Chapter 8
Ophelia
Three days later, the rain still hasn’t stopped.
It falls in a steady curtain beyond the kitchen window, turning the yard silver beneath a sky so thick with clouds, I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
I stand at the sink with both hands wrapped around a mug of tea that has long since cooled.
The warmth faded before I remembered to drink it.
Behind me, a cupboard closes.
Damon crosses the kitchen with a ring of keys in one hand, and a faded black jacket thrown over his shoulder. He looks less tired, though the shadows beneath his eyes haven’t disappeared.
“I’ve got to head into town,” he says. “The bar’s been run by my employees since Halloween. People are probably wondering where I disappeared to.”
I nod.
Of course they would. A man cannot simply vanish without questions following after him.
He reaches for the door.
The words leave me before I can decide whether to keep them.
“Will I remain here?”
His hand pauses on the knob. When he turns back, I wish I’d stayed quiet. Not because he looks annoyed, but because he doesn’t. His expression softens in a way that makes me aware of how carefully he’s been watching me these past days.
“Do you want to come?”
“I...”
I don’t know if I want to see the town. I know, for sure, I don’t want the silence after he leaves.
“If I stay,” I say carefully, “do you think the bond will weaken?”
He glances toward my arm. The skin there is still alive where it had once been green, the color reaching almost to my elbow now.
“I don’t know,” he admits.
Neither do I.
He looks through the front window. The clouds hang low enough to brush the tops of the trees.
“I think it’ll be alright.”
Think, not know.
His jaw shifts. “Give me a second.”
He disappears down the hallway. I hear a closet door slide open.
Something scrapes across the floor before something heavy thumps against the wall.
When he returns, he’s carrying the biggest umbrella I’ve ever seen.
Black fabric, with a wooden handle worn smooth with use, and white letters curve across one side.
Carter’s Bar it chose a man people already trusted.
The lunch crowd begins slowly. I sit near the end of the bar with my untouched glass of water, while Damon disappears into easy conversations that seem to belong to another version of him.
A woman pushes through the front door carrying the smell of rain with her. She wears a diner uniform beneath a damp jacket. Her blonde hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, and a bright smile reaches everyone before she does.
“Damon.”
“Hey, Claire.”
She leans against the bar. “You disappear for days without warning again, and I’m filing a missing persons report.”
“I’ll try to schedule my next existential crisis.”
She laughs.
I watch her while Damon pours coffee into a paper cup. Her smile never slips, but something else does. As she reaches for the cup, her sleeve shifts. Yellowing bruises bloom along the inside of her wrist. Old enough to hide beneath makeup. New enough that they haven’t faded.
The room narrows, and my breath catches.
Claire thanks Damon and turns toward the door. For one heartbeat, she looks over her shoulder, at the rain outside, with hesitation.
She leaves, which has the bell above the door ringing once more. I stare after her until the street swallows her whole. Damon sets the coffee pot down.
“What is it?”
My fingers curl around the edge of the stool. “She cries.”
He looks toward the empty doorway. “What?”
“She cries when no one can hear her.”
His face stills.
“I don’t know how I know that.”
The bond stirs beneath my ribs.
“I only know...” My voice trails off. “...that someone taught her to smile before she learned she was safe.”
Outside, the rain continues to fall.