Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
He was at the foot of my bed.
I woke to the sound of something shifting around me. Then a low thumping until it was a deafening thud in my ears. That was when I looked around my room and saw him.
I stared at the dark looming shape, the red skull peering at me like death. I went to scream—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move either. All I could do was watch as he lumbered over to my side of the bed and stood next to me.
His eyes burned yellow in the dark. Hellfire staring down at me.
Somehow, some way, he had figured it all out. Also somehow, he had escaped his room, escaped St. Agnes, and had found me. He really was a demon. A devil who held horrifying power, and he was going to punish me now. He was going to kill me.
“Eve…” he whispered, closing in. He drew up his hand and slid off the mask. And all I saw was another skull but real, so very real. “You can’t run, Eve.” He drew down closer, till our mouths almost met. “You can’t hide.”
My heart galloped. As soon as I thought our mouths might touch, I turned my head and heard a crackling hiss like fire, a roaring in my ears. Then I screamed.
I jolted out of bed, crying out. I jerked away at a shadow in the corner—where I swore I saw a smiling face—and nearly fell off the bed. My hand scrambled for the light and turned it on to find—
No one. No one was there. I was alone.
I let out a slow, shaky breath. Then I wiped the sweat from my brow. Cursing, I went to the bathroom. The white light jolted my senses, but I didn’t care. I turned on the cold water and splashed some on my face, letting the water slide down my neck.
I looked in the mirror and saw dark green eyes staring back. Scared and dazed. A light brown lock of hair fell in my face.
I hadn’t had a nightmare about the Devil of Harper Pointe since…the incident years ago. I had them for maybe a couple years before they finally started to fade.
Until now. They were returning. And it was because Emery was making me remember again. Seeing him in the skull-mask was affecting me.
I peered out of the bathroom at the alarm clock, checking the time. It was nearing morning. No way I was going to bother going back to sleep.
I went to the bed and sat on the edge, letting my thoughts wander, recalling the dream. I shivered, seeing the skull that served as Emery’s face. I’d never seen the real thing, not on my birthday, and not with our meetings. I only ever saw his face as a child in the faded pictures of him and his sister from the foster care system. A little boy with cute features—bright eyes and tousled hair—who I imagined would grow into a handsome man. But who knew how he looked now. Who knew what he had been through.
I covered my eyes and rubbed at my temples. Do I want to see his real face?
Yes. Yes, I wanted to. It would solidify him in reality. A real human being, not some monster that could stalk me in my dreams.
And maybe then I could actually feel something other than fear.
“You know I still think this is a bad idea, right?” Jamie said, demanding to call me one night. I could hear music in the background and the clang of pans as he and Ben started dinner.
“I know, but I’m making headway.”
There was a pause, then the shutting of a door as the music quieted. “Don’t let him find out who you are, Eve.”
“Why? He can’t hurt me.”
“Are you sure? You have no idea what damage that could do mentally. And I mean for you both.”
I turned to the window and looked out at the water, leaning against the sill. “I’m not worried about it,” I said quietly. “And it’s my decision.”
“It sure is, but it doesn't mean I’m not gonna tell you it’s a dumb one.”
“But if and when I do say something, it won’t be until he tells me what I want to know. Plenty of time to still try to convince me out of it.”
“Remember the saying don’t meet your heroes? It applies with the villains too, just FYI. But you do you. I still want to know what he says though. Don’t leave me hanging. Talk to you later, twisted sister.”
I got ready to leave for St. Agnes, thinking about how Emery might act when I did confess to him. I decided I didn’t want to worry about it now. I just wanted a way into his head. I wanted to crack it open metaphorically and pick his mind apart. But I needed patience. I knew he wouldn’t spill easily. But I had a few ideas on how to make him.
The drive was calm and thankfully bright this time around. A day after our last session, I contacted Dr. Langley, asking to come earlier to give us more time. He was willing to make that work. Now as the sun set, I pulled into the drive. Red and yellow leaves covered the lawn. One of the maintenance men blew them out of the road with his leaf blower. A cool mist had settled, dampening my face as I walked up to the door.
John shook his head at me as usual when I entered. He didn’t say a word this time as I followed him up to the office.
“Ms. Eve, how are you?” Dr. Langley asked as I entered. He stood from his seat to gesture to the one opposite him.
“Doing fine,” I said, taking the empty seat, as John slipped away.
“Just fine?”
“As well as I can be.”
He nodded at that as if he agreed. “Well”—he set his hands on his desk—“I should warn you, Emery didn’t have a great morning. He had some unwanted visitors.”
“Oh?”
Dr. Langley peered at the papers on his desk through his thick bifocals. “Afraid so, and they may have upset him a bit, so he might not be in a mood to talk. Sorry, I had hoped he might calm down but he’s been moody all day.”
“Who were the visitors?”
He waved his hand. “A few investigators and a social worker. They come around every so often to ask him questions.”
I frowned. “Shouldn’t they talk to his lawyer?”
Dr. Langley shrugged, still not making eye contact. “Probably, but Emery isn’t in a position to have a lawyer present, and by the court ruling, if he is to be admitted here, then they have permission to question him. Not that they ever get anything out of him. Such as things are when dealing with the criminally insane.” He looked back at me this time and smiled. “It could have been worse though. Try getting him to see a doctor.” He chuckled, yet I didn’t see the humor in it. “Either way, you’ve been making such good progress, I didn’t want to disappoint you and turn you away. I think if anyone can get around to him now, it might be you.”
This time, the room was bathed in a low gray light from the windows, yet somehow the shadows still hugged the corners, like little black holes. The windows, I noticed, had a light film over them so the outside was just a foggy blur.
Emery sat quietly in his seat. And from the cold silence, I could already tell his mood was still sour.
“Hey, Emery,” I said, pretending not to notice.
His gaze flicked up to mine. “Eve…” he said in that low, almost seething voice.
I shrugged my bag off my shoulder and dropped it to the ground. “How’s the journaling coming?”
“Truthfully not well, but are you surprised?”
“Not really. But that’s okay. You’ll get there.”
He fidgeted in his seat, the chains rattling softly. He rubbed his finger against his palms as if he wished he had something to hold on to. I watched him for a moment, then took a seat.
“Dr. Langley told me you had some visitors today. Do you wanna talk about that?”
“No.”
“I understand. How about your—”
“I don’t want to talk about me today.”
I watched him as I sat back. “Sure. That’s totally fine.”
“I want to talk about you.”
I shifted in my seat, thinking for a moment. “Alright,” I said carefully. “What do you want to know?”
He leaned forward, placing his arms on his thighs. I could see the tension in his forearms, the strong build of muscle that had ripped apart my cousin and brother. I remember seeing a copy of the report and a comment one of the forensic officers had made. They said the killer had to have had astoundingly unnatural strength. “Couldn’t tell if a man had done this or an enraged grizzly bear” had been written in the final statement.
Emery tilted his head a little as he studied me per usual. “Anything,” he said. “Everything. I don’t care what it is.”
I swallowed hard. Oh, how about that a deranged killer tore my dad open and left his entrails on the table next to the punch bowl on my sixteenth birthday. Sound familiar?
If he wanted to know about me, I wouldn’t deny him.
“I’m an orphan,” I started. Ah, yes, that got his attention. Perked him right up. “My parents died when I was young. My mother when I was four. My dad when I was…a teen,” I explained. “I lived with family friends until I went to college.”
“It’s hard,” he said. “Losing someone you love. Worse than not knowing them at all.”
You have no idea . But I took it back. He had lost his sister.
“I would have rather had the time I had with them. Though I don’t remember much of my mother. It was good to have had my father when I did. Until he was taken from me.”
Emery didn’t pry, and, though a part of me wanted him to ask so I could scream at him that it was his fault, another part was grateful he didn’t. I was risking too much bringing it up in the first place so I moved on, “I’m scared of the ocean and swimming in deep water because I almost drowned when I was five.”
“So you can’t swim?”
“I can, just not well.”
“Got it.”
“But ironically some of my favorite animals are seals and penguins.”
He looked at me squarely. “You do realize seals eat penguins, right?”
“I’m aware. I just like them both for different reasons. But both are so bizarre if you think about it. One is like a dog with flippers. And one is a bird that chooses to swim instead of fly. It feels like they shouldn’t be a part of the ocean, but they are. Both choose to live in a dangerous territory, diving into deep dark water where they could be eaten alive by predators. They know the predators are there and yet they risk it anyway. They master their fear in order to survive.”
“I think a lot of animals are forced to do that,” Emery commented.
“Yes, I guess that’s true. But with the ocean terrifying me, it makes them more impressive to me than most. Plus, I think they're cute.”
He didn’t argue this. “So does it give you anxiety being near this much water?”
“As long as I’m on solid land, it’s no problem. I like the beach, and I’ll even brave going on a boat; just don’t expect me to get in the water.”
“Good to know.”
I couldn’t tell if he meant that or if he was being sarcastic. “Since I can’t own either of those animals, I have a cat. Her name is Sammy. She’s my best buddy. Of the furry variety at least.”
“Shocking. Somehow, I took you for a dog person, considering you know, the whole seal thing.”
“I like dogs too but cats are more convenient as a student.” He nodded as if that was a fair reason. I could tell he was starting to relax, that me talking about these mundane but personal things were distracting him at the very least. And maybe that was all he wanted. It was hard to believe he was actually interested in me. But I was willing to indulge him anyway.
“Would you like to see her?” I asked on a whim.
He rubbed his hands together like he did before, an eager look in his dark gaze. “Yes.”
I rifled through my bag for my phone. I searched through my photos for one of Sammy by the window looking out onto the street below. The sun caught in her striking orange eyes. I rose and walked over to him, stopping just a couple feet away and turning the screen over so he could see.
Emery leaned in further to get a better look. He examined the photo, then turned his gaze to me. “Lovely…” he said softly. “Tortoiseshell if I’m not mistaken?”
“That’s right.”
“Stunning.”
I was able to hold his gaze for only a few seconds before I had to turn away, heat drifting across my neck at the intensity of his stare, terrified that if he looked long and hard enough, he would see right through my fa?ade. Would see the truth.
Trying to shake off his intimate gaze, I said, “She’s only two and a half. She’s the first I ever had. Dad wouldn’t let me have any pets as a kid.”
“Why not?”
“He claimed he was allergic. I think he just didn’t like them. Although…there was that one time. He brought home a rabbit that had only one eye. Said it was from a coworker. But it didn’t last even a night. I didn’t even get to name it. So…I don’t count him.”
Emery's demeanor changed, the tension returning. His hands turned to fists, and he leaned forward so much that he was bent over. “That’s too bad,” he mumbled. I could tell now he was trembling.
“Emery? Are you alright?”
He didn’t hear me. He turned his head instead to seemingly listen to that invisible person at his ear. He said something so low I didn’t hear it.
“What was that?”
He turned his head slowly toward me. “Rabbits don’t last very long. They never do.”
The way he said it was odd, his eyes narrowed on me, like twin fires in the growing dark. “Tell me more,” he asked.
I studied him uncertainly, then thought over what more I could tell him. “I like to go dancing sometimes. I like to grow orchids. I like camping in the fall.” He closed his eyes just listening to me now so I continued, “I once had a bad accident going down the slide of my school playground and cut my leg all the way open from knee to hip. Eighty-two stitches.” I thought of some possible controversial likes of mine, then concluded with, “One of my favorite books is Wuthering Heights , and I like pineapple on pizza.”
He opened his eyes. “You’re joking.”
I couldn’t help smirking. “I don’t think it’s that bad. The zest of the pineapple mixed with the—”
“No, no.” He shook his head, as if given some awful news. “I’m sorry. Wuthering Heights? Seriously?”
I blinked. “What? I think it’s kind of beautiful in its own twisted way.”
He groaned as if it pained him. “I hated that book. Catherine was an insufferable bitch of a woman. And Heathcliff, what an utter shitbag. They were both so mentally unhinged and self-absorbed it was nauseating.”
“I…can’t argue that. But they were so utterly obsessed with each other…in a bad way of course. It was awful yet so intense you couldn’t help being astounded and impressed.”
Emery blew out a breath. “Overdramatic. May Catherine rest in pieces. And Heathcliff on top of her. And no one had any balls to stop them. They ruined lives and people just said, ‘Ah, they were so obsessed that they hated each other for it. Let’s make the others suffer because we’re petty fucks and our kink is to make other’s lives hell.’”
“A classic tale.”
“Now Jane Eyre , that I could do,” he continued. “Any of them actually, even Ulysses over Wuthering Heights .”
I crossed my arms. “You liked Jane Eyre ?”
He eyed me curiously. “You didn’t?”
I shrugged. “It was alright. But Mr. Rochester was kinda weird.”
Emery appeared totally offended. He straightened in his seat, huffing. “Of course he was. But that’s what made him charming. You would be too if you had to deal with a crazy person locked in your house for years. The old demon. He was a poor lonely SOB.”
I looked at him and, I don’t know why, I started to laugh.
“What?” he said “What is it?”
I shook my head, rubbing my eyes. “Nothing.” I stifled another laugh.
“Seriously what?”
“I just…I didn’t expect you to be so into all that. You’re only like…a few years older than me, aren’t you?”
He looked at his feet sheepishly. “Nothing wrong with liking the classics.”
“No, of course not! I didn’t mean it like that. You just don’t…it’s just surprising. A good surprise.”
“I have a lot of time on my hands…I read a lot.”
“And I think that’s great. I mean it.”
For once, it seemed hard for him to look at me. “I don’t care for Stephen King though,” he murmured. “And they have a lot of him here. Don’t have a great selection like the last place. Except for the Shining , that one was good. Better than the movie.”
I smiled. “Another of my favorites. And I agree, Kubrick ruined the ending.”
He hesitated. “Yeah. The cook was the best character.”
I nodded. I felt odd for a moment. Couldn’t place what it was at first until I realized why. It was this conversation. Not the actual words, just the talking. It felt a little too easy.
I cleared my throat after a moment. “Well? Think you got me figured out?”
He laughed. “Not even close,” he said. “But I like that. I think…”
“What?”
He blew out a slow breath. “I think for once I actually enjoy going to therapy.”
My chest swelled. Not like heart failure or anything. But a weird sort of pride. Trying to contain my excitement, I said, “So about that journaling…”
Emery groaned, “I’ll do it, lady, just give me a break.”
I put up my hand. “It’s fine. Just whenever you have a thought. But I also want you to think about what you want to talk about in the next session. Because, sorry to say, it can’t always be about me.”
“Too bad.” He sighed. “How about we split the session fifty-fifty?”
I laughed, then clipped out, “Not a chance.”