Chapter Thirty-One #2
I know what Mastyx is doing. He’s trying to keep me from the door, hoping the doctor will knock.
I close my eyes and chant internally for the doctor to go away.
I go back into my office and close the door.
The doorbell sounds louder for some reason.
Perhaps it’s Mastyx taunting me to try and answer again.
I cover my ears and glance at the computer screen.
Dr. Z steps off the porch, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone to his ear.
The hardwood vibrates beneath my foot as a private number pops up on my phone, still resting face up on the floor.
I squat down to pick it up, and the lightbulb in my desk lamp pops violently, shattering across my desk and keyboard, making me leap away from it and fall to the floor, landing on my ass.
I sit on my bottom, my breathing rapid in the dark, my heart racing, stunned.
The phone switches to voicemail and goes dark. I peer up at the computer screen, the only source of light left in the room, and there’s no one there. The doctor has vacated the premises and not knocked.
Safe for now.
The computer screen goes black before the white bouncing ball of my screensaver kicks in and bounces around the screen.
I wrap my arms around my knees and draw my legs up against my chest, taking several deep breaths in and out to steady my racing heart.
Several minutes go by before I feel brave enough to stand.
Although there is nothing with me in the dark—no rising flames, no Mastyx—I find it eerily quiet; too quiet, as if all sounds have been sucked out of the room so Mastyx can not only hear me breathe, but he can also hear my heart go from pounding to a barely audible thump.
I exhale loudly and grip the edge of the desk with one hand, then pick up my phone from the floor with the other before pulling myself upright.
My phone vibrates and lights up, the banner across the top letting me know I have a new voicemail. I tap the banner and read the message Dr. Z left me.
Miss Salavatori, I apologize for stopping by unannounced. I haven’t heard from you to recheck your wound and grew concerned. Please call the hospital and schedule a recheck appointment.
There’s a noticeable pause, as if he’s contemplating his next few words.
Also, I don’t know what made you take off so quickly when you saw me in the parking lot, but rest assured, I never meant to scare you. If it was something, or someone else who frightened you, I…I mean, we…the hospital has resources available to you. Umm, have a good day.
Click.
Something or someone else…The doctor is on to something.
It’s something more than someone who frightened me.
I leave the phone on my desk and head into the living room, where the fire is barely lit, the wood inside glowing a bright, reddish-orange; the intensity waxes and wanes, as if it’s asleep and breathing peacefully.
As I pass the front door, heading to the closet to retrieve my foldable wagon to put in my car for the market, the door rattles with an unnerving knock.
I freeze, my hand extended to the closet door handle, my head cranking slowly to the heavy partition separating me and whoever is on the other side.
It rattles again, the knocker not giving up on someone answering.
I peer over my shoulder at the fireplace.
Nothing, no high flames, no lashing tongue, and I crank my neck further toward the office, considering if I should look before I open the door.
If it’s the doctor and I try to answer, Mastyx will stop me.
My hand falls away from the closet door as I turn my body in the direction of the front door, take a deep breath, quickly jog over, and yank open the door with the next persistent knock.
A heavy sigh of relief floats down and shifts the hair of the little boy in uniform, who is holding an order form with both hands and staring up at me.
Behind him, standing on the sidewalk, is his mother, her arms folded, the toe of her blue canvas sneaker tapping on the ground, and an impatient look on her face.
When the little blonde boy looks back at her, she unfolds her arms and says, “Go on. Ask her.”
The boy peers back at me, then immediately stares at his feet as he quietly says, “I’m selling popcorn for Boy Scouts. Would you like to order some?”
“Of course I do,” I say with a shaky smile, taking the order form and paper from him. I fill in the line for four boxes of salted caramel corn for my dad, who loves it, and select a kettle corn for me before handing the form back to the boy. “Give me one moment, let me grab some money for you.”
Paying $100 for five boxes of popcorn may seem ridiculous, but I remember when I was little and in Girl Scouts.
Having so many doors slammed in my face and so many rejections made me feel as if it were my fault.
But when just one person places a significant order with you, it makes you feel worthy and successful.
When I return to the door, the boy is smiling up at his mother, who is also smiling.
My guess is they’ve been at it for a while with little to no orders.
Now maybe they can go home. I stand in the doorway, holding the money out to the little boy who eagerly scales the steps, grabs it and shoves it into a manila envelope with a glowing smile.
He thanks me confidently and leaps off the porch, running to his mother, who has already proceeded down the sidewalk without a word to me.
As the door clicks quietly closed behind me, my eyes get stuck on the low fire that has rekindled in my absence. It slowly grows higher and higher as Mastyx calls to me, eagerly needing to see me in person.
He wants to hurt me, punish me for my thoughts and my desire to save the doctor’s life.
The contract between us allows him to see me only when there’s a full moon; otherwise, my sacrifices to him and my decision to bring him to me are my own, not his.
And right now, after what he pulled today, I chose to let him stew until the next full moon to see me.
Like the doctor’s calls and the bell he rang to summon me to answer my door, Mastyx’s messages and requests for my company will go unanswered.
I know I will regret this decision, and the pain that awaits me with the next full moon will be significant and unrelenting, but to me, it’s worth it to show him that despite being his submissive, I still have some control over my life.
At least, I think I do as I enter the living room and lean against my sacrificial altar, staring inside the fireplace.
The small flame inside suddenly vanishes, the fire burning out completely, no glowing embers, no smoke, nothing. It’s fully extinguished. An emptiness grips me that I didn’t expect.
I kneel before the dark, porous wood and poke it with the fire iron.
Nothing. Not even a hint of heat remains. I reach in and touch the burnt wood, and it’s cold to the touch as if it were never lit. He’s gone. Mastyx is gone. I sit back on my heels and stare into the darkness before me, a smile creeping across my face.
Perhaps he read my mind and is backing off, worried he won’t get any extra sacrifices or visits from me.
I don’t feel him or sense his presence, releasing a build of anxiety that has been festering inside me.
My stomach unclenches, relaxing into this unexpected feeling of freedom.
I rock my head back and forth, my smile broadening, before my face grows serious.
My feelings are my own, and Mastyx can’t force me not to have them.
“I control my feelings, not you,” I say with newfound confidence to the dead space between me and the soot covering the brick back of my fireplace, knowing he can’t hear me.
There’s a brief moment of peace that quickly succumbs to dread that overwhelms me.
I exhale a staggering breath, and fog escapes my mouth as the room turns stone cold, casting goosebumps across every inch of me.
My face prickles and drains of color as flaming clawed hands launch from the fireplace, trying to grab me.
I leap back, scream, and turn to run, but a fiery grip tightens around my calves, singeing my skin and dropping me face-first onto the hard floor.
Metallic liquid fills my palate, and I swallow it down before digging my nails into the hardwood, splitting and breaking them as I gouge it frantically.
Mastyx’s tongue tangles around my throat, cutting off my airway and silencing my desperate cries for help. His flaming body drops on top of mine, singeing my spine through my clothing. I thrash beneath him, frantically trying to escape his grasp.
My feet, then my legs, heat up as he drags me backward into the flames of hell, where the fire consumes me until there is nothing left. Nothing but darkness and silence.