3. Chapter 3- Lenora #2
His answer comes without hesitation. “Because I don’t want to die.”
I flinch.
There it is. The ugly truth. Whatever this is, I kill him. Maybe not intentionally. Maybe not consciously. But I do.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You never do.”
That hurts. “Do I remember eventually?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“Usually.”
“And then what?”
“You finish.”
“And you die.”
“Yes.”
I stare at my hands. “Have I ever tried to stop it?”
Silence.
“August?”
“Every time.”
“Did it work?”
“I’m sitting outside your apartment while my tooth grows inside your mouth.”
Right.
I close my eyes. “Can you stop it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can I?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what the fuck do we do?”
His head rests against the opposite side of the door.
I feel the vibration.
“We don’t make it worse.”
“Meaning?”
“We stay apart.”
My stomach twists.
“Okay.”
“We don’t touch.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t come upstairs.”
“Trust me, your serial-killer jar collection isn’t exactly inviting.”
He almost laughs. Almost. “And you don’t peel.”
“Okay.”
“And...” He stops.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. What?”
His voice lowers. “We don’t become what we were.”
I swallow. “Lovers.”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.
“Okay.” The word tastes wrong. I don’t know why.
I’ve known this man for less than an hour.
Apparently I’ve known him for more than a century. Both things feel true. Both feel impossible. “Okay,” I repeat.
August stands again.
This time I let him.
His footsteps move away. One. Two. Three.
Stop.
“Lenora?”
“Yeah?”
“Throw away the tooth.”
I look toward the bathroom. “Why?”
“Because keeping pieces makes it harder.”
“For who?”
A pause.
“Both of us.”
Then he’s gone.
I sit against the door long after the hallway falls silent. Eventually, I get up, check the deadbolt and the chain then go into the bathroom.
The tooth waits inside the medicine cabinet.
I take it out, wrap it in tissue and drop it into the trash.
Done. Easy.
I wash my face. Brush my teeth carefully around the new molar. Change clothes. Turn off the lights then get into bed.
I don’t sleep.
Every sound from upstairs keeps me awake.
A floorboard. Pipes. Once, footsteps. I imagine August above me. One hundred and seventy-four years old surrounded by pieces of me. I wonder what he looks like naked. “Jesus Christ, Lenora.” I roll over.
No. Absolutely fucking not.
We don’t touch. We don’t become what we were.
Fine.
I close my eyes.
The moment sleep begins to pull me under, a memory slips through.
Not mine…but mine.
His mouth between my thighs sucking my clit and flicking his tongue against it while my fingers tangle in his dark hair. Like gaslight flickering across bareskin.
My own voice moaning.
August sliding his fingers inside me until I make a mess of his face. My body shivers with need.
Then I wake with a gasp.
My body is hot.
Aching.
My thighs press together.
“What the fuck?”
I sit up. The room is dark. My breathing is too loud. Then I hear something.
Scratching.
Soft.
Close.
I turn on the lamp.
Nothing.
Then I hear it again and look toward the wall.
No.
The sound is coming from beneath my bed.
Every horror movie I’ve ever watched tells me not to look.
But here I am kneeling and lifting the blanket as I look.
Something pale is underneath.
My stomach drops.
I reach beneath the bed and pull it out.
Skin.
The piece from hours ago. The one that disappeared.
It’s folded neatly.
My heart starts pounding.
I didn’t put it there. I know I didn’t.
I unfold it.
Something has been written across the inside in black ink.
One word.
NINE.
I drop it. “No.”
My phone vibrates on the nightstand and I scramble for it.
August.
I answer immediately. “Did you come into my apartment?”
“What?”
“Did you take the skin from my bedroom?” I ask as I get out of my bed and head for the door.
Silence.
“August.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
“It’s under my bed.”
His breathing stops.
“What?”
“The piece from this earlier. It’s under my bed.”
“Lenora, don’t touch it.”
“Little fucking late for that.” I say, opening the door and walking into the hallway.
“What does it look like?”
“Like skin!”
“Anything else?”
I look down. The black letters stare back at me. “NINE.”
Silence.
“August?”
Nothing.
“August, what does nine mean?”
His voice changes. Not tired. Not sad.
Terrified.
“Get out of the apartment.”
“What?”
“Now.”
I stand. “Why?”
“Lenora, listen to me. Leave everything. Get into the hallway.”
“August...”
“NOW.” He shouts as something creaks behind me.
I turn and see my bedroom door is slowly closing by itself.
I freeze. “August.”
“What’s happening?”
“My door.”
“What about it?”
“It’s...”
It clicks shut. The lamp goes out and I’m swallowed by darkness.
I stop breathing.
“Lenora?”
Something moves inside my room. Not under the bed. Not in the hallway.
Behind me.
My phone shakes against my ear. “August.”
“I’m coming.”
I hear his door slam open upstairs.
Footsteps. Running.
Something touches the back of my neck and I scream.
The front door flies open as August crashes into the apartment.
The lamp turns on.
Nothing is behind me. Nothing is there.
Just me, August and the piece of skin on the floor.
He sees it and stops as his face drains of color.
“What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer.
He kneels. Not touching it. Just staring at the word.
NINE.
“What does it mean?” I ask.
He looks up at me with wide eyes. “This isn’t supposed to happen.”
“What isn’t?”
“Any of this.”
“You said we’ve done this eight times.”
“We have.”
“Then I’m nine.”
“No.” He stands.
“August, you told me I’m number nine.”
“I was wrong.”
My stomach turns. “What?”
His eyes move around my bedroom. Checking corners. The closet. Windows. Like he’s looking for someone.
“August.”
He grabs my hand. This time, no memory comes. Something else does.
A pulse deep beneath my skin.
His eyes snap to mine. He felt it too.
“What the fuck was that?”
He releases me.
Too late.
A sharp pain tears through my palm and I cry out.
A thin line splits across the center of my hand. Not a cut. An opening. Something presses upward beneath it.
August grabs my wrist. “No.”
The skin separates slowly as something hard pushes through.
I scream.
August holds me as a small white shape works its way from beneath my skin and drops onto the floor.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then I look down.
A tooth.
Not mine.
Not his.
Different.
Old. Yellowed. A tiny hole drilled through the root.
August makes a sound I’ve never heard from him before.
Not fear. Recognition.
He backs away.
“What?”
He doesn’t answer.
“August, whose fucking tooth is that?”
His eyes lift to mine and whatever he sees when he looks at me scares him. “I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“No.” He shakes his head.
“Then why do you look like that?”
“Because...” He looks down at the tooth again. “Because none of the others had this.”
My skin goes cold. “Had what?”
August stares at the thing that just crawled out of my body. Then whispers “Someone else’s pieces.”