenever he’s quiet, lifting his cup to his lips, I’m able to lean into the fantasy I dreamt of before he came.
Gareth is home. He’s having coffee in front of me and will .
. . normally he went to work and came home a little after six.
And that’s where my fantasy ends. He can’t do all the things Gareth did.
He can’t even leave the house. He takes a long sip of his coffee, throat bobbing with each swallow.
His dark eyes watch me as I reach for the top pancake on my plate.
Folding it in half, I keep my gaze on his as I take slow bites.
“That’s a good boy. Food is nourishment, and I can tell how much you need it. You’re looking more dead than me,” he muses.
I shove the remaining pancake into my mouth and stand up from my chair so fast the chair almost crashes to the floor. “I’m going to shower. You should take care of the situation downstairs while I do.”
“Sure thing, buttercup.”
My lips twist. “You said I have to follow through with my promises. Then so do you. You shouldn’t be able to take what you want without giving me what I asked for.”
His lips tilt. “Technically, I’ve already fulfilled my end of the bargain. I’m doing that by sitting here, drinking his disgusting infused coffee while pumping life into his body, which could use some more muscle by the way.”
“That’s not enough.”
The muscles in his cheek twitch. “Too bad. You should have been more specific.”
“The spell—”
“Says the body will rise again. You didn’t fully think this through, did you? Don’t worry, I’ll give you more of your husband when I feel you’ve earned it. Right now, you’re nagging me and it’s making me experience whatever you humans call a headache.” He leans back in his chair looking pompous.
I have to get rid of him. He can’t stay here. I’ll keep him alive long enough to get the closure I need from getting to talk to Gareth one last time, and then I’ll slip some coolant into his next coffee, or into whatever body parts he leaves behind in his pockets. I shudder.
I’ll make things right.
It’ll be even more right for everyone else. I brought him here without thinking about what it might mean for others. I was selfish. I deserve whatever wrong he brings. What the woman said in the Wiccan shop was only partly true. Gareth isn’t who he was when he was alive, but he isn’t gone either.
Every now and again, if I look closely, there’s a flash of light he once held in his eyes.
He does that lip twitch when contemplating.
And right now, as I put my dishes in the sink, he’s twisting the material of the sleeve of his hoodie between his fingers as he reads a sympathy card that was planted in the rose vase on the table.
I want to reach for him. To lean down and wrap my arms around his back and say, “Read me what you’re reading.”
It was another one of our things.
I walk past him, leaving a small enough gap for him to grab my wrist without overexerting himself. “Riley,” he says, and I freeze. “I’m only a phone call or text away. I’ll always be here when you want to talk. Doesn’t matter what time of the day. We’re all here for you, Ry-Ry.”
He takes a breath before adding, “Love, your brother from another mother. You know who.”
My lips threaten to lift in a smile. Those flowers were from Leo, and I hadn’t had a chance to read it. It was going to be tucked away in a drawer with the rest. I guess it can stay where it is now, or maybe I’ll replace it with another and see if he’ll read that one too.
His cold fingers run over my pulse point, and he rubs another finger over the cardstock. “That’s because you were doing as I said. Figured you deserved a reward of some sort. A little more of Gareth.”
“Thanks.” Not knowing what else to say, while also resisting the urge to roll my eyes at myself for thanking a spirit who plans to keep assaulting me whenever he feels like it, I gently pull away from his hand and make a beeline for the bedroom.
Shuffling sounds come from the kitchen as I turn on the shower.
My hand sits under the water until it’s hot enough, and I step forward, wrapping myself in the caress of the fast-moving stream.
Glass clinks in the sink and the vacuum roars to life only feet away minutes later.
He’s cleaning, something Gareth hated doing.
I constantly picked up after him, snatching his shirt from the floor as soon as he missed the hamper.