Chapter 8
My eyes hold steady on the dog between Amir and me, watching as the Shepherd lies down and flops onto its side with a little huff. Its tail thumps the floor again as it looks at me, jaws open as it pants.
“What?” I ask finally, my brain working overtime to catch up. “W-what are you talking about? How did you get in here?” Okay, well, that’s a stupid question, I realize. I must’ve left the doors unlocked like I always do. There’s no reason not to when no one comes in here that doesn’t belong.
But maybe I’m just getting too used to the safety of a small town. Clearly, that’s come back to bite me in the ass if tonight is any indicator.
Amir just looks at me, almost disappointed, as if he’s offended on my behalf at my stupid questions. At his low noise, the dog in front of him gets up to stretch before walking to join him near the incinerator. “Are you afraid of them now?”
My eyes move between the dogs; taking in their gorgeous coats and the way they look at me with nothing but relaxed interest on their faces.
“No,” I say finally, hand shaking at my side where I grip the trocar. “It’s pretty clear they’re not the ones here to be afraid of.” With that, I look at him pointedly. “Why do you want to know about Andrew?”
A possibility goes through my head, though I don’t want to entertain it. Not unless I have to. I push the suspicion away, trying not to look at Amir with anything other than curiosity and just a little bit of suspicion.
Would he really have let his dog kill me?
Amir doesn’t answer right away. He leans against the incinerator and reaches down to tug on the dog’s collar affectionately before smoothing a hand over its ears.
I still have no idea whether it’s Noctis or Umbra.
Without the two dogs side by side, I can’t tell which is bigger, and back here in the dim light, they look exactly the same.
“How did they determine Andrew was murdered?” he murmurs finally.
“Why?”
He fixes me with a look, his head tilting so he can survey me like I’m an oddity he can’t quite figure out.
I tense up, suddenly worried he’s going to sic his dog on me again, but Amir just straightens to cross his arms loosely once more over his fitted dress shirt.
“Is it not enough that I ask? Is there some reason you won’t tell me? ”
“Yeah. It doesn’t really seem to be your business—” Movement from the corner of my eye makes me jerk before I can think about it, and I angrily try to shove my fucked up hallucinations of the dead back into a little box in my head.
“Someone else is here.” It’s not a question. It’s simply a statement that has me looking up at him again.
“What?”
“You’re seeing someone. Like you did the other night. Like you did earlier tonight,” Amir adds. “Tell me, who do you see, Nell? Do you see Andrew? Is that who told you he was murdered?”
All I can do is stare at him, the point of the trocar tilting downward as my grip on it loosens. I look at Amir with the most confusion I’ve ever felt in my life because I know he isn’t asking me about the ghosts I see as if he believes they tell me something of value.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply finally.
Slowly. That seems to be the safest option, though I glance down at the dogs and take a step toward the door to the hall and, ultimately, the embalming room.
There’s no exit from the body storage room.
And my phone is back on the desk, next to the speaker playing “Devil Devil.” From here it sounds almost muffled, thanks to the old speaker and the hall’s shitty acoustics, but the slightly eerie tone does nothing to help my fears.
“Really? That’s how you want to do this?” He drops his arms and takes a step forward, prompting me to stiffen. But Amir doesn’t look mad, exactly. He just seems…curious. “Then let’s get a few things out of the way, shall we?”
Before I can blink or even lift the trocar, Amir is right in front of me. He grabs my hand holding the tool, his grip somehow forces my hand to relax so my fingers spasm. The metallic instrument hits the floor and rolls away, shining in the light from the hall before vanishing into the shadows.
Once I’m disarmed, Amir grabs my chin, dragging my chin up so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Tell me how they know, Eleanor,” he breathes softly. “Or the next body going into the incinerator is yours.”
A shiver goes up my spine, and I reach up to grip his wrist, digging my nails into his skin in an attempt to get him to let go. But Amir just looks at me like he doesn’t notice, even though I scrape and scrabble at his fingers.
“Stop it.” He shifts his grip to my throat instead, forcing me to inhale a gasp of surprise when his fingers dig in just enough to make breathing an effort. “You want me to let go? I’m just asking for an answer to a question that really shouldn’t matter to you. So—”
“His tongue,” I gasp at last, deciding that I’d rather spill the information that doesn’t mean much to me anyway than die here and get thrown into the incinerator if I can help it. “I-I was about to work on wiring his jaw shut. There was a bite on his tongue.”
He looks at me, perplexed. “A bite? Why did that tip you off?”
“Because the teeth marks were curved the wrong way for him to have bitten himself. A-and it was so deep. There’s no way he could’ve done it.” The words leave me in a rushed whisper as my heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. “Please let me go—”
“So you, what? Called it in?” At my nod, Amir sighs, though instead of looking pissed off, he seems somehow charmed by my words. “How very keen your skills of observation are.” He lets go of my neck, brushing past me and down the hallway as though he owns the mortuary.
I don’t follow him. Especially not when both dogs get up to do just that, and I instinctively jerk back out of their way. One dog glances at me, though neither of them gives me any more attention than that as they prowl down the hall after their master, like I don’t matter.
But I’d rather not matter than end up as their dinner, given the choice.
“Stupid of you,” Amir calls back lazily as he picks up my phone.
“Hey! That’s mine!” My protests fall on deaf ears as I follow him back to the room I mainly work in, wishing I still had my makeshift weapon. The only other thing I could grab would be small scissors or a scalpel, and somehow the trocar had seemed more intimidating.
“Obviously.” His voice is deadpan as he looks down at my phone, only to stop my music before pocketing it.
“But you’ve already done something stupid once.
I think I’ll prevent you from continuing the habit.
Will you tell me now who’s here?” he asks, leaving me nonplussed.
“You don’t need to pretend with me. I’ve seen you talk to them. ”
The way he says it is strange. Amir is so casual in his observation, like I’m not suffering from some major emotional damage that never healed right.
“What?” I’m not trying to be funny, or even deflect.
I’m just confused as hell by his words. When I’m back in the embalming room, I glance around for something.
Anything I could use as a weapon against a man and two fucking dogs, but all I see are scrubbed-clean surfaces and evidence of my organizational skills around me.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. ”
Once again Amir just gives me a look. Unimpressed.
Deadpan. Almost disappointed. “I’m not sure why you’re keeping it from me.
Is it a secret, my little mortician?” Him calling me that causes a shiver to run up my spine, and I clench my hands at my sides, trying to ward off the feeling.
“I’m not judging you or insulting you, and I won’t dismiss you for it.
I am simply curious.” He blinks, glances down at the embalming table, then looks back at me.
“Did Andrew come to talk to you that night? Was that who you were speaking to outside on the loading bay?”
“I…yeah,” I breathe. Even my therapist doesn’t talk about them like this. Like they really exist instead of just being figments of the broken parts of my mind. “But it’s not like you think.” Honestly, I have no idea what he thinks, so maybe it is.
“Of course,” he agrees, though it feels more like placation than actually believing what I’m saying. “I hope to hear more about it so I understand what to think.”
No. That’s my first thought, and I bristle defensively, though I think I keep the reaction off my face.
Talking about it only makes me feel like shit once the other person inevitably treats me like I’m broken or stupid or unable to see what’s wrong with me.
But I don’t say that. Not with Amir staring at me, drinking in my expressions like he’s waiting for something to crack.
Like he’s waiting for me to break. Again.
The silence stretches between us, making the embalming room feel too small and oppressive. “Now. The rules,” he murmurs suddenly. “Before I lose you completely tonight to the ghosts trying to steal your attention from me.”
My mouth opens, then closes, and I stand there awkwardly, too shocked to even flinch when a dog comes and noses my hand. Amir notices and dips his head almost approvingly at my lack of fear, though he calls the dog back with a quick whistle, pulling its attention from me.
“You will not tell the police about this.” There’s no question in his words.
Just absolute certainty. “You will not tell Cecil or Hestia. You will not tell anyone living, do you understand me?” The allowance for me telling my ghosts isn’t lost on me, but just puzzles me that much more.
Is he insulting me? Trying to humiliate me or make me feel worse about my problem?
He just sounds so normal about it.
My confusion is enough to keep me on my toes, and I incline my head slightly, out of habit more than agreement. “Will you kill me if I do?” I murmur, not sure why the hell I ask. Of course, he will.