Chapter 26 #3
My stomach grumbles and I smell something delicious, wafting through the house.
Gingerly I pull myself from bed, making my way through my room, when I find something on the floor next to the foot of my bed.
Holding onto the mattress, I bend down to pick up a tiny splinter of wood from the floor.
Where did this come from? It’s a toothpick.
I flick it into the fresh garbage bag and follow my nose to the kitchen.
A large pot sits on the back burner of the cooktop.
I take a quick look inside the simmering pot, I wonder if I’m hallucinating from the fever.
Inside is an orange broth with tiny little stars.
Italian Penicillin! Honestly, I don’t even care how it came to be.
I grab the ladle from the spoon rest and give the pot a stir.
Perfect creamy consistency, pastina pasta, and even a rind of parmesan bobs within. Just like when I was little.
I serve myself a heaping bowl, then shuffle over to the table.
“I really want to keep this down,” I whisper to my stomach.
I try to start off slowly but it’s difficult.
Switching between blowing and inhaling the soup, I’m instantly brought back to a cozy kitchen where my dad stood over a stock pot and hummed a merry tune.
Soon, I find myself serving another helping.
Filling my belly to its capacity before turning off the stove and letting the meal cool.
I’m pleased that everything seems to be staying within my gut, where it belongs.
Andrea walks through the front door as I begin to rinse my bowl. Her face contorts as she takes me in.
“Oh my god! What happened to you?!” She drops her bags where she stands and rushes to my side.
Man, I must really look like shit. I turn off the faucet and turn to face her. “Sick. Maybe food poisoning? Not sure. I took the medicine on my nightstand.”
She cradles my arm, escorting me to the couch. She has a quizzical gaze as she searches my face, like she’s seeing me for the first time.
“You didn’t know I was unwell?”
Her lips point downward, and she shakes her head from side to side.
“Where were you?”
She helps me lower onto the couch. Then proceeds to turn away but speaks loudly for me to hear.
“My team has been working tirelessly to meet a deadline for a client. Most of us crashed at Todd’s place last night.
” Her back was to me, as she busied herself putting away items, she previously carried in.
She continues talking quickly about what the project entailed, really not looking at me as she spoke.
“Todd?” I press.
She stops what she’s doing, turns and glances at me over her shoulder, giving a tight-lipped smile. “Ya, Todd. He’s new to the firm.”
I suck in my cheeks and nod, realizing she either didn’t care enough to tell me the truth or she doesn’t care enough to lie better. Either way, I felt the valley between us grow increasingly wider, each time we communicated.
She goes over to the stove, lifting the lid of the pot and inhales deeply. “Mmmm, that smells incredible. You made this?”
My turn to evade the truth. “Yeah. Just like Dad used to make.” I remain on the couch, while attempting to listen to Andrea cite all the work she’s done recently and the long hours she’s putting in, around mouthfuls of her own bowl of pastina.
I dip my head from time to time, but really my mind is trying to figure out who dressed, fed, and cared for me last night.
Did Mairead stop by to check on me? No, I don’t think it was her. Where did that toothpick come from? Or it could be…was it him? My stalker?
Back in my room, I message Eamon. I knew I was too sick to work this evening. Did he already know that? I keep it simple.
Cindel: Hey. I’m pretty sick today. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can make it into work.
His response was jarring. No, he wasn’t a dick nor did he threaten to fire me like previous bosses would when I was calling out on short notice. Not that at all. In fact, his response was kind, even worried for me.
It’s Eamon Actually: Oh shit. I’m sorry to hear. Can I help in any way? Do you need me to deliver anything? Food or medicine perhaps?
He also included, not to worry about my shift. With the two new hires, him, and Connor, he was confident they could handle a Saturday night rush.
No, Eamon’s response was unsettling because he didn’t know I was unwell. There’s no logical explanation for why Eamon would secretly visit, care for me, make me soup, and then act surprised when I say, I’m sick and can’t come into work.
How does he benefit from all of this? Why pretend to be two separate people? Eventually I responded to his text.
Cindel: No, thank you. I have everything I need.
Which means… my face feels numb.
Eamon didn’t take care of me either. It wasn’t Andrea; she was just as surprised to find me unwell. So, unless Mairead made a copy of my apartment key, became unnaturally strong and determined to care for me, the only explanation is… there’s two of them.
The paralyzing feeling courses through me when I realize I truly and unequivocally have no idea who the masked man is.
Initially, I thought it was Eamon playing some kind of game. Plus, the coincidence with the sour candy… after I blacked out at the lantern festival my masked stalker offered me the candy to calm me, then Eamon picked the same movie treat on our date. Does he have a clone? A twin?
All at once, images flash like a flipbook.
The things he’s done to me. Fuck, the things I’ve done to him!
I let a stranger drive his cock down my throat.
How am I not dead? I must be the biggest idiot in all of Boston.
I bury my face in my pillow and scream. Then cry and then scream some more.
I am exhausted, trying to recover from whatever ails my body while my mind is a tangled mess of embroidery floss.
All the colors, mixing and weaving together into impossibly complicated knots.
Instead of being patient and sorting through them like a sane person would…
I just shove my hand into the metaphorical sewing box and swirl them all around until it is impossible to make sense of where one thread starts and the other ends.