Chapter 17 #2
My quick, almost jogging steps take me up and down the rows, peering up at statues I could never climb, and once under a bench near the pound where the ground is covered in duck shit. The revulsion of how that would feel on my knees is enough to make me shudder and pull away, and I move on.
At last my steps slow, and I gaze up into the facade of a very custom, very pricy, family mausoleum. It’s new enough that the marble still glitters where names have been carved into it, and I can’t help but reach out to trail my fingers down one of the textured, ridged pillars.
“Oh, this is not a good idea. You are really tempting fate, and your mental health,” I whisper to myself. The bodies inside don’t bother me. But the possibility of churning up my ghosts for the next six months definitely does.
My other hand closes on the grate of the door and I tug, surprised when it opens easily enough that I stumble backward. Then I wait for something inside me to scream that it’s too much. It’s too terrible of an idea for me to hide in an actual, active mausoleum.
But that feeling never comes. Whether it’s the fog of the meds or my own practicality, I’ll take it. With one last look behind me, I dart into the open space on the other side of the gate, closing it behind me and making sure it doesn’t lock.
Immediately, the moonlight is replaced with an abyss of black. I don’t pull out my phone. I don’t want to give Amir any clue of where I am. But with only the patterned sliver of moonlight through the wrought-iron gate, I have to use my hands to feel along the inside of the family shrine.
My fingers find indents and engravings. Names and dates I can’t read as the darkness presses against my eyes like a physical thing. I didn’t even look at the name on top of the mausoleum, and I send up an apology to the spirits of whoever is interred here.
Maybe if I get the chance, I’ll check after this, and I’ll bring the family flowers, like the respectful adult I to pretend to be.
From somewhere far away I think I hear the sound of Amir’s Range Rover.
That fact is only solidified in my brain when a car door closes, but after that, there’s nothing.
Carefully, I slide down in the corner, checking to make sure my phone is on silent and hugging it to my chest like it’s some kind of lifeline.
Please don’t let him find me, I beg silently. For once, I’d like to win a game against Amir that involves more than saying his name out loud.
I tilt my head back, eyes closing, trying to hear anything at all.
I know minutes pass, and at one point, I think I hear the crunch of gravel underfoot, but it’s gone fast enough that I wonder if I’ve just made it up.
My fingers curl and uncurl around my phone, and I press my thighs together under the skirt that’s now pooled around my hips on the cold concrete floor.
For the first time this year, it’s actually what I would consider cold. A shiver runs through me, from toes to nose, and I have to bite back a soft tremble of my teeth at the discomfort. One of my hands leaves my phone, and I reach down to rub at my legs like I can warm them from friction alone.
Another crunch of gravel makes me freeze, and I hold my breath when the footsteps get louder. Closer, until I’m gripping the hem of my skirt and hoping I’m imagining things.
That hope gets thoroughly, painfully crushed when the gate to the mausoleum opens, letting in more moonlight once there’s no longer any wrought-iron in the way.
Thankfully, I’m far enough in the corner that I’m hidden completely by the shadows. I don’t move, and I barely even breathe when Amir’s shadow falls across the line of moonlight into the mausoleum.
He doesn’t move either. He just stands there, while I count in my head to ten and try to keep myself utterly still.
Finally, he takes a step. But not in the way I want him to. Instead, he crosses into the mausoleum, haloed by the pale light from outside.
I hold my breath again, terrified, my fingers clenching so tight into my skirt that I swear I feel my bones creak. There’s no way he can see me, but it won’t take him long to find me if he does even a little perusal of the family mausoleum.
Amir looks around, though I can’t tell if he’s actually focusing on anything. The moonlight doesn’t do much to illuminate his face, unfortunately.
But then he takes a step forward, and another step, until he disappears into the same darkness I’m hiding in.
Fuck.
I’m so dead.
There’s no other thought that goes through my head.
No plan or idea to get out of here. My eyes lock on the entrance to the mausoleum and for one brief moment, amidst the anxiety beating hard in my chest, I wonder if I can run for it.
If I could get to the gate and slam it behind me before figuring out how to lock him in here.
My legs tense. It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had, and the Ativan makes it seem almost like a good one—
“Do you even know whose mausoleum you’re currently sheltering in, my little mortician?” A hand suddenly reaches out, stroking down my face, until Amir can wrap his fingers around my throat. “And unfortunately for you, I’m afraid you’ve lost our game.”