1. Chapter 1- Lenora #2
“That’s not the point.” I huff.
This man is insufferable.
“It usually isn’t.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What does that mean?”
His eyes drop to my bare legs, specifically my right thigh. The place where my scar used to be.
His face goes completely still. “How much?”
“What?”
“How much came off?”
My stomach drops. “How do you know about that?”
“Lenora.”
“How much what?”
His voice becomes sharper. “How much skin?”
I step backward and he immediately moves forward making me flinch but he stops as something passes across his face.
Is that pain?
“Don’t.” he warns.
“Don’t what?”
“Be afraid of me.” He whispers.
“You’re a stranger who knows my name, my phone number, and that pieces of my fucking body are falling off.”
“I know.”
“That’s not comforting.” I say folding my arms over my chest.
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
His mouth closes.
I look past him, his apartment is dark. Almost completely. Heavy curtains cover the windows. Boxes line one wall. There’s shelves everywhere. Books. Old photographs. Glass. So much glass.
My eyes narrow…is that–Jars.
What the fuck?
There’s dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. Some tiny. Some large. All labeled.
August realizes what I’m looking at and he steps sideways.
Too late asshole.
“What are those?” I ask trying to look over his shoulder.
“Nothing.” He shifts.
“Bullshit.”
“Go downstairs.” He orders.
I move toward the door but he blocks me. “Move.” I demand.
“No.”
“Move.” I say again, holding my ground.
“Lenora.” He warns and I shove him but he catches my wrist. And then suddenly at the exact moment his skin touches mine, everything disappears.
The hallway. The apartment. The floor beneath my feet.
For one impossible second, I’m somewhere else.
Candles. Hundreds of them. A man’s hands covered in blood.
My hands.
No–his.
Someone screaming. August screaming. And my voice whispering into his ear. “I love you.”
Then I’m thrusted back into the present.
I rip my arm away and he stumbles backward like I hit him.
I blink as my heart pounds against my chest. “What the fuck was that?”
He doesn’t answer.
I look up at him and his face has gone white. “August.” I whisper, trying not to startle him.
“Go.” he growls.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me.” I snap. Why can’t he just fucking tell me what the hell is going on.
“Go home.”
“No.” I say shoving past him.
This time he doesn’t stop me.
Maybe because he knows I’ve already seen enough.
The apartment smells strange like dust, old paper and something metallic but there’s also something sweet underneath it all.
My eyes roam the room then land on the jars that are arranged chronologically. I realize that before I understand what I’m seeing.
Dates with small handwritten labels. 1921, 1922, 1923, 1924…
Names I don’t recognize. Some labels have faded beyond reading.
Inside the jars are pale things suspended in clear liquid. Hair, teeth, nails and something that looks like bone.
I cover my mouth. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
August stands behind me. I can feel him close but he doesn’t answer.
Then I see the shelf closest to the window.
Older jars with older labels.
My eyes move across them.
1908.1909. 1910.Then 1897.
My heart stops.
The jar is small. Inside is a folded piece of pale tissue. Three thin white lines cross one edge.
My scar.
I can’t breathe.
The label is written in faded black ink with my name in the center. LENORA
Below it… SPECIMEN 08
And beneath that…1897
I stare at it until the numbers blur.
“No.” I shake my head as tears fall down my cheeks.
August says nothing.
So I turn around. “What is this?”
His eyes are wet.
That scares me more than the jars.
“What the fuck is this?” I ask again.
“Yours.”
“I wasn’t alive in 1897.”
“I know.”
“Then why is my fucking name on it?”
He looks at the jar then at me. And something in his expression breaks. “Because you were.”
Silence fills the apartment.
I laugh.
I don’t mean to. It just comes out. One sharp, terrified sound.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
“I’m calling the police.” I threaten.
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“Stop fucking saying that!” My voice cracks.
He doesn’t move.
But when I grab the jar his entire demeanor changes. “Lenora.”
I hold it against my chest. “What is this?” I growl.
“Don’t. Just put it down!” He yells.
“Tell me.”
“Please.” He begs.
“Why?” I question as his eyes lock onto mine.
Is that fear I see?
Not of me.
For me.
“Because every time you find that jar,” he whispers, “you remember me.”
My fingers tighten around the glass. Something warm slides down the back of my neck.
August’s eyes flick toward it as horror fills his face. “Don’t move.”
“What?”
“Lenora.” His voice trembles. “Don’t touch it.”
I reach behind my neck.
“Lenora, don’t!”
My fingers find something loose beneath my hair. An edge…and I pull.
He lunges toward me as skin separates from the back of my neck with a long, wet tear. My knees nearly buckle as pleasure rolls violently down my spine. A moan escapes me before I can stop it.
August freezes.
So do I as the strip hangs between my fingers.
His eyes close and blood begins pouring from his nose.
“August?”
He opens his eyes and whispers the words like a prayer he fucking hates. “It’s starting.”